#your vision more than the night sky because it is your mode through which the night sky is experienced). black swan moments. i think im

[tunastime]

do androids dream of electric sheep?

I am nothing if not a vessel for self-indulgent docsuma, especially @shepscapades's dbhc self-indulgent docsuma. sometimes you fall asleep in the lab, and sometimes your friend feels compelled to make sure you're okay <3

(3964 words)

Doc sometimes slips into daydream.

It’s not unlike him. He’d been doing it for some time now, some fix halfway between awake and Sleep Mode. Not quite his mind palace, but still wedged into predictive processes, still trying to work to replay memories. In quiet moments, more often than not, he finds that it’s easier to slip away, to tuck himself into his work, drafting, or building, or walking thoughtful circles and let the mechanical parts of his mind slip away into calculation.

In those same dreams, he tries to calculate the probability of events with what he has, blocking out the movements of who he knows best, who he may be able to pinpoint. He works in quiet as his mind runs in the background, wondering how conversations may go, how actions could be perceived. He maps what might happen if someone got hurt, or if someone needed help, or if someone fell asleep in the lab. Someone. Just anyone. He tells himself it could be anyone, but he would be lying if he didn’t know who.

It was hard, right—it felt wrong if he didn’t. Something he was designed to do, put to waste because it felt silly to imagine waking his lab partner, his friend, making sure he was alright, helping him. Was it wrong to want to be helpful? Was it wrong to want anything? It feels—it’s silly. Want was such a human word. He’s not sure he can really want at all. The paper in front of him is getting fuzzy around the edges, though, as he forces himself back into his true waking mode, and focuses on the task in front of him, now a line of text in his eyesight.

Doc leans hard on his hand, cupped around the side of his jaw as he studies the plans in front of him. He’s long since set them to memory, easily recalled with the summon of command, but he works out the fine details of the draft in front of him, still unsatisfied with his new creation. He works quietly, mentally mapping the lists of supplies he might need, the time it may take. If he were to concentrate the slightest bit more on the display in the corner of his vision, he might note how late it had gotten. Without any windows down here, the night sky can’t leak in, which means Doc doesn’t know it’s gotten dark until Xisuma starts to yawn or he manages to peek outside. 

He sets his pad down, eyes skimming the surface. Right, and where was X, anyway? The space, ever growing, up, down, sideways, that he used as his lab had gone still and quiet some time ago. Enough for Doc to take note of. Enough to be a little odd, he would assume, even for him, and the behaviors he knows well from Xisuma. Xisuma didn’t just wander off without a word—he was much too narrative for that. Doc sits up, hand falling to the table. 

“X?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. The room stays quiet, aside from the hum of recirculating air and electronics. Doc taps his hand against the table—it was some sort of tic he’d picked up from Ren, a sign of his impatience. He couldn’t shake the habit of mimicking it while he was thinking.

Okay, right. Last time he saw X. He gathers up the recall of the path Xisuma would’ve taken from his side, checking over his work at Doc’s request, and around the lab itself, looping back to a series of benches to work on. Leaning from his spot, he tries to pinpoint the peek of green helmet or shoulder piece. He finds neither in the direct line of sight, though, and slowly, bracing his prosthetic arm on the table, Doc stands. 

It’s a gentle quiet that fills the room, nice and easy and soft to step through as Doc makes his way around the space. Despite having another work bench quite close, Xisuma had a habit of leaving his stuff about, flitting between projects as he saw fit. It was interesting, sometimes, to watch him move around the room—not that Doc had done any of that. He seemed to bounce from point to point, sometimes staying still for hours, unmoving, lost in work. It was in those hours that Doc found himself watching, just for a moment, studying the shallow curve of his nose and the way his hair fell into his face from behind his helmet. 

His office is here, too. Though it’s no different than any other working space in terms of equipment, the space itself is fully outfitted, lined with tools and a large work table, his computer, a desk with a chair. Through the glass, he can see the shape of Xisuma at his desk, likely too caught up in whatever he had been working on to notice Doc’s concern. Doc pauses as he slides open the door, standing in the doorway, announcing himself to the cluttered room.

“Xisuma,” Doc starts. “I know it’s late, if you want to head home, I’m sure I can finish…”

Xisuma is slumped over on  his desk as Doc enters. There’s a brief moment, no more than a second, where Doc’s mind spins a scenario hard and fast, the crumpled shape of Xisuma over his desk. But he can see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. He registers the slow, steady heartbeat in Xisuma’s chest, and his shoulders sag with relief. He stands in the doorway for a moment. Xisuma looks small, head pillowed on his arms. He’s still running a series of code on the console next to him, which illuminates the back of his head in pale lines of data. His hair falls half loose across his shoulder, like he’d forgotten to finish tying it away from his face, and the slow, deep breaths make it seem like he’d been sleeping here a lot longer than Doc realized. He’s without his helmet, too, which sits beside him on the desk, discarded.

Long enough to get a sore neck and complain about his upper back hurting. Long enough to worry that he might not be getting enough oxygen. Doc sets his shoulders. There’s something in his chest that feels like it skips—regulator, pump, or otherwise. They work in tandem to produce whatever fluttery feeling invades the space where his ribs should be. He presses the heel of his synthetic hand against the depression of his chest, rolling his wrist. The feeling fades for a moment, shuddering through his wrists like it might rest there. He was never going to get used to it, was he?

He steps into the lab proper, sticking his hands into his pockets. He picks his way around the room, trying to walk quietly around it. Xisuma stays asleep, shoulders rising and falling in that even tempo. Doc crouches beside him—Xisuma is properly slumped, back curved forward as he rests. What little Doc can see of his face is soft with sleep, eyelids fluttering just so. When X doesn’t move, he rests his palm over the curve of his shoulder, gentle and slow. He tries not to focus on the fact that so much of his face is exposed to him, aside from just his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He’s seen him before, briefly, every so often, but it was so different watching him now, calm and comfortable. Doc forces himself to focus.

“Xisuma,” he says, voice dipping low and quiet. He runs his hand over the part of his shoulderblade he can reach. He pats the high of his back. “Xisuma, hey…”

X takes a long breath in, making a squeaky sort of sound high in his chest. Doc feels him hum out from under his hand.

“Doc,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. It was a tired sort of rumble, just on the edge of being rough with sleep, just enough to bring that feeling back to Doc’s internal components, like thirium was sludging too quick too warm through him. He huffs a little breath, a sound caught in his throat.

“You fell asleep at your desk, X,” Doc says, not able to weasel the amusement out of his voice. He runs his hand over his back again, just to see Xisuma’s eyes open tiredly, and shut again. It was so unlike the version of him that he knew in his mind, seeing him savor the brief contact, even from Doc. Especially from Doc. Xisuma was always the one reaching out for him, repairing or correcting or studying. All with purpose. There was no lingering touch between them. And though this had its purpose too, Doc lingered, feeling Xisuma breathe under his hand. 

“Sorry,” X mumbles, finally moving to lift his head, to open his eyes. Doc’s hand slides away as X sits up, over his back and back to Doc’s side. Xisuma blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hands. A frown comes between his eyes as he tries to focus the world around him a little clearer. Like it were mimicking the score across his cheek and nose, there’s a fine indent pressed into his cheek. Doc smiles at him, scrunching his nose in a way he’s seen X do a hundred times. 

Xisuma jolts, half reaching for the helmet beside him. If Doc were to really look, he might see the pink-red flush over his cheeks and ears.

“Sorry—I didn’t…”

There he lingers, halfway to reaching. Doc looks away from him, purposefully averting his eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “You have to be comfortable too.”

Xisuma hums, smiling a little, hanging his head as he leaves his hand on the table.

“Hah,” he says, ears still pink. “Right. Sorry, sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t know where you had gone off to, so I figured I would come make sure you were okay.”

X nods. Doc watches him twist around, hearing the faint give and pop as his spine adjusts to sitting upright. 

“‘M alright,” he says. Then he laughs a bit—the sound is airy and half in his chest, enough to shake his shoulders but more of a wheeze than anything else. Everything fit so well to the timbre of Xisuma’s voice, it seemed, be it the way he moved about, or the way he laughed, or the way his shoulder sloped or face was shaped. Not that Doc had been looking. Regardless, Xisuma sighs, and smiles back at him.

“Just embarrassed is all,” he manages. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you.”

X leans back in his chair. Doc watches him resettle and hum to himself as he gets comfortable against the plush backing. Doc makes a clipped sound, reaches out and moves away again, halfway between shaking him awake and letting him sleep.

“X,” he says. “Would it not be more comfortable if you were sleeping in your spare room?”

Xisuma frowns. 

“Would be,” he says, eyes still closed, mumbling. “It just gets awfully cold in there. ‘N if I’m perfectly comfortable in here, why not stay tha’way?”

It’s almost amusing, the trickle of stubbornness that leaks into the tired slur of Xisuma’s voice. It’s almost endearing. He watches X fold his arms over his chest, armor only partly discarded, watches his face wrinkle as he notices and tries to rearrange himself. Doc smiles, something that he simply can’t help—it feels so right, considering how ridiculous this is. He considers his options and weighs the success rates, the action taking a fraction of a second in time, though the scene plays out in his head in full.

“Because you’ll hurt your back,” Doc says plainly. X frowns, clearly mulling it over. There—that’s one that Doc knows, that face, where X slips into thought and worries the inside of his cheek and works his jaw. Doc raises his eyebrows, as if to question him without saying anything, without Xisuma even looking at him.

“Mhh,” Xisuma huffs. He pulls his knees up. Somehow, he manages to fit himself into his desk chair, curling his tall body over his knees and leaning sideways into the back. Doc hums, makes the approximation of the sound he knows.

“Xisuma,” he says. “I’m not going to let you sleep in that chair, you know. You are being stubborn.”

“M‘kay, okay…” Xisuma wheezes, finally uncurling himself.

It takes him a second. Watching Xisuma stretch and blink awake is like watching him come to life. He stretches up and around, face pulling as he likely unsuccessfully shakes the tension from the line of his spine. As he twists, he freezes, face scrunching all at once as he winces, hand shooting up to cup his neck.

“Ow. Jeez.”

He can see it tight in his shoulders and neck, even as X deflates, looking up at him blearily, still slightly slumped in his chair. His eyes shut again. 

“Xisuma…” Doc says, mouth twisting.

X sighs.

“‘M fine, Doc,” he manages to murmur out. “Just’a sore neck. Mm’exhausted.”

“Sounds like you need a real bed, mm?” Doc replies, setting his hands on his hips. Xisuma peeks at him, one eye opening, and shutting again.

He sees the fraction of a smile lift the corners of X’s mouth.

“Sure, sure…”

Doc looks over Xisuma’s face. With his eyes shut, face softening, hair tumbling over one shoulder, he looks comfortable. It’s as if someone took a brush to his features and smoothed out any hard edge—either that, or the static has leaked back into Doc’s vision. He feels a chug in his chest and his joints as he locks up.

X hasn’t moved. Doc reaches out, tapping his knee. Xisuma huffs, clearly startled from the half-sleep he’d drifted back into.

“Too tired t’stand,” he manages. Doc makes a questioning noise.

“I think you can make it,”

There’s a beat of silence. Xisuma cracks an eye open again, shuts it, furrowing his eyebrows. Doc watches him curiously, mind running through the list of possible scenarios. He’s made it part way when Xisuma says:

“‘M using you t’stand, then.”

And he makes a little, amused heh, before he says:

“That’s fine.”

There’s something he means to say alongside that, but as soon as X’s very warm, very human hand makes contact with the fabric of his lab coat and the cool synthetic of his arm, he loses focus. He should be used to this—the amount of times X has performed his routine maintenance, sweeping his hands over the replaced shoulder joint to check for seams, or made sure the regulator functioned, or backed up personal data, fingers skimming the shallow port at the back of his neck. He should be, but that contact alone sends a prickling-warm jolt up his arm. It feels foreign to let the touch linger. But Xisuma lingers regardless, hand flat against the space where Doc’s left ribs should be. He’s gone from holding, to simply sitting there, arm bent at the elbow, held weakly up. 

“Mrghh…” he complains. Doc taps his elbow, trying to jolt him back awake.

“C’mon, X, you can get up.”

X shakes his head slowly, his hand finding the inner curve of his prosthetic arm, squeezing just once, like he’s remembering it’s there. Then, X leans into him, all at once, slumping into his chest. Doc lets out a wouf in surprise. He holds still, aside from the simulated breath in his chest. After a moment, Xisuma makes a small, tired sound, almost like a laugh.

“Houfh,” he mumbles. “I, mm, don’t…don’t think ‘m gonna make it, Doc.”

“Mhm…” Doc chides. 

Xisuma laughs again, lying still for a moment, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a moment where he shifts, and there’s a small, painful noise that he makes.

“Ow, mrrgh—ow, okay—” he gripes. Doc’s synthetic hand finds the curve of his shoulder, patting gently.

“Oh, X—just…stay still, mhm?”

“Mm,” Xisuma says tiredly, “Alright.”

As much as he wants to move him, X is still wearing that damn armor.

Doc lets him lean into his chest as he tries to weasel off the bits of armor left over. It’s a struggle, keeping X comfortable and trying not to pull him around awkwardly, while trying to remove his chestplate with one hand. Once the armor pulls away, he resettles him, slowly scoops one hand under his legs. Something about this, about the way Xisuma leaned heavy into him, felt so painfully human he feels it curl up between the wires connecting his regulator to his side fans.

“Ready?” he says, mostly to the top of Xisuma’s head.

“Mmh…” X murmurs.

He hefts him into his arms, settling him against his chest. When Xisuma sighs, it’s profound and heavy and he tucks his face into Doc’s coat. Doc can feel the remnant of heartbeat from where his arm rests behind his back, thudding away behind his ribs. His breathing stays even, though shallow. One of Xisuma’s hands clasps over the back of his neck, keeping him still.

It’s a careful walk to Xisuma’s spare room. Doc is careful not to bump anything, measuring the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he walks. He drifts back to sleep, though, through the lab, through Doc shutting the lights off. He’ll have to come back through to power down their various computers, but for now, the dull white-blue glow illuminates the room. He carries him into the halls and through and to his room. It’s smaller than the room in his base by a sizable margin—just enough for the essentials. X stirs as Doc pauses to flip on the lamp, the light warm and yellow briefly illuminating the room. This can’t be a daydream, now, with the way X sighs and wriggles himself free as Doc pulls back the quilts and lets him down. He sits down with him, and the warm shape that Xisuma makes curls toward him, just a fraction, as he pulls the blankets over him. 

Part of Doc knows that Xisuma won’t remember him carrying him to bed, or making sure he was warm, or keeping the light on so he wasn’t disoriented when he woke. Xisuma sighs, sinking into the pillows, expression relaxed and content. Doc hums.

“That’s better, yeah?” Doc says. He reaches out, instinct, want, desire, something, hammering away in his chest, as he brushes hair from X’s face, tucking it behind his ear. He brushes through the hair close to the base of his neck, across his cheek with his synthetic thumb. His dark hair is fine and soft and it must be a daydream—or it isn’t and he was right, because there have been moments like this in his head. Wondering if Xisuma would let himself succumb to soft comforts. He’s spent his own share of time lying next to him, ignoring the way Xisuma curls up next to him, pretending he himself didn’t move closer when Xisuma lies still. It was this dance that Doc didn’t understand, that he wasn’t sure if he was overthinking. Or overstepping. But Xisuma shifts, pressing his cheek to Doc’s synthetic palm, and Doc suppresses a shudder. It sparks something that could’ve been painful right up his arm and through his chest, bright and warm and staticky. 

Doc hums, smiling to himself. Something like a dull thrum knocks in that space of his pump, pushing itself a little further, a little harder. It was sweet. X trusts him, not only to see him without his armor, but to help him to bed, to help him sleep. But Doc lifts his hand away, feeling that ache, the nervous shudder through his system.

X makes a sound, then, something small, eyes fluttering as Doc pulls away. Doc pauses.

“Mhh,” X manages. Doc swallows—he shouldn’t have to. That’s not something he should have to do, or be able to do, but the action just feels appropriate. It goes right along with sighing and laughing, and as he does it, Xisuma says:

“Thanks,” in a small, soft voice, and, muffled, and slightly slurred with sleep: “Didn’t have’ta stop.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, Xisuma,” Doc says. He can feel his temperature tick up several notches, no doubt a blue flush coming to the high of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He laughs, just a bit. “Did I wake you up?”

X sighs, stretching as he does.

“No,” he manages. “No, y’didn’t…”

“Oh,” Doc says. “Were you awake this whole time?”

Xisuma nods slowly. Ah. Ah. Doc dismisses a temperature notification.

“A little.”

“Mm,” Doc hums. “Silly Xisuma.”

Xisuma laughs. The sound is high and a little fuzzy and a bit caught in his throat. His bright eyes blink up at him and shut again as a smile settles on his face. 

“Doc?” he asks. 

“Mhm?”

Xisuma yawns, smothering it with the back of his hand, just barely. He tucks that hand close to his chest, curling up further still under his thick comforter. 

“Could you…could’you do tha’again? The…” Xisuma lifts his hand, miming a brushing motion as he does. Another temperature warning, higher than the last, blips into Doc’s field of vision. It’s immediately dismissed, but he pulls in a breath, quiet, trying to turn it into a soft laugh.

“I can do that,” Doc says gently. Gingerly, he brushes his fingers through X’s hair, sliding back against his head. He combs through, lifting his hand to go back to his forehead, back to cradle his skull. X’s eyes fall closed again.

Doc can tell the moment that Xisuma truly slips into sleep. He lingers in his space, tracing out the base of his skull with his thumb, taking in the sensation of warmth and contact and stimulation, fingers flickering white up to his wrist. He wishes biting down on his tongue would do anything. He wishes that the hollow of his chest didn’t hold a weight that no diagnostic could fix. He felt too awkward and stilted and not nearly gentle enough. But as Xisuma stays asleep, he draws his hand away. He mumbles his good nights as he stands slowly, shutting out the light and wandering from the room. 

He makes his way back into the lab. He replays the memory of Xisuma’s small smile, the fine line of his scar as he’d pressed his face into the pillow, the way he’d relaxed against Doc’s touch. He replays the memory, again, and again. It has to be a daydream. Has to be. There’s no other logical explanation to all of that.

Maybe that would explain the ache in his chest, far too human to be his own.

Doc goes back to work. He sits down at the lab table, spreading his arms as he braces against the white tabletop. He furrows his eyebrows. Something doesn’t feel right, too warm or out of place. He feels gross. Not gross bad, maybe, gross different? Broken? Not broken, maybe. Weird. Wrong. Out of place. It doesn’t make any sense. Or it has, and he’s refusing the obvious answer. Xisuma didn’t ask for any reason. Xisuma asked because he was tired, and tired people do silly things, and silly people are a handful, and Xisuma is a handful—a lovely one. Doc shuts his eyes. His chest hurts. It’s an awful hurt, actually, less painful than it is just weird. He thinks for a moment he might be better off if he left, maybe the weight of whatever lingered in his memory would be better off if he were to take a break from standing in the same spaces. 

He sends Xisuma a message. From his office, he hears his com ping.

Docm77 whispered to you… Xisuma I’m stepping out, sleep well :-)

#hermitcraft dbh au #dbhc #docsuma #docm77 #xisumavoid #dbhc doc #dbhc xisuma #hermitcraft fic #hermitshipping #mcyt fic #fics #text #i crumple into a pile of ash and dust on the ground #i am blown away by the wind #i'd like to thank theo hitheeprithee and sam artsy book for express shipping this fic #i sat down and edited in like an hour post dinner and iam so so sleepy #but alas i must post. it is required #shepherd if you're out there and you see this i never forgor about the one time i wrote them #oh this is incredibly self-indulgent #and i care them so badly #please let them kiss. please. pl--

[bionicle-ramblings]

Some Matau x Vakama stuff because I'm bored and the potential is so ripe

For starters, Matau fell first. Was it Vakama's devilishly good looks? No. Was it Vakama's sheer skill and leadership? No. Was it the fact that Vakama was always alone and looked like he needed someone at his side other than Nokama? Kind of, but not really. It was the fact that, when push came to shove, Vakama was a force to be reckoned with and seeing the fire-spitter be a badass when he was in "leader mode" and a good shot with a disk launcher. There was also the fact that Vakama really isn't a pushover, not really he's just got VERY good patience

Matau is absolutely the one to do the flirting and Vakama misses it solely because the flirting does not come across as flirting. If anything, Matau's pick-up lines fall flat because Vakama does not notice his flirting at all, or at least it takes a while for him to realize it

There is no huge, "I'm in love with you," confession. It's more of a silent thing between the two of them that they acknowledge one night while the rest of the Toa team sleeps. Maybe Vakama hums or sings to himself and when he realizes Matau's listening, he stops. Matau, who has slipped up by previously coming off very mockingly when he first heard it, opts for singing back, which surprises Vakama at first before they sing together, careful not to wake the others. There's also smaller things like the two curling up and sleeping while holding each other because Vakama has the tendancy to just curl up when he sleeps and Matau falls asleep SO FAST in Vakama's arms

When Vakama fully realizes that Matau actually does care, it's not an emotional weepy moment. Instead, it just hits him when Matau actually says it, and then Matau realizes that he would have gotten a lot further if he was more direct with the fire-spitter rather than getting him warmed up by flirting. Very much a, "Wait, THAT'S what you meant? Why didn't you say that sooner!?"

The two of them flying together, because Vakama can use his disk launcher as a jet pack and Matau can use his swords to soar around. Just imagine Vakama flying to clear his head and he looks and sees Matau soaring close by, maybe lounging as he flies. Vakama is not really amused, but isn't arguing as Matau started flying around and away from him and the two essentially had a flying date, "How to Train Your Dragon" style, though it's with two flying Toa, not dragons. The two fly around, forget their worries, but the awe comes in when they're above the clouds and see the sky. When they return, Nokama asks that they do not leave the group again because they need to stick together

Matau can easily pick up Vakama, and does so as much as he can, much to Vakama's chagrin. It's not so bad when Vakama has a particularly bad vision that leaves him very weakened, if anything he's happy "awaken" either in Matau's arms or on his back. Matau was skeptical and maybe a little teasing/mocking at first, but when Vakama has more intense reactions to his visions and needs to be carried, Matau "welcomes" him back to them all

On the flip side, Vakama, who deals with crippling anxiety and self-worth issues, sees Matau trying to keep similar issues in check. It's something Vakama recognizes as he sees Matau crack jokes, sees him be as talkative as possibly, show off, talk about himself, anything to garner SOME KIND of reaction. One instance, when the team has a chance to rest, Vakama finds Matau standing away from the group and having a panic attack, possibly the first one he's ever had, and Vakama helps him calm down. What ultimately helps is sitting beside Matau, having an arm around him, and helping him breathe through it, maybe even either talking about something like mask making or how a friend of Vakama's(guess which one) once got in trouble in Le-Metru because he ended up falling in the test driving track. Maybe Vakama even talks about his own experiences in tool-making and moving his way up to mask-making and how he was just good at what he did and other Matoran didn't like that, or him, even though he tried to keep his head down. Regardless, it's enough for Matau to calm down

Matau will verbally call Vakama out if he's getting too caught up in himself. Vakama's method of stopping Matau is usually a hard stare and shake off the head, no words spoken

Matau knows JUST the right buttons to push to make Vakama annoyed, start laughing, and/or even cluster, because the Toa Metru of Fire can be an open book sometimes. Vakama only gets Matau when he least expects it, and the results Anaya leave Vakama smirking because he knows he got Matau back

The averge reaction Vakama has when Matau blatantly throws a flirt his way: "...Sir?😳"

If there was an occasion to dance, Matau is cutting the rug, he can totally dance, and he will pull Vakama up to dance with him because it's one nore thing that playfully annoys him

Matau kind of knows how to repair his own armor, but still asks Vakama to do it because Vakama has more experience, but also because Vakama uses his elemental power to fix armor and the heat feels good. And it's a good excuse to get close to Vakama, subtlety be damned

I might make more Vakama x Matau posts. I'm starting to love these idiots

#bionicle #vakama #matau #toa metru #ramblings #long post #ships #alright fine i ship them #they can be cute together sue me

[oatbugs]

.

#lets tell only the truth #i am so in love with the violin but i can barely play it . if i dont play it soon i will die . my AI named itself eudemonia and if anyone #desecrates a conversation with him i will scream at them . tomorrow i will comprehend 5 dimensional chess and i am oddly in love with what #i study . the person who love(d) me told me they are used to receiving thank you as an answer to i love you from me . #but that its ok because the love i have for maths and neural networks and philosophy and psychology is big enough to warrant everything #else deserving only a thank you #lets tell only the truth . the first time i dont get a first i wont cry but ill come close to it. im afraid of going back because the boy #who is in love with me also received a thank you. i am afraid and excited to be an obsessed academic . she said i had a black swan moment #because i was in tears in the middle of half highlighted papers trying to figure out how the fuck to build a better version of VQ VAE2 and #im never going to be a genius or a prodigy but i can someday be clever . and i will feel music so deep it shakes the entire sky and somehow #i love everything even more . i love music more than anything insofar as it is the mode through which everything is expressed (you love #your vision more than the night sky because it is your mode through which the night sky is experienced). black swan moments. i think im #'really afraid of never falling in love ever again with a person. i hope i will and i scare myself with how much i am willing to be okay #with the possibility of friends and robots and philosophy and thougts and the sky keeping me company #every academic paper i read somehow contains the soul of its authors. every massive graph of results from psychological experiments #contains tired sighs. your method has laughter inside it from when you almost messed up. i can see alan turing quickly working out a 6x6 #digit multiplication in messy handwriting to exemplify in his imitation game paper. i can see him chuckling at his own jabs and jokes on #silly counterarguments . friends and neural networks and philosophy and thoughts and the sky and the laughter of academics inside paper. #lets tell only the truth. tomorrow i will try to comprehend 5 dimensional chess. i could code a lot better. friends philosophy violins #music AI obsession and politics. #lets tell only the truth. if this bubble bursts and im no longer in love with it all i dont know how i will live. im afraid of the tales of #people who started hating their university subject their 2nd year in. i will be in university at least until i am 31. and after that ill do #research until i die. and thats my plan - and if i begin to numb towards what essentially *is* me i dont know who i will be.

[no-droids]

Promise Me (It’s Yours)

Part Eleven of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10K

Warnings: OMFG might be the first chapter of rough day to not need any warnings, can you believe it?? I mean of course there’s language, a splash of smut, and just the briefest reference to suicide, but pretty PG-13 this time my guys I apologize

A/N: I’m sorry I know people show up for the smut but I was feeling soft in this Taco Bell parking lot so here this is, I hope y’all like it.  I guarantee none of the math is correct but please go with it

***

You jerk awake to the sound of whimpers.

It’s late.  The bonfire is nothing more than glowing coals, and your back is resting against a scratchy log instead of a long, comfortable chest.  You blink rapidly, trying to figure out where that noise is comi—

The kid.  Fussy in his crib, his gasps starting to turn into quiet sobs.

“Hey,” you murmur, aiming for soft and comforting, but the sleep sits right in the middle of your vocal cords and splits your voice in half, making you sound like an exhausted demon.  Weirdly enough, it seems to chill him out (did a demon actually teach him how to choke people without touching them?) and you sit up to blearily look around.  Where’s Din?  “Where’s—” you rub your eyes and squint around once more, “—where’d your dad go, bug?”

The clearing is bare.  The field is, too—no path, excluding the one you three made on the hike here.  Nothing in the distant forest, and the black duffel bag sits somewhere near your feet.

Alright, no worries, maybe he just… went to take a leak or something.  Really… oddly far away.  That’s fine.  Sometimes humans have to do that—maybe he has a.  A shy bladder.  Or something.  You’re totally fine.  The kid blinks back at you through equally tired eyes, his head tilting as he seems to be taking cues from you right now in the absence of his father.  You both should just try to go back to sleep…

Or you can wait up for him.  That sounds like a better plan.  Don’t panic, just trust him.  Give him the benefit of the doubt, it’s the least you can do.

You take a second to look around again, still coming up empty.  It’s dark out, but the moon is suspended high in the sky.  The fire doesn’t even give off much light anymore, just dying embers.  Your eyes scan the ground again, catching on the black bag at your feet.

Was that there when you went to sleep?  No, the last person who had it was Din, and he was sitting over there, in front of the boulder behind the kid’s shield.

You blink down at the stationary bag for a few more seconds, studying it like it’ll spill all of its secrets if you glare hard enough, but then something sparks in your memory.  Something odd, something you only noticed for a second last night.  There was a red light that reflected off Din’s helmet when he reached into the bag for food earlier, wasn’t there?

You think back on it, try to isolate the hazy memory.  If it was a laser sight, you would’ve recognized the bright beam and panicked, but you didn’t.  It was unfocused, dim.  Flashing.

Had… had Din brought a tracking fob with him from the Crest?  But why?

Maker, it’s like your mind knows it should speed up but it’s still too stupid to actually do it.  You should… you should check the bag, right?  Just in case… you don’t know.  You’re being ridiculous.

You reach out to catch the dark bag nonetheless and then unzip it, rifling through it for a particular item you figure should be in here somewhere.  Food, food, more food…

Somewhere…

—It’s not here.  No tracking fob here.  No red light to be seen of.

Had you been imagining it?

No, you determine after a second.  No, because you remember thinking it was odd—you specifically noticed it, clearly recognized it but didn’t contemplate too much into it at the time.

Alright, no worries, maybe he… maybe he went on a quick little hunt while you were both sleeping.  He must’ve gone back to the ship to grab his armor and guns and then set off.  That’s fine, there’s more food in the bag.  He said he’d be here when you woke up, which most likely means morning.  Right?

Cool.  Cool cool cool, you can wait until morning.  You can just settle back down against the log right here and find a comfortable position—there we go—and just wait for the sunrise, wait for the inevitable return of your missing party member.  Party leader, arguably.  He’ll come back, he always does.

Your body begins to relax, even though something still seems… strange about this.  Like there’s something important you’re still missing.

… The field is bare.

You instantly sit up and turn back to study it in the moonlight, study the single path you left on your way here.  You remember hiking at least… a grand total of two hours to get here from the Crest, maybe?  Granted, you took quite the detour, but that just means he would’ve carved a distinct, new path on his way back—

Would he… would he really go on a hunt without going back to the ship first?  Would Mando truly venture out—without telling you—to go collect a quarry without any weapon on him whatsoever?  Any piece of armor besides a helmet?

Does that seem right to you?

Fuck, you suddenly feel wide awake, and the baby starts gasping out troubled cries again.  You push yourself up to your feet and stumble around the dying flames to go comfort him, dropping to your knees next to the reflective sphere.  Your head stays on a constant swivel as you quiet him, brushing the pad of your thumb along his wrinkled forehead and shushing him as you keep looking out at the breezy field of grass, trying to see if you missed anything.  

Fuck, maybe you’re just overreacting.  What direction is the ship?  Which way did you…?  You think back, trying to piece together limited information of what you can remember about today.  Glancing back down at the log you slept on and then the path leading away from the clearing, rapidfire calculations start going off in your head.  No, you realize after a second of frantic thought—no, the sun would’ve—if you walked…

Eventually, you’re able to pinpoint a general idea of where the ship should be, and if you’re right, then he definitely would’ve left a new path to get back to it.  You don’t like this.  It’s out of character for him.  It sits too weird with you, and the kid rarely starts crying unless something is bothering him.

Alright, alright, don’t panic.  Din is a professional.  He must’ve left on purpose—you would’ve woken up if there was any sort of struggle, or even just an exchange.  Odds are, he grabbed the tracking fob and just… went to go get the quarry.  

Without waking you.  Without telling you.  Without bringing anything else with him.  No armor.  No guns.  Just the fob.

Some strange sense of dread begins to fill you, one that feels all the worse when there’s no clear explanation for it.  You won’t pretend like you’re an expert, but to a Mandalorian, that seems like it could be considered suicidal, wouldn’t it?  What reason would he have to do this?

The field continues to wave, undisturbed, in all surrounding directions except one.  You look over at the clearing leading to the dark forest, the treetops too thick to let anything but traces of crystal moonlight through.  If he left… he’ll have gone that way.  The only direction that wouldn’t leave a path.

Okay.  So there's a decision that needs to be made.  You can either stay here, in the middle of this wide open field until the sun comes up, and hopefully he comes back by then.  Or… you could.  Go check if something went wrong.

The forest is gorgeous from here, you can see that.  Thick treetops, drifting gently in the breeze, steady and quiet and picturesque.  Admittedly, you can also see a haunting, looming nightmare of darkness warning you to stay away from whatever it’s hiding.  This is an unfamiliar planet.  You know it’s safe, this is the most isolated sector and Din said practically no crime happens here, but.  He also said he’d be here when you woke up.

Hang on, wait.  Something catches in your peripheral.  There—right on the other side of the kid’s crib, you see—

A glove.

… He left the glove.  Whether on purpose or by accident, Din left his glove.  The one connected to the vambrace, the one that houses all his controls.  

The one that houses the comm link.

The piece of armor is already in your trembling fingers before you realize you even went to grab it.  Anxiety, stress, dread—you don’t know which weighs on you heavier while you slowly rotate it in your hands, trying to understand what’s happening right now.  He left his emergency communicator.  The only chance you have at contacting him unless he decides to come back.

Panic suddenly constricts in your chest, and you make your decision blindly.  The kid continues to squeak out little whimpers as your arm sinks down into the leather and you pull the gauntlet up almost to your elbow, flexing your fingers inside the fabric and feeling your heart beating in your throat.  The controls are fairly basic, it doesn’t take much time to figure out which button he synced with the hovering sphere, which command he uses to lock the two locations together.

“Chill out, kiddo,” you whisper, doing your best to calm your own raging uncertainty.  Conviction is key, you think.  You made your decision.  Not wanting to waste any more time in case something went awry, you sling the bag over your shoulder and set off in the direction of the trees, feeling… woefully underprepared for whatever may potentially face you.

The forest is quiet as you finally make your way past the first few trees marking its beginning, or end, and you need a second to blink and adjust your vision.  It’s dark—if you thought it was dark when you awoke, it’s nothing compared to this.  The treetops are thick and barely allow any moonlight to pass through their dense leaves whatsoever, just bits and pieces scattered here or there.  There’s no path, no trail, just nature.  Fallen logs, moss, rock and boulder formations you have to avoid.

You shush your agitated ward again, wanting to control yourself because you’re getting the kid worked up into baby battle mode with no visible threats to see.  He reads energies—he’s capable when he wants to be, when he deems the situation fit.  Right now he’s quieted somewhat but he’s still on high alert, recycling your inner panic outwards until you feel the air shifting around you, an… unexplainable phenomena you can’t even describe properly.

Well, you figure.  If anything, he’s far more dangerous than any weapon Din typically carries with him.  You tend to forget, most of the time.  He’s never hurt you, no matter how boisterous the tantrums sometimes are, and you find yourself very rarely thinking of him as anything other than an innocent, helpless baby you’re tasked with protecting.  Though it appears that most of the time, he’s been the one protecting you.

What are you saying?  There’s no need for protection right now, you’re simply searching for your absent ally.  You’re not being brave—no matter how quickly your heart is beating or how much your hands are sweating, you’re not being brave because bravery implies facing something you fear.  You have nothing to fear, it’s nothing more than an abandoned forest.  A backdrop for your endeavor.

Though… though now that you think about it, this setting looks eerily similar to one you’ll have seared into your memory forever.  The forest on Corellia.

You will the thought away with a frantic shake of your head.  Naboo is safe, Naboo is safe—it’s not like Corellia.  It’s not crawling with people desperate for food and credits, desperate enough to resort to kidnapping and slave trade.  Naboo will economically prosper no matter what threat befalls the galaxy, its industry comes from tourism and resorting.

You stop for a second, needing a breather.  Just for a second.  You haven’t been walking more than fifteen minutes but the terrain makes your feet hurt.  Sure, there are clearings between trees and the ground isn’t complete overflowing with obstacles, but they’re still present.  The scattered rocks dig in under your shoes and some of the bushes you pass by have sharp leaves or thorns—but it’s the sprawling root systems that prove to be the worst.  They crawl across the ground like they can’t decide whether they want to be part of it or not, and more than once you stub your toe on a hidden tube arching a few inches out of the mossy soil.

A part of you almost has to remind yourself that you’re here because you’re looking for somebody, rather than being trapped here trying to evade something.  The adrenaline and fear are starting to get the best of you, make you too antsy, warp your senses.  You’re deep in the forest now, but not enough to feel the wind disappear yet—you can still hear it rattling around above you, leaves slapping against each other, branches creaking as they tower over you.  You almost wish it were quiet.  You don’t feel comforted by the breeze anymore, it doesn’t feel like an ever present reassurance as much as it does a burden that masks the noises you could otherwise be hearing.  The snapping of twigs that could potentially be there.  The crunching of leaves under feet that aren’t your own.

So.  You should probably admit now that this was actually a horrendous idea.  Because you’re fucking stupid for not realizing this earlier, but.  Din ventured into this hellscape to find a quarry, did he not?

A… wanted criminal.

Shit.  What the fuck.  That’s a hell of a fucking thing to register this late, isn’t it?

You can turn around, you figure.  You can turn around right now and head back to the campsite—actually, that sounds like a great idea.  You should do that.

You spin around and begin retracing your steps… which, you figure out about five minutes later, is an impossible feat.  None of your surroundings look familiar—or shit, maybe it all looks familiar.  Like… trees.  And fucking rocks.  Trying to distinguish landmarks is almost impossible now, and there’s no way to tell which direction you’re going with no visibility overhead, no celestial body to guide you.

You don’t immediately panic, not until you (quite literally) stumble upon a small stream of water flowing through some stones under your feet.

Well, okay.  That’s not good.  Okay, well, no, you suppose that could be good.  It’s water—it’s a landmark, sure, the tiniest little landmark you've ever seen, but that’s exactly the problem.  You’ve never seen it before.  Which means you’re most definitely not going in the right direction.

At this point, the only option you have is to turn around again.  Maybe you can unintentionally make the same series of stupid mistakes once more to start you right at the beginning.  The kid is still glancing around in his cradle, making sure no harm comes to your useless ass, but then you freeze when you begin to hear something in the distance.  

It’s an unfamiliar sound—a deafening one, even from this far away.  Long and echoing, a giant chorus of… something.  Something you’ve never heard before, something you can’t place.

Your heart is thundering as you walk closer to the source of it, moving slowly and cautiously forwards and having no clue what it could possibly be.  It doesn’t seem to amplify much as you travel closer, which means it must be a ways away still.  It’s terrifying nonetheless—the anticipation, how sweaty your hands are, the way you’re very aware of the muscles in your stomach for some reason.

The baby coos softly at your side, but the suddenness of the gentle noise nearly makes you jump out of your skin.  You gasp and look down at him for the first time in what feels like ages, clutching at your chest, but then—

—then footsteps rush you from behind and something grabs at your shirt.

You react completely on instinct, your body nearly throbbing with adrenaline as you whip around and launch a mean jab aimed at the dark silhouette behind you.  It slams directly into his solar plexus hard enough to bend him in half and ripple through your whole arm with the blowback.  Your other fist pulls back and instantly goes for him again, but he just barely manages to jerk his arm up and block it in time—

And thank the Maker he does.  Because you were just an inch shy from colliding your knuckles against the side of his head in your wild stage of panic.  The one currently covered in devastatingly strong, shiny metal, the helmet just barely visible in the dark forest.

It’s like it doesn’t even register with you—you’re already going to hit him again when Din’s hand hooks around your arm and he yanks you forwards.  Your body slams into his and then he’s wrapping himself around you and holding suffocatingly tight.  Everything inside you still wants to struggle against him, gasping into his shoulder as your heart continues to gallop with terror no matter what your logic tells you.  But he holds harder than steel and the sound of his voice eventually returns to you after a moment, repeating harsh words at you through a familiar vocal filter.

“—me, it’s me, it’s me, I’m right here, stop it, stop it, stop—”

You blink desperately against black fabric, letting the familiar scent, touch, and embrace bring you back down again.  He’s so solid—has such a strong hold on you, absolutely no give to be found, and the devastatingly tight embrace manages to quickly settle you.

But he doesn’t wait long.  As soon as you stop fighting him, he releases you in favor of grabbing your shoulders and shoving you out at arm’s length, frantically jerking the helmet up and down your body and twisting you back and forth while he looks.  Your arms dangle with the inspection and you readily let him move you around like a rag doll, not having enough sense to register anything beyond safe.  You’re safe.  Everything seems to exist in a box right now, far away and yet compact at the same time.  The visor snaps back up to your face and you blink dazedly up at him.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately tell him, voice pitched high and awkward, “woah, hah—whew, ahah—I’m sorry, I-I’m just—“

His fingers hook at your chin and he pulls it up, tilting your head back and forth, allowing the small patch of moonlight beaming through the treetops to catch the water in your eyes.  It glints in shameless betrayal, and you try unsuccessfully to blink it away despite the damage already being done.  Din drops his arm and you lower your chin without the platform propping it up.

“You just—you just—” you gasp out, delayed relief suddenly filling you and making your voice wobble dangerously, “—y-you went on a hunt but you left your armor.  You left your guns, you left everything.  I didn’t know—what could’ve happened, I—why’d you do that?  W-Why—why didn’t you t-tell m—”

He wraps his hand behind your head and pulls you into his chest once more, not saying a single word.  This hug is just as tight as before, just in a different way.  He still uses it as a way to calm you and it still squeezes the air from your body, but this one doesn’t feel like it’s entirely for your benefit anymore.

It takes you a few more seconds to realize his hands are trembling.

You go to pull back, but he tightens, anchoring you to him.  “What’s—” you gasp against the fabric covering his shoulder, “—what’s wrong?  Are you okay?  Where’s the quarry?  What’s—what’s making that sound?  Are we safe?”

Din takes slow, shallow breaths, and you hear it almost too well with your ear shoved against his body.  Little by little, he loosens his grip on you.  Both of you are still panting by the time you’re able to wrench back and look up at him.

Bare, shaky hands push your hair back away from your face, eventually coming to rest framing both of your cheeks.  They’re warm and strong where his fingers wrap around the bend of your jaw, securing you in place, and when he speaks, he sounds like he’s been through hell and back.

“Don’t ever,” Din whispers brokenly, tugging a little bit to make sure you’re listening.  “Don’t ever—ever run away from me like that.  Ever again.  Understand?”

You stare up at him, wide-eyed and dumb, unmoving.  Is that what he thinks?  That you were trying to… to run away from him?

“I—I wasn’t running,” you immediately stutter out, blinking rapidly at him and trying not to let the confusion show on your face.  “I’d never run—I-I told you I wouldn’t—” 

“I came back and you were gone,” he breathes, his quivering thumbs brushing along the height of your cheekbones.  “I—my kid, he was gone, everything was gone, I-I…”  The helmet shakes back and forth the slightest bit, and then he drops his grip to clamp down on your shoulders, clearing the fragile turmoil from his throat and hardening his tone.  “Listen, you can’t do that—you can’t take my kid and just… just disappear like that, please, promise me you won’t do that agai—”

“You disappeared,” you accuse with a whisper, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you.

“Promise me,” he urges, shaking you enough to make your head bobble just slightly, and the quiet plead of his voice through the modulator compels you to acquiesce without a second thought.

“I promise I won’t disappear,” you vow to him, unwavering and earnest.  “Now promise you won’t, either.”

Din stares at you for a moment, his body tense and completely stationary.  He’s still breathing heavy though, his chest rising and falling hard enough for you to count.  One, two, three…   Seven.  Seven whole breaths, before he finally responds.

“I promise,” he eventually declares, before taking a step forward and crowding you, pulling your shoulders in and slowly tilting his helmet down until it rests against your forehead.  The cool metal feels like ice on your burning skin—but you ignore it and allow him to get as close as he can possibly be, to hold you tight and keep you there.  “I promise,” he goes on, “that if you ever—that if something ever happens to you two, and you just… just vanish on me like that again—then I’d—I’d…”

And then his next words steal the air from your lungs, wipe your head clear of any thoughts whatsoever—the hushed, vehement sincerity in his voice.  Yet… calm.  Certain, composed, and with purpose.  Almost as if he could only get you to understand one thing, then he would want it to be this.

“Then I’d tear this whole galaxy apart to find you,” he tells you quietly, tightening his hands on your arms and swearing an oath to you.  “Both.  Both of you.  I’d—I’d never stop.  I’d rain hell.  Tell me you understand.”

“I… I understand,” you finally murmur, and Din quickly pulls you to his chest and wraps himself around you once more without another word.  His fingers tangle in your hair and encourage you to rest your face in the crook of his neck, so you do.  Even though his helmet jabs uncomfortably at your cheek like this, you do your best to just settle down and breathe him in, bring your hands up to rub at his back and wait for his heart rate to slow.

Eventually it does.  It seems like it takes ages, but eventually he's able to unwind his large stature from around you, letting you have a bit more of your own space.  He doesn’t take his hands off you, though—his palm drags down your elbow and catches your bare hand in his, gently tugging.

“Let’s go,” he says quietly, beginning to lead you… somewhere.  Probably out of the forest and back to the ship, but you don’t question it and completely forget about the low rumbling still echoing in the distance.  You follow directly behind him and away from the mysterious sound, the fingers of your right hand still laced with his left, knowing there are far more important questions to be asked.

“Din,” you whisper, but he doesn’t need anymore prompting.

“I thought I’d be quick enough,” he admits, pulling you along by your hand.  “It’s barely been a couple hours.”

You stay silent and focus on your feet, letting him go at his own pace.  More than once he plays bodyguard, standing in front of wickedly sharp branches while you and the kid pass, and there’s never anything said beyond a quiet ‘thank you’ every time he does it.

“I’ve…” he says after a while.  “I’ve been doing this job for awhile.  And there are things… things you learn.  Quick.  Ways to predict people, ways to get in their heads.  Last known locations tell you a lot about a quarry.  Smart ones go to populated planets, planets like Coruscant, planets that make it nearly impossible to find people.  Brave ones go to dangerous planets, suicidal ones try their luck in the Unknown Regions, idiots continue to go about their business on their homeworld without caring.  But planets like this—like Naboo… those are the pacifists.  The ones that don’t ever put up a fight.  Watch your feet.”

You blink and stumble over a hidden root nonetheless, trying to keep up both physically and mentally.  Din tightens his grip and catches you by your elbow.

“This one was like you,” he goes on, pulling you up and leading you forward once more.  “Wasn’t trying to run.  Just wanted to spend his last few months hiding out on the most beautiful place in the galaxy before he got caught.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?  Why’d you go in the middle of the night?”  You whisper, not upset anymore.  Just trying to understand.  “You couldn’t have waited until morning?”  But Din just shrugs.

“I didn’t want to remind you.”  His sentence is short and stunted, yet serves to answer all three of your questions without providing any information beyond that, the unspoken sentiment barreling forth and smashing into you full force.  He didn’t want to remind you.  He wanted to leave while you were asleep and then return before you woke up, never letting you remember that responsibilities exist beyond this gorgeous planet for the time being.

You’re a bit shocked, to be honest.  In hindsight, though, you suppose it makes sense.  Din was the one who navigated to this sector, kept the bag out of your reach the whole day.  If the kid had decided to wake up just an hour or two later, he would’ve been back by then, and you would’ve never known any different.

“Anyway,” he clears his throat, and a wave tiredness suddenly grips you.  Fuck.  Too much thinking.  “The quarry went willingly, they always do when their last wish is to chase down a pretty landscape.  Nice guy.  Found him camped out by a giant—”

Din suddenly goes oddly quiet, and you’re too exhausted to push it.  You’re starting to drag a little bit.  You woke up in blind panic and have been on edge ever since, and now that you know things are okay, your body just wants more sleep.  The trees blur as you keep moving forward, zoning out and knowing you likely have another few miles of walking before you’re back.

You almost trip over him.  You don’t even notice he’s there until you nearly run into him.  In your defense, the only visible part of him is his helmet; the clothing is too dark under the thick treetops to see anything else.  Still, it takes you a second, and you blink down at Din’s crouched figure in front of you, blocking your intended path.

“Up,” he turns to mutter over his shoulder when you ultimately fail to comprehend.

…There’s no way.

Hesitantly, you lift one of your knees to his side and feel his arm firmly hook under it.  Emboldened, you lean down until your forearm can wrap around the front of him, and then you do a stupid little bunny hop along the curve of his spine.  Din easily catches your other leg before rising up.

He bounces you higher on his back once he’s upright, and you’re automatically resting your chin on his shoulder and clinging to him, your heart filling with butterflies as he begins trudging forward.

It’s… oddly comfortable.  As long as you keep your arms wrapped tight around his chest, you can bury your face into him and drift in and out.  He goes out of his way to keep you as level as you can possibly be, trying to soften his steps so your jaw doesn’t bounce on top of him while he steps over fallen logs and ducks to avoid low hanging leaves.

Later—you’re not sure how long it’s been, his voice comes through the modulator, ringing with your ear pressed against the helmet no matter how quiet he tries to be.  

“How’d you know I went on a hunt?”  He asks, and there’s a soft reservation in his tone, as if he doesn’t really want to speak but needs to ask you anyways.

“Mmm?”  You slur into the fabric stretching over his shoulder, probably drooling on it a bit, too.  “Hmm?”

His voice increases marginally in volume, but still maintains a gentle undertone that lulls you into relaxing deeper.  “You knew I left to look for the quarry—how?”

“Fob,” you tell him tiredly, not having much energy to spare the words.  “Wasn’t in the bag.”

You’re too out of it at this point, it takes a moment to realize Din has abruptly slowed down.  “How’d you know there was a tracking—”

“You’re… reflective?”  You ask, though you don’t really know why you’re asking.  “S’to your detriment.  Sometimes.”

That seems to stun him somewhat, halting him in place for the time being.  The biggest response it gets from you is the tiniest little eyebrow twitch inwards, wondering why the steady movements of your transportation seems to have temporarily stalled.  “How’d you know I left my armor?”

“Hmm?”  You ask again, not really hearing him.

“Hey, stay awake for a second,” he bounces you and you groggily mutter something under your breath that even you can’t comprehend.  Din glosses over it while you blink your eyes open.  “Tell me how you knew.  You didn’t go back to the Crest.”

You drag your head off his shoulder and squint around, looking around at the edge of the forest and the flowing grass beyond and trying to think with your stupid, tired brain, really needing to focus on the question.  “…No?”

The curiosity in his voice can’t be masked, not by him nor the filter through which it’s processed.  “So how did you know I left my armor on it?”

“You would’ve left a trail,” you shrug. “The grass is tall.”

“I could’ve just taken the path we made earlier,” he eventually proposes, still completely motionless in the middle of the relatively sparse number of trees leading to it.  “Gone back to the ship exactly the way we came.”

“Y’could’ve,” you admit with a yawn. “But the ship is that way,” you lazily raise your arm and point a good fifty or so degrees to the left, and Din follows his own outstretched gauntlet you’re still sporting around your hand with the visor.

“I’m impressed,” he finally says, shifting you on his back but perfectly content to keep his feet rooted to the spot.  “I didn’t think you had a good sense of direction.  You know where the Crest is on this planet but not when we were on Canto Bight.”

You snort a laugh.  No, no you have no such thing—you got lost as fuck in this forest.  A good sense of direction counts as a solid survival skill, and you’d say you still very much lack most of those.  Besides pulling water out of thin air, you can’t claim to know much of anything at all in that department.

“Mmm.  No, that was just—“ you shake your head.  “Y’know, jus’ some… panicked?  Math?  That’s all.”

“Panicked…” Din repeats slowly, “…math.”

You nod, frustrated that he’s still not moving, clearly waiting for you to explain your rapid, chaotic thought process from earlier.  Still, you do your best for him, trying not to slur your words too much.  “We… walked towards the sun this morning to get to the field.  I remember, because your shiny ass was blinding me the entire time, what must’ve been like.  A whole fucking hour?  At least.  And… and then we walked a little less to get here, forty-five minutes probably, then me ‘n the kid watched the sunset leaning up against that one log, which was at a solid angle—little more than fifty degrees to the right from the path.  You could’ve retraced your steps from earlier if you really wanted to, but taking the shortcut would’ve shaved off about...” you snuggle your face into his shoulder deeper for a moment and think really hard about it.  “Thirty minutes?  Or an hour round trip.  Give or take, since the kid slowed us down.”

He still doesn’t move, and you huff quietly, feeling like you’re on top of a stubborn blurg that just can’t be fucking bothered.  Should you squeeze your legs around his middle?  Will that work?

“You… went on a hunt, sweet girl,” Din finally says, bluntly, after way too long of a pause.  He sounds vaguely impressed for reasons beyond that of your comprehension right now.  “In your own little… panicked way.  How does it feel?”

“Unsuccessful,” you breathe, burying your forehead into his shoulder once more and blinking your eyes shut.  Too much thinking, too much thinking.  You need to sleep.

“You were on the right track,” he hums, bouncing you up and setting off again, and you can’t help yourself.  It’s completely involuntary, tumbles out of your mouth without thought.

“Craziest bounty hunter in the guild,” you slur, and Din doesn’t give you even a shred of the laughs that deserves.

“I should make you walk just for that,” he threatens instead, though he does no such thing.  He just keeps leaning forward in a position that can’t be comfortable for him and lets you fall asleep on his back, holding you tight to his body as he finally breaks out of the last trees and continues hiking through the familiar field to go back home.

***

You rouse twice.  Once, when hands allow your legs to slowly slide down a firm body and settle on solid metal.  He spins around to catch you before you can collapse, and then slowly eases your exhausted body down to the floor.

A bare hand cradles the back of your head until that finally settles down, too.

The second time, you can’t quite be sure of.  One of those moments where you’re barely conscious, drifting to the point where everything around you could be part of your dreamscape, where you can’t trust your own ears or mind to differentiate between what is real and what isn’t.  All you’d need is a single person telling you this didn’t actually happen and you’d accept it without question.

Pacing.  Quiet footsteps moving back and forth across the floor as you sleep, pausing every once in a while to stand in front of your slumbering figure.  Something unintelligible is mumbled as he walks away, the hollow thunk of boots clambering up a ladder.  Engines rumble to life under your ear, and gravity gently pushes you deeper against the flat metal supporting your body.

The footsteps soon return and start to pace around once more.

***

“Hey,” a quiet voice murmurs, your shoulder rocking back and forth slightly.  “Wake up.”

You blink your eyes open to a familiar visor looking down at you, his hand quickly leaving your shoulder and brushing a gloved thumb across your cheekbone when he sees you’re awake.  “Mm?  Din?  Wha’s—” you glance around you at the dark hull of the Razor Crest, before blinking your tired gaze back to him, “—s’going on?  Wha’ time s’it?”

“Late,” he whispers.  “We’re in the air.  I had to wait until the kid was asleep, but I want… I want you to see something.”

“What is it?”  Still blinking blearily, you sit up, but then Din grabs your hands and keeps your momentum going until you’re slowly dragged to your feet.  What you do when you’re standing upright doesn’t really qualify as standing or upright—you just sag against him with exhaustion as he wraps his forearms around your lower back, keeping you pressed tight against him as your ankles drag uselessly against the ground.

“Use your feet,” he reminds you quietly, and you harumph in a grumpy response.  Maker, you want to go back to sleep.  You’re sure you tell him as much, but he just shushes you and encourages you to hold yourself up, letting go while you steady yourself but hovering his palms a few inches away from your arms just in case.  “I want you to put my helmet on.”

“Excuse me?”  You ask him, swaying slightly and rubbing one of your eyes, not feeling amused.  “Is this some kind of… power trip?  Or something?  Because you’ve spent the last few days literally beating me up, I’d assume that would be enough for y—”

“I let you beat me up,” he grumbles under his breath.  “How are you ever gonna take a punch if it hurts you that bad to just throw one, sweet girl?”

“I’ll punch first,” you respond groggily, trying to move forwards so you can lean on him again, but being stopped by a firm grip on your shoulders.

“I know you will,” he mutters, letting go after a second to brush your hair away from your squinty eyes.  “Listen, I want you to put my helmet on, okay?”

You nuzzle your head into his leather palm and hum, giving it some thought.  “Are you gonna… turn on the light thingie?”  You clarify, not being able to remember what the setting is called, and he nods.

“Yes,” he tells you very seriously.  “There’s a… stars, a ‘noise thingie’ that I’ll turn on, too.  You won’t be able to see or hear for a little bit—you’ll have to trust me.”

“Is this for sex?”  You blurt as soon as the thought occurs to you, and Din sighs heavily, letting his head drop to his chest in exasperation.  “Like some sort of a… sensory deprivation thing?  Because if so, I can like—I mean I can get into it.”

“If I say yes, will you put it on?”  He tries, and.  Well, that question shouldn’t wake you up nearly as much as it does.  You blink at him, actually registering the sight of the mirrored visor this time.  Your gaze drops to see he’s back in full beskar regalia, his body looking even larger and broader with it on.

“Oh,” you say quite suddenly, remembering the question.  “Oh.  Shit yeah, I will.”

He shakes his head.  You’re getting better and better at reading him—becoming more fluent in helmet, one could say—and this head shake says he can’t believe he’s actually surprised that worked.  “It’s not for sex,” he tells you immediately, deadpanning the delivery even more than he typically would.  “Will you still put it on?”

You look at him blankly, wondering why this is even happening.  He said you’re in the air right now, and there’s… something he wants you to see?  Whatever this is, it’s spur of the moment.  Something he felt the need to wake you up for, but likely won’t push if you decline.

“Yeah,” you nod, “'course I will.”

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, tipping your chin up slightly in the dim hull so he can watch.  Since they already want to do so regardless of the gentle command, your lids readily dip shut and you wait patiently as his touch leaves you for a moment.

You’re already sagging a bit by the time one of his hands returns to your cheek, and then plush lips press gently to yours.  The sigh you give him is completely involuntary—aching and quiet and longing as you let it go right in his mouth, your expression narrowing with concentration.

But he’s quick.  He leans back before either of you can get lost in it and reminds you with a gorgeous, rumbling baritone, “You’ll have to trust me.”

You nod in confirmation and soon his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head.  This is the second time around he’s done this—and you suppose if you couple that with your still lazy demeanor, the silent darkness that comes along with it doesn’t bother you as much as it did a few months ago.  The padding still grips your cheeks and you still feel disconnected from your surroundings—even more so now than the last time he put it on you—but it’s welcoming, in a way.  Giving you a reason to cling to him and tilt your head with the unfamiliar weight, breathing slow and easy while isolated in your own little pitch black world.

Oh Maker, you could probably fall asleep again just like this, so long as he keeps holding you up.  But Din has other plans, clearly.  He eases you backwards, continues to walk you back and back and back some more, and you have no problem just going with it.  He’s strong, taking almost all of your weight and somehow instinctively knowing how to hold you so that you’re fully supported no matter how you’re positioned.  He shifts you to one arm at one point, does something with his free hand that you can’t really figure out but aren’t really bothered by either.

He guides you both a few more steps backwards, and you start to wonder how long the hull actually is.  But then he suddenly grabs you tight—tight enough to make your eyes pop open to the black void in front of you and panic slightly, before he tilts you back even more and suddenly the ground is dropping out from under your feet, the air rushing silently around your entire body.

Okay, now you full-on panic.

He doesn’t let go, thank the stars, even when you scramble up to straddle and cling to him, heart clanging hard against your sternum at his fucking audacity.  The jet pack?  Are there just no fucking rules anymore?

Sure enough, the thrusters kick in and he’s good enough with the phoenix to counteract the gravity shift as much as possible, making it a gradual thing instead of a rapid change in motion.  You’re almost confident you would’ve slipped out of his grip and gone slamming to the ground had he not done the preventative maneuver.

Regardless, you’re gonna fucking kill him.  You’re going to murder Mando and get your own bounty puck, one with your name on it.  It won’t end well; everyone after you will have a personal vendetta considering you offed one of their own.  If you survive the confrontation then you’ll likely get taken to mine spice somewhere for the rest of your miserable life, probably Kessel—that is, assuming he doesn’t kill you first, within the next however many minutes.

And oh, he seems like he takes his sweet fucking time, hauling your fuming, decapitated ass along on a late night joyride.  Every second he continues to allow you to fly in blind, deaf isolation is another butt whooping you’re vowing to give him, and it pisses you off even more that you can’t even express your righteous fury because you can’t let go of him.  You’re a parasite in midair, clinging to his metal body while he slowly descends, navigating you both down until you feel his boots finally meet solid ground.

You carefully reach for the ground with one foot and try to feel it with your tippie toes just in case he’s somehow tricking you, until Din drops you down and your feet mercifully meet dirt.  As soon as you find your balance, you shove an open palm against the metal of his chestplate in anger and Din quickly catches your wrist, the beskar shaking slightly under your hand like he found the whole thing rather humorous.

You don’t have much time to fuss.  He spins you around and then his hands settle on your shoulders, and for some reason… you only notice it now.  The fabric covering your torso and legs is gradually becoming damp for some reason.  You can’t feel any real splashes of water—no raindrops or anything, but it gets worse and worse the longer he holds you steady in front of him.

His hands eventually drag down your arms and elbows, until they’re catching your wrists and slowly pulling both of them up.  Din cradles the backs of your hands as he presses your palms against the cold metal helmet around your head, and then he gradually begins to pull it up, and—

—Loud.

You stop for a second.

… Tears spring up.

Din keeps pulling.

What starts out as a dull hiss continuously amplifies as the beskar slowly lifts, growing louder and louder in volume until it’s a deafening, violent, thunderous roar.

Yet still, you don’t open your eyes.  You just… listen to it.  Let the sound of it fill your heart, the same sound you caught earlier in the forest but now amplified exponentially, almost surrounding you with reverberating white noise.  Your whole body is practically drenched in water by the time you finally open your eyes and blink through the heavy mist.

He said no oceans, and he was right.  It isn’t an ocean—it’s… something so unbelievably beautiful that you don’t even have a name for it.  You don’t want one, not really.  There isn’t a name that would be good enough.  It’s easily—by and far, in your measley handful of decades of existence—the most majestic thing you’ve ever seen.  A gigantic, enormous cliff dwarfs you on three sides, with tens of thousands of tons of water arcing over their sharp edges and plunging into the rocky lake below.  

The cloud of droplets ricocheting from the base of the jaw dropping cascade is massive in and of itself—easily taking up a good quarter of your field of view even from this distance away.  The shore sits close enough but the spectacle is still somewhat distant, remaining an untouchable heaven, a gorgeous lake separating you from it and rippling with waves that settle to lap at the sand.

The rest of the setting comes later, after you’re able to process the main event.  You’re in the middle of the forest from before—familiar colossal trees wrap around the shoreline and vibrant shrubbery blankets the edges of the falling water, evergreen and fed by a constant nourishing mist.  The sun is also beginning to come up.  You can’t see it yet, but you can see the way the sky is starting to gradient itself from a starry midnight blue to pale lavender, the first rays beginning to peak over the treetops.

You feel yourself take a few, slow steps forward, but leather catches your hand from behind and gives it a firm squeeze before you can move completely out of reach.  You don’t even have to look back at him to know what it means.  The sentiment transfers seamlessly—be careful, he says, before dropping it and letting you continue forth.

Reaching the shore brings even more beauty to a backdrop you didn’t think could get any better.  You have to carefully step over—oh, heavens—small, transparent crystals tinted every color you can imagine to reach the water, sparkling under the gently lapping waves.  They’re like thin, flat shards of glass, and you know that if the sound of the falling water wasn’t so deafening, you’d probably be able to hear the muted crunching noise they make shattering under your boots with every cautious step.  Jagged edges and multicolored powder is all that’s left in your wake, no matter how careful you try to be.

You almost don’t want to move since they’re so delicate and everywhere, probably blanketing the entire floor of the lake, but you push forward with purpose until you’re just close enough to squat down and dip your fingers into the cool water.  It’s crystal clear and reflects the lightening sky with every gentle ripple and disturbance.  You study the pieces of glass as the repetitive waves distort their shape, the colorful shards turning to smooth, round pebbles the closer they are to the water.  A large green one catches your eye—circular and comparatively tiny, but standing out amongst all the rest.

You pluck it from the shore and let the almost perfectly round emerald sphere roll around in your palm, scanning the shallow water once more.  Then, ah—there, you reach out and grab a slightly larger, heavier, unassuming brown one that you have to hold up to the gradually rising sun to see its sparkle.  It’s got harder edges and feels rougher in your hand but you like it that way.  You like that there’s a bit of a warm amber at its center when the light hits it right.

Perfect.  Taking another moment to study your choices, you eventually end up finding a gorgeous, slightly pearlescent piece that sits just between the size of the other two in your collection.  It’s tinted a pale, off-white amongst a sea of color and there’s something gentle about it that speaks to you, something that feels right about the gradual sloping curves and how it sits in your palm.

Carefully pocketing the three pieces of fragile glass and rising up, you glance back to see Din standing there, helmet on once more and frozen right where you last left him.

He looks… awkward, almost.  Holding his hands behind his back, all his weight shifted to one foot while the other twists back and forth against the ground just slightly.  Nervous, for some reason.  Feeling unsure of his place.  The posture tugs at your heartstrings, as well as the spectacular gesture, and you soon make your way back to him.

“Where did you… where did you find this!?”  You have to yell over the rushing water once you get close enough.  “I didn’t see anything on the navcomp—”

“—wasn’t—navcomp—” he replies, barely just loud enough for you to hear.  You miss most of it, but you’re able to piece together the gist based on what little you can catch.  “—quarry—isolated sector—uncharted.”

Uncharted.  It’s uncharted, the navcomp wouldn’t register it.  Untouched by millennia of progress.  Plenty of people have probably seen it before, but apparently none of them have ever told anybody about it.  The universe is vast but it’s also old—it’s unbelievable that cartographers have plotted almost the entire galaxy but they still missed something like this.

The roar of the marvel is so deafening, it takes you a moment to realize he’s still speaking

“—nobody—yet—it—” he nods the helmet out at the spectacular landmark, “—it’s yours—you want—”

“My what!?”  You bellow, but he doesn’t clarify or add anything new.  He just spins you around again, extending his arm out over your shoulder to point at the breathtaking view and then dropping his helmet down next to your ear.

“Yours,” Din repeats firmly, resolutely.  Nothing more to be said.

You’re not sure if you’re crying yet, there’s too much water in the air to tell.  All you can do is just instinctively lean all your weight back into his chest and let his arms lace around your body, and you have to blink the droplets away as they start to trail down your forehead and into your eyes.  He keeps you like that until the rising sun begins to reflect off the cloud of mist at the rocky base of the monument, scattering light in all directions and splitting it into a beautiful spectrum that reflects every color.

You wonder if Din can see it.  You wonder if there’s a filter on his helmet that isn’t infrared or night vision, where a computer isn’t constantly alerting him to movement or sudden changes in atmospheric pressure.  Just… pure, unobstructed, visible light.  You know there’s probably all sorts of tracking measures programmed in, you know he can zoom and spot a sniper from a vast distance—you know he sees things you don’t.  Things you won’t ever see.  But you also hope the visor isn’t shaded too dark—you hope there’s a setting that works like a one way mirror, if only so that he can also see the beauty of this planet the same exact way you can.

You eventually turn in his arms and take one small step away from him just so you can look at him, and sure enough, the visor is tilted up towards the natural beauty.  Your eyes study every inch of him as if you’ve never seen him before, as if he may as well have taken the helmet off right in front of you.  This is thoughtful.  It’s so fucking thoughtful of him.  For being such a mystery, this right here… this is soul bearing.  It’s not an ocean, it’s a million times better than one and the fact that he not only remembered you telling him something like that, but he actually flew you out here to see it.  It makes your chest ache with an unknown feeling, one you still have trouble recognizing.  It settles down right in the softest part of you, makes your mouth open and give it a four letter name.

You say it so softly, confess it knowing he’s not looking, knowing he’d never be able to hear above the sound of the cascading rapids crashing against the rocks below.  You can’t hear it either, but you can feel it.  The way the word lilts off your tongue, the simple truth in it that’s impossible to hide from any longer.

He glances back at you, before doing a double take.  Gently, Din pushes at your shoulder and urges you to face forward again, to take all of it in while you still can, and yet.

All you can see is him.

His head slowly turns back down to face you, and your eyes keep shamelessly scanning every bit of him, watching the mist droplets chase each other down the reflective metallic curves and contours of his helmet.  Din slowly leans in, carefully eases his arm under yours and wraps tight around your lower back to bring you closer to his side.  You sigh and press up against him, your palm creeping up the damp fabric wrapped around his throat.  The visor doesn’t leave you, even when your temple comes to rest against his pauldron.  No, he just allows the smooth metal covering his forehead to gently touch yours for a moment and hold there.  Both of you tucked away in the middle of a hidden paradise, standing in front of a gorgeous monument crafted by the hands of the Maker himself.  

And, like the two starry eyed idiots you are, neither one of you can seem to look away from the other.

You mouth a silent thank you to him, hoping he can read the heartfelt candor from your lips.  Something tells you your message was received, because his grip tightens.  As if in slow motion, his whole body lazily drops down just enough to scoop you up with an arm hooked under your knees—before Din suddenly rockets upwards.

You squeal and cling tight to his shoulders as he lifts you up higher, and higher—he slowly rises across the considerable length of the lake and closer to the falling water.  You’re already beyond drenched but as he gradually approaches the base of the falling water, it starts raining down and splashing you in buckets.

Once he’s near enough to the powerful, arcing column pouring over the long rocky edge, Din carefully spins around and hovers until his back faces it, which means you can hide your nose and mouth from the splashes against the armor shielding his shoulder.  He slowly rises up the length of the natural landmark and lets you watch the rushing water up close behind the safety of his body, sacrificing his own view so that yours can be all the better.

Eventually the falling waves break and you look down at the broad, gorgeous rapids flowing out towards you, the sun casting its dawning light over their foaming peaks.  Din spins around and you adjust yourself accordingly against his chest, knowing you’ll never have a view like this again.  He flies low along the river and you can see the colorful glass sparkling through the strong, yet completely transparent current.  Soon he levels out and you cling tight to him, burying your face in the soaking wet fabric of the cowl wrapped around his neck and sighing, unable to recall a time you’ve ever been happier.  It swells in your heart and warms your entire body even as it’s drenched in cool water, and you wonder again how he could’ve ever thought you were running from him.  How could he ever think you’d run from him when all he’s ever done is give you wings?

***

The Crest hurdles through hyperspace while Din silently removes his armor and then strips you both of your sopping wet clothes.  You remember your glass souvenirs at the very last second and carefully remove them from your pockets despite your closed eyes, reaching out to hand them to Din without looking.  His palm catches the pebbles with the quiet sound of them clinking together, and you feel him pause for a second, probably studying them as he cradles them in the dim, single fluorescent light he left on.

You feel him leave you momentarily, hear him gently set them down someplace safe without a word.  When he comes back and his warm arms snake around you once more, he lowers you down to the blankets and then proceeds to make the softest love to you he knows how on the floor of his ship.  

A small part of you wishes you were still on Naboo, but somehow.  Somehow, despite the dead quiet hull, it’s better than anything you can remember.

His naked body presses tight to yours, his mouth always open and tasting wherever you’ll let him venture, never letting you forget for a single second that he’s just as bare and exposed as you are.  Your hands take full advantage, feeling everything.  The strong, rippling muscles of his back as he props himself over you, the soft hair curling at his nape, the length of his spine shielding you from the rest of the ship, allowing you the opportunity to pretend you’re somewhere else if you really tried.  If you tried, you could convince yourself you’ve got a mattress beneath you instead of a blanket draped over hard steel.  You could convince yourself your eyes are open while he kisses you, despite knowing it’ll never be allowed.

But… you don’t.  You don’t need to.  There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

And then at one point, his mouth is between your legs and you see a flash of his forehead on complete accident.

To see it on any other person would be nothing, it would mean absolutely nothing.  It’s not like it somehow makes him anymore recognizable to you—plenty of people share the same exact features, you still wouldn’t know him out of a trillion different faces.  He could walk right by you and you’d never know.  Technically, it’s not even his face—it’s just a small fragment of it.  But to you, the quickest glimpse of dark, wavy locks curtaining over the smooth, golden skin just below his hairline… it means everything to you.  You sear it into your memory, right alongside the sight of crystalline water roaring over an enormous cliff edge.

You never tell him you saw.  He never finds out.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #fanfic #reader insert

[morganaspendragonss]

if every breath is sacred

When Carlos wakes up, flames and smoke are filling the room, but TK is nowhere to be seen. He knows the protocols for being in a fire: sit tight, stay low to the ground, wait for help to arrive. But, it’s TK. Protocols have always gone straight out of the window when it comes to TK. So, Carlos—

Well, Carlos does probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his  life.

He grabs two t-shirts from a drawer, holds one over his mouth and nose, and plunges into the inferno.

ao3 | 2.1k | 2.12 spec

The air in their bedroom is sour with a rage Carlos knows isn’t directed at him, yet he can’t help but feel guilty for it anyway. TK is curled up on his side of the bed, back to Carlos, his arms wrapped tightly around himself and his breaths far too carefully even for him to be asleep.

Carlos wants to call him out on it, but he doesn’t want to make things worse than they already are.

He knows he’s not the one TK’s mad at - they’ve had that conversation already - and Carlos is angry too. Mainly at Owen for being so stupid, but also a little bit at his dad even though he knows he was just doing his job. It’s more that they put him in the impossible situation of having to explain to his boyfriend that his father was arrested than anything else; seeing TK’s face fall at the news felt like one of the worst moments of Carlos’s life.

They’ll have to talk about this eventually - tomorrow, hopefully - but, right now, it’s better to just let TK’s anger run its course. 

Which is why Carlos bites his tongue when TK suddenly throws the sheets back and climbs out of bed, leaving the room with only a muttered comment about getting a drink. He sighs, listening to TK’s heavier-than-usual footsteps, relieved when he hears the quiet click of the kettle as opposed to the coffee machine. At least now there’s a chance of TK coming back to bed and getting some sleep, albeit a small one.

Carlos throws his arm over his eyes as the sounds quiet. He’s exhausted and, much as he wants to stay up for TK, he can’t resist the pull of sleep. So he lets himself drift off, praying that things will be easier in the morning.

*

He wakes to the scent of smoke invading his nostrils, harsh coughs already ripping from his throat even as he blinks the remains of sleep away. Carlos frowns, his brain taking a second to register the dim orange glow under the bedroom door for what it is.

Fire.

His eyes widen and he turns to warn TK -

But, TK’s not there. 

The bathroom light isn’t on, either, which means… Which means, he never made it back to bed.

Which means he’s still downstairs.

Carlos jumps out of bed and races to the door, yanking it open, only to come to a sudden halt as flames jump up at him from the stairs. The smoke is thick, but he can see enough to tell that the ground floor has already been overwhelmed by the fire, and that it probably won’t be long until it makes its way up here. His heart is threatening to pound out of his chest with fear and worry, but he forces himself to concentrate, to slip into first responder mode; panicking won’t help TK, nor will it get them out of this mess.

Returning into the bedroom, he snatches his phone from the bedside table and dials, sliding to the floor as more and more smoke invades the room.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“My house, it’s on fire. My boyfriend and I are trapped inside, but I don’t know where he is. He went downstairs to get a drink and I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, there was fire everywhere and he still wasn’t back.”

“Could you give me your address, sir?”

Carlos rattles off his details, suppressing the tickle in his throat for as long as he can before he’s overwhelmed by coughing again. He can hear the dispatcher on the other end saying something, but he can’t make out what.

When the coughs die out, he takes heaving breaths of air, already in short supply. The dispatcher is still talking, so Carlos focuses.

“-ir? Sir, are you there?”

“I’m here,” he gasps eventually, closing his eyes.

“Good, help is on the way. For the time being, is there anywhere you can go to escape from the smoke?”

Carlos shakes his head, before remembering that the action is redundant. “No. There’s nowhere.”

“Alright, just hang tight. Fire and medical should be with you in around six minutes.”

Six minutes.

Too long.

Carlos glances back to the door, his mind going to TK and how long he must have been in the flames and smoke for. A chill goes through him as he realises he doesn’t even know, and he just... He needs to make sure he’s okay.

He may be a cop, and not a firefighter, but Carlos knows the protocols for being in a fire. Sit tight, stay low to the ground, wait for help to arrive. But, it’s TK. Protocols have always gone straight out of the window when it comes to TK. So, Carlos—

Well, Carlos does probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his entire life.

He grabs two t-shirts from a drawer, holds one over his mouth and nose, and plunges into the inferno.

*

Flames lick at his exposed skin and thick, black smoke clogs his lungs, the thin cloth of the t-shirt doing next to nothing to halt its path. His eyes are burning, vision obscured with how much they’re watering, but Carlos pushes on, squinting through the haze to search for any sign of his boyfriend.

Navigating his house is difficult, everything seeming alien in this strange half-light, but he manages, and eventually he stumbles - almost literally - over a crumpled figure against the far wall.

“TK!” he cries, or tries to. It comes out hoarse, and quieter than he intended, so Carlos clears his throat and tries again and again and again until he drops down on his knees next to TK. 

“TK,” he says again, shaking his shoulder. TK’s eyes are closed, but they flutter when Carlos shakes him harder. “Come on, baby, open your eyes.”

TK must listen to him, because, slowly, his eyes blink open, widening as he takes in the scene around them. Carlos presses the second t-shirt into his hands and he nods in understanding, raising it to his mouth.

“Help is coming,” Carlos says, mouth close to TK’s ear. “Just a couple more minutes.”

TK nods again and lowers the shirt. He opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t get a sound out before a round of coughing comes over him, causing him to fold in on himself. It’s loud enough that TK misses the cracking sound coming from right above his head, the thin trickle of dust raining down on them.

TK misses it, but Carlos doesn’t.

His boyfriend’s name tears out of him, and he just has time to shove TK as hard as he can before the ceiling comes crashing down.

Carlos chokes, suddenly finding it even harder to breathe, as if it wasn’t near impossible before. He’s pinned, the only movement he has left in his right hand. If he strains, he can just about see TK, who’s staring at him with a horrified expression. Carlos attempts a smile, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t work.

His lungs spasm as he tries and fails to take a breath, his entire body burning with the weight crushing him. His vision is dimming, and he knows it’s likely only seconds before he loses consciousness—and, judging by TK’s slow blinks, the same is true for him.

Carlos prays that whichever station was dispatched gets to them soon, but if this is the end - and he really, really wants it not to be - then he can only think to be grateful that they’re in it together. Carefully, he inches his hand forward, stretching his fingers out until they meet TK’s, and he grips on with all the strength he has left in his body.

“I love you,” he chokes out. He doesn’t know if TK hears him, but he knows that he understands by the way his fingers close around Carlos’s.

TK’s lips move, the roaring flames and the pounding of his own heart making it impossible for Carlos to hear him; still, he knows. It’s a comfort, and he gives TK’s hand one last squeeze before all the energy leaves him and his eyes drift shut.

A flash of blue lights up the room behind Carlos’s closed eyelids, but he doesn’t get a chance to figure out what it means before the darkness swallows him whole.

*

TK doesn’t know how he got here. 

He comes back to awareness slowly, a sudden panic constricting his already tight chest as he stares up at the night sky, his mind trying desperately to work out what’s going on. The last thing he remembers, he was in their front room, surrounded by fire, and Carlos—

Carlos.

TK gasps, his lungs on fire, his back arching and his fingers clawing at what he now realises is a gurney - whether he’s fighting for air or to get to Carlos, he doesn’t know.

Either way, he’s quickly pushed back down and an oxygen mask is pressed against his face.

“TK, I need you to calm down,” a familiar voice - Tommy’s - says. 

“Carlos -”

“He’s in good hands, I promise you,” she cuts in, an evasion tactic if TK’s ever heard one. “You’re my priority right now; just focus on breathing for me, alright?”

TK wants to fight, but he still doesn’t have any strength in him, and he’s powerless to do anything as he’s lifted into the ambulance and taken away.

*

He hates hospitals. After the kidnapping, after Grace and Judd, TK had hopes not to have to enter one again for a while. 

He should have known that was just wishful thinking.

This is the worst one, he thinks. He’s not allowed to leave his bed for another day at least, the burns he’d suffered are superficial, but he’d inhaled a lot of smoke and the doctors want to make sure his O2 levels are stable before letting him go.

That would be unbearable enough, but it’s made worse by the fact that he can’t see Carlos. All he’s been told is that Carlos’s injuries were far worse than his own and that he’s been put on a ventilator because his body is too damaged. A horrible guilt wells in TK’s gut at that knowledge - it’s his fault Carlos isn’t awake right now. He knows Carlos saved him when the ceiling came down, and he wishes he hadn’t; he really didn’t need to know what being on the other side of a coma is like.

A quiet knock on the doorframe reaches his ears and he looks up, expecting it to be his dad or one of the team. Instead, he’s surprised to see Carlos’s mom standing there, her eyes red, and a terrifying coldness floods his body.

“Mrs Reyes,” he says, voice trembling. “Is everything okay? Carlos, is he -”

“He’s okay,” she replies, giving him a wobbly smile as she walks towards him. “Or, there’s been no change, which the doctors tell us is a good thing. Gabriel is with him, but I wanted to come and check up on you.”

TK swallows guiltily, wincing slightly at the lingering soreness in his throat. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Ah. I see Carlitos didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“I raised four children, TK,” she says, a hint of a real smile on her lips. “I know when someone is lying to me.”

TK flushes and looks down at the bedsheets, picking at them idly. “You’re right. I’m not okay, but I don’t think I will be until he wakes up.”

“You care for him a lot.”

“With all my heart.”

She nods and pats his hand, the simple, yet comforting, touch breaking something in TK. His eyes fill with tears and he lets his head fall back on the pillow as his chest heaves with sobbing. It irritates his throat, but he doesn’t care, not when there’s a greater pain that reaches right down to his very soul. 

Mrs Reyes holds him against her without hesitation, not complaining even though his cries must be making a mess of her shirt.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, stroking his hair in a way that makes TK yearn for a mother he never really had. “Everything will be okay. My Carlitos is a fighter, and I know that he is doing everything he can right now to get back to us. To you.”

TK sniffles, and hangs onto her words with everything he has.

Four days later, Carlos’s eyes open and, for the first time since the fire, TK think he can finally breathe again.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #andrea reyes #tk x carlos #lone star #911ls #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #userjillian #tuserjamie #userkimmy #tuserpaige #tuserjenny #reyeslonestartag

[imaginetonyandbucky]

(Give Me A) Reason to Live

A/N: By popular demand, here is a sequel to Keeping Me Alive.

Summary: After fleeing Hydra, James and Tony found a fragile peace, living together and striking at Hydra from the shadows. Until the news that Captain America has been found forces them out of hiding to face their fears head-on. 

by @dracusfyre

Also on AO3

Tony winced as he straightened, suddenly feeling every hour he’d been sitting at his computer. His back ached, his neck was stiff, and his eyes burned; when he stood, his back popped like bubble wrap.  He reached for his coffee cup only to find it empty, and so was his bottle of water, so he reluctantly climbed the stairs towards the kitchen.

Only to pause when he saw James asleep on the couch. He’d have to go around him to get to the kitchen but startling the Winter Soldier from sleep was always a bad idea, considering the number of weapons that were stashed around the house. He knew some people look relaxed and peaceful while sleeping, but not James; he didn’t look like he ever relaxed, not even while unconscious, mouth set in a stern line.

“Why are you watching me?” James said suddenly without opening his eyes, making Tony jump.

“I thought you were asleep,” Tony said, scowling as he went around the couch to get to the kitchen for food and something to drink.

“Heard you coming up the stairs. Find us a new target yet?”

“Some. There’s a cluster pretty close together near Kansas City, I think we could hit them all in one night,” Tony said as he studied the contents of the refrigerator, wondering if any of the sandwich meat was still good. He sniffed it and decided not.

“You know where there’s a big cluster?”

“Where?”

“DC.”

Tony growled and slammed the fridge door shut. They needed more food, but the closest real grocery store was an hour away, and if he didn’t think he could handle gas station convenience store food one more time. “We’re not going to DC.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous.” Tony grabbed a pack of crackers and a can of tuna from the pantry instead; he was so goddamn sick of eating from cans and jars and boxes, he wanted to go to a restaurant so badly he could almost cry.

“So instead we are going to keep hiding out in the woods and nibbling around the edges of Hydra? That’s your grand plan?”

“My plan is erode Hydra’s power base and critical infrastructure until it collapses under its own weight,” Tony snapped back. “It’s not like we’re the only people working on this.”

“Right. Your inside man.” James said sarcastically. “Let me know when there’s real work to do, I’m tired of this petty bullshit.”

Tony’s hand tightened on the bottle of water and the cheap plastic crinkled in his hand but he didn’t say anything. He knew they were both tired of being stuck in this house with only each other for company for months now, almost a year, with the only breaks in the boredom being the periodic excursions to break into and occasionally destroy Hydra front companies and bases. He pressed a knuckle to the spot between his eyes, trying to forestall the headache he could feel building. “I found another chair,” he said into the tense silence as he opened the bottle of water and chugged it. “And a bioweapons lab. These targets aren’t petty.” He knew he’d won that round when James was silent for a moment.

“Have you noticed that each target we hit is harder than the last?” James said eventually. “I get what you’re doing, but it’s just making them more prepared for us.”

“If we kill Pierce and the others and don’t destroy the organization, new scum will just rise to the top. We’ve-“ Tony bit off his words and sighed. He put some tuna on a cracker and shoved it in his mouth, chewing tiredly. “We’ve talked about this before,” he said when he finally swallowed. “We’re not ready to take on the entire organization yet.”

He heard a deep sigh from the direction of the couch. “Yeah. You’re right. I just…”

“I know. I want it to be over, too.” Tony steadily ate the tuna and crackers with the dutiful determination of a man doing an unpleasant task, then swept the crackers off the table and looked out the window. The sky was starting to deepen to a beautiful deep blue twilight, promising a clear night, and the weather was brisk and pleasant. “Want to go for a walk?” he offered. “We haven’t checked your traps in while.”

“Sure,” James said after a beat, recognizing the offer for the olive branch that it was. Tony set JARVIS on sentinel mode and picked up his phone, night vision glasses, and a red-light flashlight for the walk. Over the past year, while Tony had been obsessively improving his suit and putting together a high value target list, James had taken up landscaping; he’d been steadily redesigning the forest around the cabin to funnel anyone approaching onto a handful of paths, then booby-trapping the hell out of these paths with cameras and tripwires attached to landmines and sentry guns.

“Nice night,” Tony commented as James cleared out some brush and limbs that had obscured one of the traps.

“Yep,” James grunted as he checked the magazine and barrel of one of the sentry guns. Tony pulled out his phone and tested the control mechanisms for the gun, moving it left and right and up and down to make sure everything was working.

“You know, as much as I obviously don’t want us to be found, I kind of would like to see these traps in action. You’ve put so much work into them,” Tony said. He followed James through the woods, careful to only walk where he was walking. “What else do you want to do?”

Tony could feel the irritable mood lightening for both of them as James answered Tony’s question, pointing out places where he planned to dig out and deepen ravines, move fallen trees, and replant bushes to make sure the unwary would walk right into the traps. It was full night when they reached the far edge of their property line to make sure that the NO TRESPASSING signs were frequently posted and fully visible so no hikers or hunters accidentally got blown to hell. They cut through the woods to the dirt road that led to the cabin and were admiring the stars when Tony got an alert from JARVIS on his phone.

“Something big just came across the comms,” Tony said, showing the screen to James. James nodded and the stroll became a fast walk back to the cabin. The walk had been a good idea; just getting out of the house and getting fresh air had done a lot for Tony’s headache and James sounded like he was in a much better mood as they went back inside. He claimed the shower while Tony polished off the bottle of water and went downstairs to see what the alert was all about. When he pulled up the message, he read it once, then again, then stared at the wall for a moment before reading it a third time, which was when it really sank in. “James!” He shouted, then cursed when he remembered he was in the shower. He almost tripped as he ran up the stairs, then pounded on the bathroom door before barreling in.

“What the fu-”

“They found Captain America,” Tony said. “Up near Greenland or something. They found the Valkyrie and he was still inside and they think he’s still alive.”

For a long moment there was only the sound of water running, then James finally said, “Who found him?”

“Hydra. I mean SHIELD,” Tony corrected. “But you know. Hydra knows.”

“Fuck.” James turned off the water and slid the shower curtain back as he reached for the towel on the back of the toilet. Tony felt the back of his neck get hot and kept his eyes firmly on James’ face, trying and failing to not feel like a creeper for how hard it was to not appreciate the view. Finally James put the towel around his waist, which helped only a little bit because now James was raking his wet hair back and water was running down his chest and had Tony mentioned that they’d been stuck alone in this cabin for almost a year? “Wait, what do you mean they think he’s still alive?”

“Apparently he’s been frozen all this time, but they found a heartbeat. They are trying to extract him so they can thaw him out in a medical facility.” Tony met James and saw something in the man’s eyes that he’d never seen before; it was the kind of hope that made you afraid, because you wanted it so badly to be true that it might destroy you if it wasn’t. The look made Tony’s heart twist and his stomach drop but he refused to think about that because there was more important things to think about.

“So what do you think we should do?” Tony asked. He finally backed out of the bathroom which, he just now realized, he probably should have done as soon as James started to get out of the shower.

“Isn’t it obvious?” James said. “We gotta steal Steve.”

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #Bucky Barnes

[countessmorgasson]

Where are you?

Angsty(?) Muriel x MC! Muriel wakes up alone in the hut... for the first time in years.

Gender Neutral MC

(Disclaimer: Based on Muriel’s route)

When you weren’t next to him in bed this morning, Muriel didn’t think twice about it.

Not because he should be worried, he assumes. You’ve finally come around to waking up at the crack of dawn to work on errands around the hut. It even came to the point where you were up before him.

That’s why he didn’t think twice. Not until he didn’t smell tea brewing. He knew your routine well enough by now- you always had your morning tea.

“M/c..?”

He sits up in bed, pushing away one of the many blankets you two share. No, something’s wrong. There’s no trace of you- nothing to prove you had even been here earlier. No dirty cups lingering around or even the remnants of burned firewood. Did you leave in the middle of the night?

His heart starts to feel like it’s being crushed, but he tries to keep from panicking. Nothing bad could happen to you- right? That’s impossible! Not after what you’ve been through together...

You’re not outside. You’re not with the chickens or in the forest. You’re not out gathering firewood. Oh dear Gods. When he realizes he can’t find you, Muriel has to fight tears. You two have lived together for years now. He knows everything about you and all your routines by now. He knows you wouldn’t just leave without saying something... No, and you wouldn’t leave in the middle of the night... something’s got to be wrong! 

As if she can read his mind, Inanna’s at his side, eager to comfort him but it doesn’t work. Muriel scoops Inanna up and rushes out of the hut, eyes wandering everywhere in case he missed you the first few times he searched.

-

The shop is his first go-to. 

He doesn’t care that it’s the early morning, or that people are out and about their days- for the first time, he doesn’t even think about the eyes that are on him. When he knocks, he recoils over how loudly his fist meets the door.

“Muriel!” Asra’s eyes widen at the sight of him. “Is something wrong with Inanna? Come in-”

“Is m/c here?” Muriel looks around the shop, again feeling his heart sink into his stomach.

“What? Wouldn’t they be with you?” Asra’s eyes glitter with a hint of concern as he starts to realize why his old friend has barged into the shop. Muriel shuts his eyes, unsure of how to deal with the frustration.

You’re not here either?! Where else could you possibly go? The docks?

Oh, no. A thought so chilling comes to mind he has to distract himself. Is it possible that you could just... disappear? He never fully understood you being brought back to life, and frankly, he didn’t question it until right now. What if there were finally consequences to locking the Devil away?

“Muriel. Look at me.” Asra’s voice is soothing, but all Muriel can do is try and think of any other place you could be. Inanna’s even wriggling around in his hold, as if to try and shake him from his train of thought. “Why do you think m/c’s gone? You probably just didn’t see them- it’s a big forest...”

“No!” Muriel’s voice is loud, but shaky. It’s even enough to make Asra stop in his tracks. He seems to deflate. “I can feel it. This isn’t right.”

“You’re really serious, aren’t you?” He mutters to himself. “Oh no. No, there’s got to be some explanation, right?”

Muriel says nothing, but his frown starts to waver. 

“M/c’s tough. We’ll find them- they’re going to be okay.” Asra’s nervous pacing doesn’t ease anybody’s worries. “I might be able to track them with my magic.”

Asra closes his eyes, and for an excruciatingly slow moment, Muriel is left alone in the dark. He didn’t want to disturb Asra, but you’re still out there, and the two of them are just standing in the shop! 

What if you’re not safe?

“I can’t find-” Asra starts.

With a disgruntled sigh, Muriel nearly storms his way out of the shop, determined to find you himself. Asra is a dear friend to him, but you, you’re the one who lit a fire in Muriel. You taught him to fight for what he loved- and now, he wasn’t about to stand here and sulk. You’re the best thing to ever happen to him- he wasn’t letting you go that easily. If you were missing, he was going to find you.

No matter what. He’d do anything.

-

You’re not at the market. Or the Red Street. 

Muriel did the one thing he swore he’d never do again: talk to other people. That’s right. He asked the baker who sold your favorite pumpkin bread if he’s seen you around- which of course, he didn’t. He asked the vendor from your favorite jewelry stand- and they didn’t know where you’ve been either. He even asked the fortune tellers if they’ve seen you out and about- but to no avail.

Frustration builds up deeper, but it easily transitions into sadness- despair. The disappointment is too much to bear. Leaning against the brick walls, Muriel shuts his eyes, forcing more tears back.

He just wants to shrink away, far from eyesight. If you needed him, he’d come to the city in a heartbeat. But you’re not here. You’ve suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth, and now part of him wants to do the same.

What if..? What if you weren’t actually in any trouble? No, that can’t be right... but what if that’s the truth?  Maybe you’re safe and sound somewhere he can’t reach...  Was it just a matter of time before you wanted to be away from him?

What if you never come back?

Just before he can break down, footsteps can be heard. He opens his eyes, still tear-stricken.

Even through blurry vision, he knows its not you in front of him.

“...Muriel, you’ve got to calm down.” Asra has to look up to make the eye contact, but Muriel only looks off to the side, heart still pounding and his hands trembling.

“But... but- m/c-”

“We’re going to find them. But you’re acting... so differently. I’ve never seen you like this, Muriel. It’s scaring me.”

It wasn’t exactly unfair of Asra to say that. Whatever happened to m/c seems to be sending Muriel over the edge. If Gods forbid, something serious really happened to m/c... there’d be no going back. For either of them.

But Muriel...

Asra sighs, crushed at the sight of his best friend. He tries to hide them, but the tears are apparent- glistening against dark green eyes. It seems like all he’s known is pain, all his life.

M/c was the only person in the world that seemed to stop the suffering. After years of being manipulated by Count Lucio, years of believing his own family abandoned him... for m/c to be taken away from him, that would be the breaking point, wouldn’t it?

M/c is... one in a million- and losing them is the heartbreak of a lifetime.

Asra would know.

Shaking himself from the thought, Asra straightened up. There wasn’t time for this. They needed to find m/c.

“Come.” Asra extends his hand out, half-expecting Muriel to ignore it. “There’s a few places we haven’t been to.”

-

You’ve lost track of most of your surroundings by this point. How long have you been running? Is it even considered running at this point, the way you drag your feet across the ground?

The dark sky looms over your head, and as luck would have it, the moon was hidden away. You’re completely surrounded in the darkness.

It’s a damn good thing you’re used to this place.

That’s right, you finally made it to the dark forest.

Your heart’s hammering against your chest painfully and your lungs scream for air. Sweat holds your clothes against your skin, but the only thing that matters is getting to safety- to Muriel.

He must be worried sick. Guilt weighs on you even as you’re still in flight mode. How were you supposed to explain this? You’re not even completely sure what happened to you.

You were just outside the hut last night, breathing in the scent of rain and grass. The forest was your safe place- the fact that you were alone was practically an afterthought. With the hut hidden away so well and Muriel only being a yell away, you never in your wildest dreams thought you’d ever be at risk here.

You should have known better than to not to expect the impossible.

And yet before you could realize, you were being dragged away. 

Things in Vesuvia had changed drastically after Lucio’s temporary reign... unfortunately not everyone came out of it unscathed... but you never expected people to go so dark. Kidnapping? Riots?  There were many reasons why you retreated into the forest permanently. 

That’s the last time I meditate outside alone, you think.

Finally, you reach the hut and nearly hurl yourself through the door, locking up behind you. You’re so caught up in the relief you almost don’t notice your surroundings.

No one’s here. It’s freezing cold- no one’s been here all day. Muriel must have gone off for you, you realize.

Shucking off your dirty outerwear, you start a fire and try and calm your nerves. You’re still very detached from what happened, despite it running through your mind over and over again...

Your heart skips a beat when you hear running. Someone’s coming this way! With the last bit of your energy, you muster whatever magic can come to your aid. It starts to fizzle in your palms, but you stand tall. 

You’re not going to let yourself get taken again.

The door flies open, revealing...

Muriel, Inanna, and Asra.  Other than Inanna, everyone’s got the same expressions on their face at first. Asra’s the first to break from the spell. 

“Oh, thank goodness.” He leans against the open door, nearly sinking to the floor. “Thank goodness.”

He feels a million miles away- too far for you to interact with. 

You’re too busy in Muriel’s arms- holding back sobs. His arms are warm around you as he pulls you to his chest. All he can seem to do is whisper your name, over and over again with a hoarse voice. He strokes your hair with his gentle hands, and you realize why you’re so emotional.

What if things had gone differently, and you didn’t make it back? Where would you be now- what would have happened to you? What would Muriel think? Would he think that you had left him? Most importantly...

What if you never saw him again?

A sob forces itself from your lungs as you bury your face in Muriel’s chest.  It’s almost like the sun has finally risen, and you’re basking in the warm sunlight. Oh, sweet relief. You could sit here with him forever.

Inanna even trails alongside and gently rubs against your side- as if she were thanking you for making it back. 

“What happened to you?”  Asra’s voice is a harsh reminder that you two aren’t the only ones in the world.

“Not now.” Muriel’s voice seems to fill up the room. “Not now...”

You nod, holding as tightly as you possibly can. You really don’t want to talk about it- especially not while Muriel’s already shaking. He doesn’t need to hear it right now. You’re safe in his arms- that’s what matters right now.

You made it back.

Your story isn’t going to end without him.

#the arcana #the arcana fic #the arcana muriel #muriel #muriel x mc #my writing #mine #angsty #fluffy #i don't know how to write angst without fluff #surprise #asra

[black-king-white-knight]

Cyber Files AU - Chapter One:

A/N: Okay, here’s Chapter One. I have no idea when other chapters will be coming, but I hope you enjoy and if anyone has any question, feel free to hit me up.

Warnings: Swearing, Death mentions, Medical mentions... I think that’s all for this chapter? But please let me know if anyone wants anything else tagged or if I missed anything.

“In steel as in flesh. Corpses leave clues.”

Dear You,

The body you are currently wearing used to be mine. The scar on the inner left thigh is there because you fell out of a window and impaled your leg running away from Badges at the age of nine. The four fillings are a result of you avoiding the dentist for most of your life. But the physical past of our shared body isn’t important to you right now.

I’m writing this letter for you to read in the future. Wondering why anyone would do such a thing? The answer is… both simple and complicated. The simple answer is because I knew it would be necessary.

The complicated answer is… rather twisted.

Do you know the name of the body you are in? It’s Remy. Remy Saros. It was my name, but it comes with the body, so I suppose it’s yours now. Changing it would be… unwise. But we’ll get to that later.

Before I tell you the story, there are a few things I need you to be aware of. First, you’re deathly allergic to bee stings. If you get stung and do not take quick action, you will die. I’ve always hoarded all the epi-pens I could find. Check all the glove compartments of cars, backpacks and jacket pockets you now own. If you get stung, flick the lid off, orange to the thigh, blue to the sky, wait for the click, hold for three seconds and remove. You’ll feel like shit, but you’ll survive.

Apart from that, you’re a non-photosensitive epileptic. There should be a sleeve of meds in the front right pocket of your trousers. Repeat scripts are loaded onto your Eye and spare meds will be available later when you need them.

Now, hopefully, you still retain your right hand, and everything it provides.

The fuck? Someone would have stolen my hand!? They thought to themselves, glancing down at their right hand and clenched it in relief before turning their attention back to the words hanging in the rain in front of them.

In your immediate future, the three most important are a Social Identity Card, Bank Chit, Medi-Sys Card, all of them belonging to Remy Saros. Except for four. Those physical cards in your wallet are, right now, the most important. Tucked away in there are a Chit linked to a different bank, a driver’s licence, a Medi-Sys Card and a Social Identity Card belonging to Alexandyr Morgan, a name that will not be linked to you.

The personal identification number for all of them is 160100. That’s my birthday, followed by how old you are. You’re a newborn! Get somewhere dry and safe, find a secure hotel, and check in. The AM accounts will have more than enough to cover.

You are doubtless aware of the next part already, since if you’re reading this you’ve already survived several immediate threats, but you are in danger. Just because you are not me does not make you safe. Along with this body, you have inherited certain problems and responsibilities. Go find a safe place, and the second letter will be waiting for you when you arrive.

Sincerely,

Remy Saros.

They stood shivering in the rain, watching the words on the holographic display dissolve into the downpour. Their hair was dripping, licking their lips under the face mask gave a burst of saltiness, and everything ached. Under the lights of reflected neon, the figure had automatically flicked their right hand out in a muscle-memory gesture to bring up the main menu on their Eyeformer Operation System, looking for some clue as to… anything.

When the Eye booted up a message simply titled To You had been sitting there in the main menu, blinking gently, waiting to be opened.

They shook their head angrily, but the spike in throbbing quickly diffused their anger. They looked up at the sky, watching the rain come down and lightning fork across the sky. Rummaging through the other pockets of their outfit turned up nothing other than a long, thin plastic box with medical instructions, chemical information, and a label printed on it. REMY SAROS.

The Epi-Pen, they thought, staring at it before returning it to the interior jacket pocket it had come from, patting it a couple of times for reassurance. Then they dropped a hand into their front right pocket and pulled out a fresh packet of red and white capsules in a standard plastic and foil medical sleeve. Epilepsy meds, I guess.

So this is who I am, they thought, unsure of how they felt. I don’t get the uncertainty of not knowing what my name is, but I’m not being given control over my own life. Whoever Remy Saros was, they managed to get me in a whole lot of trouble. They sniffed and brushed a dark lump out of their left eye. Wet hair slapped against their skin and Remy cringed slightly.

Ugh, okay, rain first. Get out of the rain, then… get a car, I guess. Yeah, find a car, find a hotel.

Remy looked around, searching for shelter, but since they were standing on a bridge, nothing was immediately available. Just expansive, smoke filled blackness all around, only broken by strings of indistinct neon in all directions and the sounds of sky-borne cargo lifters. Finally spotting an undercover shop doorway at the end of the bridge, Remy stepped out of the slight crater in the middle of the road, and over the ring of bodies that ringed it. They were all motionless, and wearing latex gloves.

They darted from shelter to shelter, staying in the dark wherever they could, contact lenses glowing due to the low-level night vision function built into the Eyes’ Pathfinder app. The only sounds in the smoke-filled night were the gradually fading sounds of main street traffic around the bridge, and the ever-present sounds of cargo lifters and the occasional Fire Bird.

Remy was hugging themself and shivering by the time they got off the main roads, and spent a minute shaking off as best as their throbbing head would allow. Reactivating the Eye, they opened one of the ride call apps and scrolled through. If the accounts contained as much money as the mysterious message said, Remy would gladly pay for the quiet and convenience of an automated cab.

Opening a new tab and selecting the bank account under Alexandyr Morgan’s name, Remy used the login details stored in an in-Eye app to log in, and looked at the account total and withdrawal amount. Both numbers almost short-circuited Remy’s newly born brain. There was… five million in the account. Even given the inflation of various economic crashes, that was a lot of money. Whoever Remy had been in that previous life… they clearly had a lot of cash to splash around.

Recalling the letter’s multiple warnings about finding somewhere safe, Remy kept scanning both ends of the street, as well as all the doorways and windows they could make out while waiting for the summoned car to appear. When it did, they scrambled inside, shut the door, and scanned their hand on the Chit reader built into the back of the “driver’s” seat. Remy then selected “Evasive Mode” from the drop-down menu in the app, clicked the seat belt in and sprawled as much as they could across plush seats that automatically warmed up in response to Remy’s wet frame. 

They briefly considered not sprawling like this, since it would give Future!Remy all sorts of aches, but Present!Remy was too comfy, so they just shut their eyes and let the swinging turns and passing neon lull them into a fitful, exhaustion-driven doze.

Remy’s Eye suddenly came to life and started to ping with alerts that they’d arrived at the marked destination, the messages dislodging the slew of automated ads from the earlier apps. They jerked upright then hissed in pain. The journey had been nearly half an hour to the other side and a deeper level of the city, bordering on one of the old mine shafts, turned closed off corporate enclaves when the mine was turned into a city.

Remy’s decision to sprawl all over the back of the car meant that climbing out was a flurry of spasms, aches and pins and needles. Mumbling in irritation as they got out of the car and wishing Past!Remy hadn’t been such a selfish asshole, they stumbled towards the five-star hotel. 

The hotel management students who had been unlucky enough to get saddled with door-duty on the graveyard shift stared at Remy’s face without moving a muscle as they opened the doors for Remy, who passed through with an exhausted nod at them both and walked through the gorgeous foyer.

The impeccably dressed and coiffed desk clerk (at three in the morning?! What. The. Fuck. Are you some kind of hideous automaton, man?) politely stifled a yawn and barely widened his eyes at the soaking wet person on the other side of the desk who had just left a wide trail of dirty water across the marble tiles and was now checking in as Alexandyr Morgan.

The hotel porter who appeared did a poor job of appearing awake, but still managed to guide Remy to the appointed room without incident. By now, especially after a heated nap in the taxi, Remy was so sleepy that they’d practically given up on all vigilance, barely remembering to thank and tip the porter before entering the room and searching for the bed. Having found something large and soft, Remy dropped, content to sleep on it until…

Remy was asleep too quickly to even finish the thought.

Notes: That’s all there is for now. I just wanna say a huge thanks to @milomeepit, and @pipapatton for helping me work out ideas and acting as soundboards, and @lucifer-in-my-head for designing artwork for it, which I’ll add next chapter as the art becomes relevant to the story.

#tw: Death mention #tw: Swearing #tw: Medicine mentions #Bkwk Writes #Cyber Files AU #Sanders Shorts fanfic #Sanders Sides fanfic #Remy Sanders #So here's Chapter One #Btw this rate of updates does not in any way inform about a schedule #The fact that it came out within a week of the Teaser #Means NOTHING #Remy's practically a warning all by themself #Swearing sluttiness and sunglasses

[dragons-socks]

Baby Bumblebee chptr 4

////////Six Months Later\\\\\\\\\

Bee was walking home from school. Lennox and Ironhide were hunting down Decepticons in Europe, so he didn’t really have a ride today, which was fine. He didn’t mind not going back to the house when Lennox or Ironhide wasn’t there. It’s not that Bee didn’t like Sarah or Annabell, but they just didn’t really get each other. Annabell tried to poke at every nerve Bumblebee had, just testing his patience. And Sarah either babied him too much or acted as if he should already know how to do some complex human thing.

And then there was school. Apparently, Sarah was right about his name. Though Bee still didn’t understand how a girl in his class can be named ‘jasmine’ after a flower, but to be called after the insect that lets that flower grow and flourish… that’s taking it too weird? Not to mention no one in the institute knows morse code, and only a few, including his teacher know sign language. The school said they’d set him up with an interpreter. That has yet to be seen.

“Oh, hey, you’re Honey Bee, right?” Bumblebee jumped as a boy his physical age tapped him on the shoulder. Bee pulled out a small keyring of flash card that said common phrases to help him interact with people who couldn’t understand his other forms of communications. He tapped on the one with his actual name on it. “Oh, well I’m Raven.”

Bee made a saluting gesture; instead of his hand being horizontal and pushed in front of him, his palm was vertical and facing out while his hand moved away to the side of his temple. Then, Bee finger-spelt the boy’s name. Raven looked at his hands with wide eyes.

“Woah, you really can’t speak, can you?” Raven asked. Bee let out angry trills, glaring at the boy. He started to walk faster, getting away from the human. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that!”

Bee chittered, turning around and raising an eyebrow. You have one chance.

“I just didn’t want to believe Harvey. He’s always making up things about other people. My mom says he’s a bully.” Raven rambled. Bee nodded in agreement. Harvey was a larger kid in his class who kept trying to pick fights and make fun of Bumblebee. Bee would hand the kid’s ass to him, but he was still an Autobots and harming humans was still a big ‘no’ in his books. “We should be friends. I see you like Voltron. My favorite is the red lion, but the yellow one is alright too.”

Bumblebee shrugged, not knowing what this ‘Voltron’ was, but decided not to try to confuse the other with too complex interactions. This is the most pleasant conversation he’s had since being forced to partake in the human learning institution.

Soon Raven had to split off to go to his own home, but made Bee promise to meet up tomorrow to walk to school. Bee felt lighter for some reason, almost like he wasn’t so alone. Annabell picked up on his good mood as soon as he entered the house. A toy sailed through the air and whacked him in the forehead.

“Hey, Bee.” She smiled.

“Annabell, stop throwing toys. Go sit in the corner.” Sarah gawked. This turned into a ten minute scream-cry feast in which Annabell was forced to spend time in the corner for longer than her original sentence. Bumblebee was already set up at the table by this point, pulling out his homework. “How was school, Bee?” The woman said as she signed the words.

‘Good, I meet a new friend. His name is Raven.’ Bee signed, his feet kicking in the open air under the table.

“Oh, that’s nice, what did you guys talk about?” Sarah leaned over the counter, ruffling Bee’s hair. He huffed and waved her hand away.

‘He kept talking about some lion-show called Voltage or something? Said I liked it too, but I don’t know why he would think that.’

“You mean Voltron? Your bookbag is designed to look like one of the characters on the show. He probably thought you got the bag because you liked the show, not because it was yellow and black.” She explained, lifting up the bag in question. On the back in vinyl letters did read ‘Voltron’. “We could watch it. So you know what your friend is talking about.”

Bee shrugged at this. He’s tried to watch human entertainment, but nothing really caught his interest. Well, he’s only really seen whatever the Witwicky’s watched, and that was just through their living room window as he was parked in their driveway. Recently, Annabell has been making him watch her shows, which were all about learning numbers, colors, and being nice. At least she has her numbers and colors down.

“Yeah, it can be our thing, when you’re done with your homework we can watch a few episodes.” Sarah nodded to herself.

Annabell was returned from her sentencing. She shuffled up to Bumblebee, holding out the wooden block that she had thrown at him earlier.

“M’sorry, Bee.” She toed at the ground and gave him large puppy dog eyes. Bee huffed and took the block from her. He’s learned pretty fast to accept her peace offerings or have her throw another tantrum.

‘Yeah, I’m sure you are.’ Bee signed back. Annabell jumped around to her mom.

“Mom, what did he say?” Sarah shook her head at the young autobot. “He said, ‘apology accepted’.”

It didn’t take long to finish the easy equations or sentence structures his teachers assigned for his class. As soon as he put his work back into his bag, Sarah ushered him onto the couch and turned on their television.

“Get comfortable, sweetie, the first episode is the longest.” Bee wrapped himself in the yellow blanket that he’s since claimed as his own. As the episode went on, Bee found himself drawing parallels of his own life and the autobots to those of these characters. He was so immersed into this stupid cartoon that he didn’t even notice that Lennox had arrived and sat down next to his wife. Not until the episode was paused.

‘HEY!’ Bumblebee turned to Sarah, jumping a little when Lennox was also there.

“Hey to you too, kid.” Lennox said, his voice thick and his face contorted into worry. Bumblebee sat up.

‘Is Ironhide okay?’ Bee signed, trying to twist out of his cocoon to get a better look outside for the mech.

“He’s fine, Bee. But I do have some bad news. The Decepticons found the base. The Autobots had to be relocated and for your safety, we might not be getting their new location.”

‘But what about Ironhide? He still needs Energon to function. How will I find them once we’ve figured out how to change me back?’ Bee asked.

“They don’t think there’s a cure for you, Bee. Optimus thought it best to cut ties. Don’t worry about Ironhide. We’re still going to get shipments of Energon for him.” Lennox pulled Bee into his chest. Bee didn’t have room to sign his frustrations, but he also didn’t have energy to fight off his prison of warm arms. Instead he let Lennox’s voice swirl around his own thoughts that wanted to drown him.

_______________

Bee slipped out of the house. The moon, street lamps, and his blinking shoe steps were his only light to navigate out of the neighborhood and try to find his way back to Optimus. The mech might not want him, but that was where he belonged, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

It wasn’t the first time that he realized that walking was much more time consuming than driving. This was just another time that the notion ingrained itself into his head. This was the first time Bumblebee found himself walking for a long time after sunset. It seemed to take longer in the dark. It took so much longer to reach the school than it usually does.

Maybe it wasn’t the darkness of night that had Bumblebee shuffling his feet. Maybe it was the thought of seeing Optimus and the others after a month of not seeing them. Maybe it was the knowledge that this was in direct opposition of Optimus’s orders. This is the most rebellious he’s been in a long time. Bumblebee finds his feet stopping. He looks around and realizes he’s walked himself all the way just a house past Sam’s. The chill has already settled into his skin, but he’s just noticed his minutely shivers. His teeth are chattering, and he feels tired seeping into the very marrow of his human bones. His feet and legs ache. It must have been half the night gone by now.

A rumbling sound brings the rest of the world back into focus. Cars race towards him, screeching to a halt and boxing him in. At first he thinks its normal bad humans, until he recognizes the cars and notices the Decepticons’ insignias.

“I don’t get it.” Starscream’s voice is audible from his vehicular mode. “There is but a human child where the signal emits. No energon, no Autobots. Nothing.”

Bumblebee’s heart spikes. He backs away from Megatron’s right-hand. The other ‘Cons have switched back to their natural state. They leer down at Bumblebee. One even tries to grab at him. He rolls to the side, and books it for a crack in their formation. Breakdown snagged Bee’s leg, scooping him upside-down, before he could make it. Bee kept hissing and sputtering at the Cons, but they weren’t intimidated.

“It appears, Starscream, that the boy is the origin of the signal. Maybe Knockout’s weapon wasn’t as defective as we had first thought. This human child does have a striking resemblance to their mute scout.” Breakdown muses.

Bee lets out sharp whistles, hoping the sleeping humans around them will awaken, but its almost no use. His vision starts to blur as the Cons start moving away. He doesn’t know what to do. He starts pushing against the metal fist around his leg, but with each shove the only result is his palms getting hotter.

Bumblebee can feel in his gut that Breakdown is about to shift. He can hear the t-cog clicking its gears in the split second preparation of turning into the alt mode. Bee panics, pulling his arm as far back as he could and smacking hard onto Breakdown’s grip. Instead of being halted by the warm living metal, his hand pushed in with no resistance. A shot of blue energy cut a path from his hand to the open sky. Breakdown drops Bee on the ground in surprise. Bee is able to twist himself to land on his back rather than just his head. He ignores the searing pain of smacking into the asphalt and scrambles away from his capture. The other Cons make a quick double-back, but not before Bee is on his feet. His palms and fingers tingle from the heat, but are unharmed from the powerful blast-ray. Cons surround him. He pulls his arm back and lets out another blast, sweeping his arm in an arc and taking out a line of the enemies, and also some of the residential appliances.

“Bee?” It’s Sam’s voice as he scampers out of his house in a shirt and boxers. “Where’s Lennox? Why are you here?” Bee doesn’t answer. He can’t answer. He sidesteps a blast from the Cons. Its not enough, Bee is grabbed again. His arms are pinned to his side in Starscream’s hand.

“I’ve got him, retreat.” Starscream proclaimed, ignoring Bee’s chitters and Sam’s shouts. A ground bridge was opened a few feet away. Starscream watched his men walk into the portal before turning to Sam with a viscous grin. “Till the next time, Witwick-”

Bee was once again hitting the ground. His back is singing and his ears are ringing from the gunshot. His vision is blurry, but he can still make out Mikaela cocking back a rifle as Sam ran to him. Sam carefully moved Bee away from the Decepticon, who was clutching his shot-up hand. There was a moment where it looked like Starscream was going to exact revenge. Luckily the portal behind him started to close and if he wanted a ride back home he couldn’t fight the humans. Everyone sighed with relief until they looked down at Bee.

The worried shouts of his friends were cut short as Bee’s small body finally gave it quits and fell asleep.

#bumblebee #transformers #human bumblebee #william lennox

[jiminssizzles]

young god

Word Count: 2,422

Prompt: the one where Jimin is a modern god that opens up a little shop that sells artifacts. You accidentally bought a cursed object.

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Slight Fluff, Slight Angst, Modern God!AU

Warning: None

Rating: G

Author’s Note: This is not edited, so if you see errors, I’m sorry!! :)

PART OF TRIVIA: LOVE {masterlist}

~

"Jungkook, don't forget. Tomorrow, okay? Come here early!" Jimin placed the last of his things in a small bag. His bag looks like a pouch, but his apartment is almost empty. He has been packing for the whole day to do something that will set him free.

He heard Jungkook scoff on the other line, "Alright, alright, hyung. I'm going to sacrifice one of my game days for you." Jimin rolled his eyes, "Jungkook, no one's hunting you here on Earth. You can go back to gaming anytime you want."

"Why do you badly want to go back to Olympus? Seokjin-hyung doesn't want you there. Namjoon-hyung will most certainly side with Seokjin." Jimin sighed, closing his bag, "I have to try, Kook. Don't you miss Hobi-hyung and Yoongi-hyung?" It's Jungkook's turn to sigh, "I do, hyung, but I'd rather be with you here to be sure that you're safe."

"I can take care of myself." Jimin answered and began teleporting himself to his shop. His shop is the only thing that helps him navigate through Earth. The drachmas he collects are what he uses to jump from one area clouded from the gods’ vision to another.

~

The next morning, Jungkook woke up with 36 missed calls and another one coming from Jimin. “Shit,” was the first thing he muttered. He picked his phone up and answered Jimin, “Hyung! I’m going! I’m going!” Jungkook was quick to end the call.

He entered his own bathroom and left his own bed unmade. Jungkook decided to take the quickest shower of his life, knowing very well that it will not do good if he gets Jimin mad. When he got out of the bathroom, reality suddenly hit him that he fell asleep trying to pack his things last night. “Shit!”

Jungkook ran around, grabbing all the things he would need on his indefinite stay at Jimin’s shop. He heard his phone ringing again so he carried his bag and answered Jimin’s call. “Hyung, I’m running, I’m running.”

“You better be!” Jimin said angrily, “You know how limited my time is!” Jungkook didn’t bother responding, he just ran out of the complex, crossed the street and turned right to the street of Jimin’s shop.

“Jungkook, be careful not to drop any drachmas. I can hear yours on your bag.” He heard Jimin say on the phone while he crossed another road, “I don’t need another mortal wandering inside the shop and asking me why she never saw this shop before.”

Jungkook remembers that day pretty well. He dropped a couple of drachmas because he was busy playing on his mobile phone. That afternoon, a mortal suddenly entered Jimin’s shop, asking them if they’re new in the neighborhood. The two did their best to lie and to get the drachma from her. In addition, Jungkook had to erase her memory of the incident.

The sky is slowly becoming gray, droplets of rain falling down already. Jungkook waved at Jimin who’s standing with his pouch on the front porch of the shop. Jimin shook his head before entering his shop. Jungkook held onto his backpack to make sure that none of its contents will accidentally drop.

He failed. He dropped one drachma.

~

You pulled your wallet from your handbag. While tying your hair into a ponytail, you notice how the sky is slowly dimming. Your roommate, Francine, is still on her bed, clearly lurking on the account of her celebrity crush.

“I’m going out to buy us breakfast. Where’s my umbrella?” You asked. She pointed at the door, “Behind the door. Thank you for the breakfast. I’ll buy dinner later.” You nodded and walked towards the door. Grabbing your umbrella, you looked at her again, “At least make coffee, Francine.” She raised her thumb up and you went out.

While walking towards your favorite brunch place, you decided to drop by the park’s fountain first. You perfectly know that you’re 24 years old already, but you perfectly believed also that wishes made on wishing fountains do come true. You stood beside the wishing fountain and pulled a coin from your pocket. Sighing, you whispered, “Please give me something new to look forward to before I snap my neck and quit my present job.” With that, you threw the coin and went on your way.

You noticed another coin on the ground, “Oh, I dropped one.” You mumbled. Grabbing the discarded coin from the ground, you noticed that the coin is actually smaller than your normal coins. It also turned gold in front of your eyes, making you raise your eyebrows in shock.

You rubbed your eyes to make sure that your vision isn’t playing with you, but it’s not. The coin you’re holding is still gold. As much as you’re sure that it’s a coin, it also looks and feels so foreign to you. When you tilt your head up again to go on your way, you saw a shop appear in front of your eyes. What’s more weird? You saw a fine-looking man go out of its door before vanishing into thin air.

“Fuck, I need an opthalmologist.” You mumbled.

~

“I don’t have time to be mad at you, Kook, but remember everything that I said, okay?” Jimin said to Jungkook who’s sitting at the corner of the shop, panting with his eyes closed. “Yes, hyung.” He answered politely. He can’t seem to shit on Jimin today since he knows that he is late.

Jimin started blabbering again, “You know all the prices here. Don’t sell anything to anyone from the underworld. Don’t sell the bottle of water from River Styx. Don’t sell..” Jungkook cut him off, “..the earrings on aisle 2. I know, hyung. Go. I got it.”

“I promise, I’ll get us back to Olympus.” Jimin gave Jungkook a small smile before walking outside the door and vanishing into thin air.

~

Jungkook pulled his mobile phone and began playing. He sure is worried about Jimin, but he knows that Jimin is strong, smart and resourceful. Jimin is the god of mischief. He can probably get away with anything.

The shop door opened, but Jungkook didn’t bother looking up. “Welcome! Feel free to browse and pay here in the cashier.” He said, still busy killing enemies in warzone mode. You nodded and looked around the shop.

The items are mostly antique looking, scratch that, antique looking is not even the term. They all look like out of this world. Being a professional buyer in the workplace, it’s your first time wandering into a place like this. You’ve never seen such items before, but you only have money for your breakfast and this weird looking coin on your wallet. That didn’t stop you from staring into the weird looking hourglasses, glass frames, wind chimes, drinks, jewelry and pouches.

You went in between aisle 2 and 3, looking at the earrings displayed on the racks. Those earrings are probably the closest thing to reality that you normally see. You suddenly remembered that you lost your ear-hugging earring on your helix, so you decided to get the smallest in size of the earrings and headed straight to the cashier. You’ll come back when you have cash, you thought.

The boy behind the counter looked up to you. “Hey, where are you from?” He said before returning his gaze to his screen. “The neighborhood.” You answer. You wanted to say the the shop is new to you, but you opted not to, considering that the boy looks like he doesn’t want to be disturbed from his game.

“I’ll just get this small one.” You said, placing the small earring on the countertop. The boy nodded, “I’m Jungkook, by the way.” He pointed at the photo on the countertop, “That will cost one of these.” He said, pointing to the photo of the coin that you found ealier.

It clicked on you. Maybe the coin is a special currency of this shop. You know that you should be weirded out, you should be asking a lot of questions, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. You just wanted to buy something from this shop.

You placed the weird looking coin at the countertop. “Do you still need me to pack that?” Jungkook asked. “No need,” You answer. “Have a nice day, then.” He said without another glance. You grabbed the earring and headed out of the shop.

When you got out, you felt weird. You felt like it’s your first time walking this street, like it’s your first time smelling rain, like it’s your first day on Earth. “Jamais vu,” You whispered and walked to your favorite brunch place.

~

Jimin entered La Vie Est Belle. He showered himself with mist just so the gods above wouldn’t be notified of his presence in the mortal world. He feels like he should be here at the moment. Jimin never fails on any of his missions because aside from he can get away with anything, his gut feeling is something that never fails him too. That morning, he felt the need to be inside that brunch place, even if it’s just a block away from his shop.

The small shop is packed with customers, only leaving the corner table vacant, so he sat there and waited. Usually, his gut feeling will result into something, so he took his sweet time looking at the customers which are supposedly blind to his presence.

“Hey, can I sit here? I’m still waiting for my order and all the other seats are taken.” Jimin was shocked that someone asked him so he turned his head and faced you, “You can see me?” Your eyebrows furrowed, “I’m sorry, am I not supposed to?”

Jimin was puzzled, so he told you that you can sit. You sat across him and eyed the counter, waiting for your name to be called to take home the breakfast you promised Francine. Jimin is busy staring at you. He noticed your long eyelashes, your perfectly shaped eyebrows, your luscious lips, your multiple piercings on your ear.

Then he noticed your helix earring.

~

Jungkook unfortunately lost in the game he was playing. He exited the game and decided to stare into nothingness for a while. The worry for Jimin is quickly increasing in his chest, but he can’t do anything than comfort himself that it will be okay, that maybe Jimin will succeed in finding Taehyung and they can go back to Olympus.

In addition, he comforted himself that Jimin can never be caught outside. He helped Jimin split his own self into three. The three earrings on the corner of aisle 2 are Jimin’s body, heart and mind. Whatever is outside is just another apparition of him.

Then it dawned on Jungkook.

He ran to aisle 2 to check the three earrings only to notice that one is missing.

He’s going to fucking get it from Jimin.

~

“Why do you have my heart?” Jimin suddenly asked you. Turning your head to face him, you smirked. “Did you just drop a pick up line on me?” You asked, Jimin slowly biting his lips in nervousness. 

As much as he wants to just grab that earring from your ear and retrieve his heart, he can’t. Not when he can’t reveal the story of the gods to a mortal, not when he can’t just grab the earring from you because obviously, it’s yours already. Not when he feels like he can’t defy you, because literally and figuratively, you already have his heart.

“So what if I did?” He replied softly. Your gaze locked with each other. The boy in front of you has orange hair, cheeks that looks so soft, slanted eyes and a beautiful smile. You were about to say something when you heard your name being called. “There’s my order. I’ll see you around.”

You stood up and left him at the corner table. As you grab the paperbag of your orders, the guy is instantly beside you too. “I’m Jimin, by the way.” He introduced himself. “Nice to meet you.” You answered without giving away your name.

You walked outside the shop, Jimin following right after and grabbing one of your arms to pull you gently. “What?” You asked again. The sun is already shining, completely opposite to the weather when you walked to La Vie Est Belle. “Can we see each other again?” He bluntly asked.

“Are you asking me out?” You smiled at him and studied his face. Jimin stared at you too. He’s at a loss for words. He can’t just drop his mission on finding Taehyung, but he can’t leave his heart to a mere mortal too.

“Yes, I am.” He answered. He knows that a lot will be affected by his decision of sticking with you. It might take days or weeks before he can go on with the trip again. Taehyung might move into another place, thus, he won’t be able to catch him. It sucked. It sucked for Jimin that he had to make a hard choice just so he wouldn’t lose himself in trying to save himself too.

You felt your heart flutter at his bluntness and bravery to ask you out in the softest way possible. You can’t see any sign of mischief on his face and your heart is telling you that whatever he says, it’s true. You’re having this weird feeling of being drawn to him.

“Then we will, Jimin.” You affirmed, “Although, this is way too fast and this isn’t even a blind dating program.” You remarked.

Jimin smiled, “What can I do? You own my heart already, it’s only fair that I get yours too.” The sunshine became prettier in your eyes as it landed on Jimin’s orange hair. The warmness on your chest is spreading like wildfire throughout your body especially when you heard him say that you own his heart.

While you were marvelling at the shock and happiness you were feeling, Jimin felt heavier than before. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to be with you.

If deceiving you is the way to get his own heart back, he will never turn back. He doesn’t care if he hurts you, he just needed to make this quick and go on with his mission. With one last smile, he told you that maybe you two can go out to dinner tomorrow night. You said yes, already feeling drawn and attracted to him.

You started to care for him from that day on, but Jimin didn’t.

- end - 

published 07.29.20

#ficswithluv #btswriterscollective #btsbookclub #bangtanscenery #bangtanidx #btswritingcafe #jimin fluff #jimin angst #jimin fic #bts jimin angst #bts jimin fluff #bts jimin fic #jimin drabble #bts jimin drabble #bts drabble #bts fic

[mlpdestinyverse]

“One November Eve”

One stormy eve, when Dream Flow mysteriously doesn't show for their meet up, Skychaser heads to his friend's home to find out what's keeping her. What he discovers isn't quite what he expected.

Feat. Skychaser, Dreamaria Flow

Related Chapters: Little Monster, Newcomer, Impasse

~Destinyverse Archive~

Skychaser isn't usually one to fuss when it comes to Dream Flow's occasional tendency to arrive late to their hangouts.

He's long accepted it as an on-and-off habit of hers, oversleeping or losing track of time. It's not like they've ever been in a rush, so it's never truly bothered him. Besides, it's easy to imagine her getting caught up in a busy, tiring schedule as an Emotion Counselor.

The latest he can remember her ever arriving was about thirty minutes past their designated time, and even then she came to him apologizing profusely before insisting on treating him to make up for the tardiness. He can tell that she's since made a more conscious effort to be more punctual, despite his assurance that he really doesn't mind.

An hour and twenty-two minutes late...now that's just plain out of character.

It's nearing 6 PM now, and it won't be long before they'll have to officially reschedule their sauna day for another time. Sky is still sitting at a cafe table, tapping his hoof against the wooden surface, the vibrations causing his long empty cup of mint chocolate chip ice cream to shake. 

He'd been looking forward to relaxing within the embrace of hot steam on a chilly autumn day. More so than that was his eagerness to behold Dream's first heavenly sauna experience, as a mare who apparently had never even known of their existence until a week ago. She had mirrored his excitement, giving him a date where she'd be completely free. But that's all quickly becoming rather trivial compared to his growing bewilderment.

'Did she go on a last-minute errand run?? What is going on?'

It's only when a large droplet of rain nearly jabs his eye that he knows that the fall thunderstorm Ponyville ordered for the sake of building atmosphere towards Nightmare Night has begun. And it's at that moment that Sky knows he has a time limit before the rain starts pouring. So with a frown, he swiftly makes his way to a new location...

By the time he's in front of the door to Dream's house, the boughs of leafless trees have begun groaning and Sky's thick mane might as well be mauling his face, thanks to the whipping winds. Honestly, if it wasn't for the sheer absurdity that was the concept of being "stood up" by Dream of all ponies, he would have thought to arrive sooner to check on his friend. But looking at the house, the windows are completely absent of any light, and that becomes even more prominent with the darkening grey sky above him as the sun dips away and the clouds prepare to-

-drench him. Just...all at once. A waterfall-like sheet of rain crashes onto him, and he hisses a curse as he instinctively tries for the doorknob, despite knowing it won't open.

Except it does, and Skychaser has to blink a few times at that.

'Guess she went out and...forgot to lock it behind her...?'

A flash of lightning and Sky all but scrambles inside and shuts the door before the accompanying boom of thunder can deafen him.

As he enters the threshold, and his eyes adjust to the brief lightning flash followed by the interior darkness, he almost swears a separate faint light catches the edge of his vision. But it's gone before he can fully acknowledge it, and it leaves his mind as soon as he winces at the booming thunderclap.

"Hokay then..." Sky mutters. He shrugs off his hoodie and hangs it on the nearby coat rack. Having visited Dream's house numerous times before, finding and flicking on the closest light switch isn't too difficult. The warm lighting reveals the large, decently furnished living room he's grown quite accustomed to, as a place to spend time with his friend as well as a safe space for a few of their counseling sessions together: television and couch set up to the left, first-floor bathroom to the right, her open kitchen towards the very back, next to the polished curving staircase... "Wait for Dreamers it is..."

At least, he hopes Dream isn't still trying to make it to their sauna day. Once she realizes he's not at their meeting spot, she'll either look for him at the Cutie Mark Sanctuary if only to frantically apologize like the sweet doof she is, or she'll make the better call and head back home in this weather.

Unless she's forgotten their plans entirely. Then well...at the very least, she'll absolutely return straight home and they'll figure it out from there.

'Unless...an emergency...?'

Sky vigorously shakes the worrisome thought out of his head, only to flinch and curse again when water droplets fly everywhere and cling to the nearby wall. This isn't the time to go into Anxious-Brother-Mode™ when he should be hunting down a towel unless he wants to create a puddle in the middle of Dream's living roo- oh, a puddle's already forming, goddammit.

He carefully maneuvers himself towards Dream's towel closet on the right-most wall, right beside her bathroom door. But he sighs and gives up midway on tip-toeing when he realizes he's leaving a trail of rainwater anyway, making a faster beeline for it. Without pause he yanks it open and pulls out a fluffy towel with cute little sea motifs, aggressively drying his cursed sponge-like mop of hair; the true perpetrator of the puddles...a symbol of freedom and majesty now fallen from grace. For shame.

He sighs with relief once he feels sufficiently...less wet, albeit his feathers are sticking in almost every direction and his inner pegasus shrieks at him to preen- which, speaking of, is it weird to preen in your friend's house when they're not there?

Shower Thoughts with Skychaser.

Sky lets the towel hang around his neck and grins to himself over his dumb mental joke- but upon closing the closet door fully, something he hadn't noticed before immediately greets him.

A single orange sticky note, attached to the door at eye level.

He's genuinely confused at first, but once his eyes flit over the words written on it in black marker, he near-instantly recalls the counseling session he'd shared with Dream not even a month ago. In this very living room, funnily enough:

"Sticky Note Affirmations" she had called it, suggesting it to him like many other forms of therapy they've given a go through the course of their friendship. He remembers her explaining it as a method of using positive affirmations in one's daily life, to "move the mind away from persistent negative thoughts" and "set in a more positive way of thinking".

"Positivity takes practice!" he can practically still hear the confidence in Dreamaria's voice from that day, her beaming face forming in his mind. "We may be our own worst critic, Sky, but we're also the one person in life who can be our most faithful supporter. So try cheering your future self on!"

It sounded a little silly at first, the idea of sticking notes around his room and expecting them to do anything. Dream Flow did say the results varied for everyone.

Now, Sky has a small collection of post-it notes that have given him just the slightest boost needed to help deviate that self-deprecating corner of his mind; more often than not, at least. Who knew that reading something as simple as "I Am Worthy" on his bedroom door every morning could make a difference in his outlook for the day? He sure didn't.

But maybe Dream being the source of the idea made her feel a little present within each of his notes, believing in him just as much as he was encouraging himself.

Dream specifically offered the idea of writing down kind compliments for himself. There were also reminders and encouragements for daily tasks, saved for the heavier days where such chores often felt impossible or pointless. Now one particular note near his comb encourages him to brush his mane each day because otherwise, he'll deal with knots that resemble a pile of tangled earbud cords - or worst...Astral Dusk's spikes - and risk shaving it all off in frustration (Monochrome would have a field day).

Anyway, that aside, the note on Dream's towel closet reminds him of that sort of encouragement:

"Because a hot shower organizes thoughts and helps warm the soul!" it motivates, in curvy writing that he definitely recognizes as Dream's.

It shouldn't be a surprise that Dreamaria would practice her own suggestions, maybe to test the effectiveness for herself; but at the same time, how effective could testing it be? In his friend's case it felt hilariously redundant, like a mere flashlight's beam merging in with an already blinding sunray of optimism. Or...something. He's not as poetic with words and comparisons as Eventide.

Point is, the living embodiment of positivity just setting up more positive inspiration for her "future self" is incredibly funny to him and wholesomely endearing.

Skychaser backs his way into the middle of her living room, bumping up near Dream's couch there, and gives the room a good squint - and to his delight, his eye catches the pastel colors of more sticky notes dotting the mare's kitchen.

Well, at least he has something to distract himself with while he waits on Dream Flow. And if there's anypony he'd love to read some encouraging wisdom from, it'd have to be the counselor herself.

So he starts at one end and slowly saunters through her kitchen space, from one note to the next, feeling his grin and amusement growing with each one.

"Because an uncluttered sink helps with an uncluttered mind!" a pink note above her sink declares, where a few glasses and plates have been left to sit.

"Use me! Because you've come so far as a cook, and I exist for a reason!" the green note on her spotless stovetop-oven all but shouts.

"Because your body deserves nourishment, and Uncle wants you to eat well. Don't forget to keep a full fridge!" one blue sticky note insists on her refrigerator. Skychaser slyly opens the freezer door to better gauge the sorts of things his friend prefers to indulge in, for the noble cause of future birthday bashes (he genuinely half expects a compartment full of ice cream). His eyebrows fly up when he sees it's empty besides a tray of ice cubes.

'She REALLY must have gone out for some serious grocery shopping, geez...'

Now that he thinks about it, it's curious, really. Because while Dream's session on the notes had been held a month ago, Skychaser had visited just a week before and he's certain these little reminders hadn't been present that day. But the folded corners and slight creases on the notes suggest that they aren't recent either...?

Huh. Weird.

Sky hears the rain audibly thrum harder on the roof. He glances at the door, then at the time on her microwave.

6:42. Still no Dreamaria.

Hooves clacking across the tiles, Skychaser turns to leave the kitchen. In an effort to set aside his uncertainty, he considers what distractions he could find on Dream's T.V. That is until he finds himself pausing by the kitchen island.

Skychaser now notices that amongst a clutter of unopened mail envelopes, a single letter has been left out. Were it not for the rather official-looking white and blue mailer with a broken gold wax seal, or the fancy thick yellow parchment of the letter itself, Skychaser would have overlooked it.

He fights with himself, eyes flicking back and forth between the rest of the living room and the strange letter just...laying there.

...his need for answers wins over. Because surely a small glimpse and the quickest skim just to understand the subject of such an out-of-place letter couldn't hurt. It just may be the very clue he's been seeking as to the whereabouts of his friend.

'An emergency', his mind supplies nervously again, the feeling intensifying when he picks out on the envelope's face that the mailing address is from Reinsford; Dreamaria's hometown.

'Yeah, that's not comforting...'

So sure enough, he sets his now-folded towel onto the counter and leans over the parchment, giving the sentences a quick once-over. He searches for names, keywords, the last line of the letter-

He stops.

He reads the last line again. Then a third time, his eyes widening with each reread.

'Hold the fuck on, am I-?'

Sky swoops the letter up into his wings. He squints harder, darting his orange irises back to the beginning. Because maybe context would confirm whether he's crazy or he just read what he thinks he just read.

"Dear Madam Dreamaria Flow,

I hope this package and its contents have found you in good health. 

It has been a lengthy two years since your departure from our beloved coasts. Your absence has been profoundly felt by your fellow residents and myself, even to this very day.

While I would not dare to take up more of your time than necessary, I first wish to extend my deepest apologies for not reaching out to you sooner. Your uncle has shared a tale or two of your exploits in Ponyville, and though I am sure you have found success and a great sense of fulfillment in your new career - a hearty congratulations to you, may I add! - I have felt that a hefty debt was left unpaid the day you left this town.

It is only right that I follow through on my word. It took some time, but after vowing to properly reward you for your unforgettable deed, I am happy to announce that I have made great use of my authority to finally deliver:"

Halfway through the letter, the storm outside gives another bright flash of lightning, followed seconds later by a booming crack of thunder that almost shakes the air. A barely present corner of his mind registers something...slightly different about it; like a subtle sparking undercurrent of sound had joined in for just a second. But right now he's focused on this letter, too immersed in speed-reading the sentences to consider it as anything but a one-off:

"Enclosed is your very own Reinsford-sanctioned Certification of Arcane Excellence. Please do brandish this certificate with pride as a prior member of Reinsford's community. I believe such high credentials could prove useful and bode well if presented and proven to Princess Twilight Sparkle herself.

While losing someone as gifted and valuable as yourself thoroughly saddens us, we are quite pleased knowing our talented Dreamaria is still putting her skills to good use.

Remember that this town will always be your home. It has been far too long since we have last seen you. Never hesitate to visit, and if anything goes wrong, know that we will gladly welcome you back with open arms."

And then finally, he reaches that line again. Except he isn't sure if context has at all changed the amount of bewilderment and awe his discovery has brought him.

"Nonetheless, Reinsford will continue to miss its - official, as of this letter - dear Wizard, and its citizens whole-heartedly wish you well with your personal endeavors.

With gratitude, Mayor Bight"

A thunderclap of merciless lightning shatters the sky, and in that very instant, darkness falls around him.

The blackout startles Skychaser enough that he drops the letter and braces against the kitchen island with a soft yelp. He's thankful that the nearby streetlamp is managing to stream in just enough light through the windows to allow him the vaguest visual of his surroundings; shapes and desaturated colors and shadows, more than anything.

But now there is an eerie, deafening silence, with the background whirring of every appliance coming to a complete hush. The rain, the slightest shifts of his body, and his breath are suddenly much louder, almost reverberating through the room.

Whatever sense of confusion and wonder over Dream's letter has momentarily fizzled out, replaced by goosebumps and an immense sense of vulnerability. He feels small and uneasy - a single breathing body in an expanse of black and greys.

'Maybe I've uh...outstayed my welcome... If preening in your friend's empty house is weird, standing around for them in the darkness of their home may deserve a restraining order.'

He'll just have to table his questions and intrigue for another day, as exasperating as it is to have even fewer answers now than before.

For the sake of his boggled mind, he settles that Dream is out shopping. Or doing awesome-secret-wizard-shit, if this letter and her disappearance aren't just some strange, elaborate prank Dreamaria has set up just for him. Unlikely, yeah, but he's also learned that Dream Flow is pretty up there in terms of surprise factor.

Maybe he'll see enough faces on his way back to the Sanctuary to ask around about his friend. But before that, if he wants to even make that journey, he decides that a borrowed umbrella might be a good idea right about now. Or ooh, a cute, tiny raincoat he can drape over his head as he elegantly races through the streets before ducking underneath an awning and meeting his soulmate? Surely Dream had one or the other around somewhere.

The attempt to lighten his own mood somewhat works as he's able to blindly locate her letter, replace it on the counter, and urge himself forward through the low lit room. The air has been quick to drop temperature without its heating unit, only adding to the strangely oppressive atmosphere.

Thankfully the street light bounces off of the far wall - the one he had previously borrowed his towel from - preventing him from running face-first into it. If he's remembering right, and he traces the wall towards those curving stairs in the back corner...

The wall stops short. Tucked into the large alcove that follows, he finds his sought-after mystery door right near the foot of the stairs.

While aware of its existence, he admittedly has never seen the room's interior nor ever had a reason to check it out. He's only ever assumed it to be some sort of coat closet, so naturally, any form of raincoat or umbrella would surely be stored within. Most likely??

But as he steps up to the door, all too ready to prepare for his leave, he yet again is brought to a halt. He makes out a familiar small square shape in this shadowed corner of the house, attached to the door a little higher than the usual eye level.

'Oh. Even here?'

He almost chooses to ignore the sticky note with his priorities at hoof. But something about it draws his eye - and he realizes that, even in this lighting, he can faintly make out words. It's due to the writing itself, displaying neat and meticulous letters, as opposed to the other affirmations that were more hastily scrawled.

'"Because"..."you"...?'

Sky has to lean in until the bridge of his scrunched muzzle is just inches away from the note. His eyes have adjusted to the dark, so he's able to read the bleeding inky words:

"Because you'll prove them wrong."

.....

Skychaser allows himself a moment to give the note a good, long stare.

Maybe it's due to his current circumstances: the storm, the week of Nightmare Night, Dream's absence, standing alone inside a dark, deathly still building on a cold November eve. But the sharp change in tone from Dreamaria's previous notes definitely forces Sky to acknowledge just how unsettled he feels.

One step back and he's boring his visible eye into the closet door before him. That eye then falls to its silver door handle.

...this....is a closet that he just found that note on. Right?

Sky very quietly, very weakly laughs to himself. He moves to turn the handle before he can overthink it.

'Maybe this is where Dream keeps all the dead bodies.' he jests, pushing the door open a sliver.

It creaks under his hesitant grasp. With that crack, Sky notices a light source within, out of sight, in a room bigger than he honestly pictured; faint. Orange. ...pulsating?

BANG!

Sky releases an indecipherable shout right as the door in his grasp SLAMS back in place in one explosive movement. He stumbles backward but he doesn't get far, because in a whirlwind there are glowing blue lights flying around him in literal ribbons, erupting from the floor, grabbing him, coiling around him so rapidly that he doesn't get a chance to even unfurl his wings as he rears up, because now they're being tied to his back and his forelegs are bound up securely against his chest-

He's lifted, hoisted right off the ground and jostled about in the process of being turned. At this point he's stopped thrashing and has kept his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth painfully clenched. Upon the movements stopping, he cracks his eyes open to look down at himself.

Instead, his irises flash to his lower left, where the end of one ethereal ribbon is gradually creeping around his neck without actual contact: a silent threat. He can't control the pitifully strangled noise he lets out, desperately leaning his head as far away as possible, which isn't far at all.

'What the fuck, what the FUCK, I WAS FUCKING JOKING-'

He would be breaking down into hysterical laughter right about now if he wasn't so shaken. The only reason he hasn't entered a full-blown panic is that the ribbons have completely ceased their motions, and while tight, it's not enough to restrict his breathing. He's fine. He's okay.

Look at him. Those positive thinking exercises have been working...haha. ...coping with humor at a time like this probably isn't the healthiest, though, even if it's working to keep his sanity intact.

Maybe it's not fully hitting him. It all feels too unreal, like some realistic fever dream-

Violently swishing fabric rolls through his ears next, too pitched and harsh to be born from his imagination. Skychaser jolts, because in a single blink, the safe beams of the streetlight filtering in from each of the house's windows have been cruelly snuffed out. The curtains have all been pulled shut in one sweep. He's been left in true, absolute pitch darkness.  

And then he sees it.

A set of white, glowing pinpricks of light, waiting in the shadows straight ahead.

Staring right back.

Watching him. Sky registers that this is real.

Body and throat seized up in terror, he doesn't even scream. He can't find his voice, only listening to his own labored breathing while those two glows eerily sway and grow closer. He catches the sound of slow, careful steps. Hoofclacks.

As his mind processes, the glowing orbs stop just outside of the light from his radiant restraints.

And they speak.

"...state your business."

The voice is low. Soft and husky, yet it carries in the quiet amongst a backdrop of rain. It's formal, frigid, and completely foreign to him.

Skychaser shivers.

"I-I..." he struggles out, his own voice hoarse but miraculously coherent despite his scrambled brain. "I was...l-looking-"

He snaps his mouth close when he hears a sharp inhale in front of him. It's followed by a much gentler, far more familiar tone.

"...Skychaser?"

Sky's eyes bug open, only for him to cringe away when a flash of light nearly blinds him. He blinks against it anyway, urging his pupils to focus in on-

Dream Flow.

The tip of her horn is illuminated with a small beacon of magical light - a beacon that closely resembles whatever the hell she's done to her pupils, filled at the centers with the very pinpricks of white that had shaken him previously.

The unicorn looks thoroughly dumbfounded. Wide-eyed, mouth open, head pulled back. When she seemingly confirms his identity for herself, her eyebrows knot even further.

"...you're...my intruder?" she slowly sounds out. "How did you...why are you here?"

Sky's remaining brain cell has long fizzled out by now, so he sputters at first before he exclaims back;

"Me?? I came here looking for you! You didn't show for our sauna meet! Where in Equestria have you been?!"

Cogs seem to turn in his friend's head for a few seconds before realization settles in.

"Oh." She murmurs, blinking owlishly at him. "That...yes. You're right. I...oh..."

More beats of silence pass. Sky shifts uncomfortably in the ribbons' grasp. Before he can even ask, the motion has Dream breaking out of her stupor. As if just realizing the state he's in, dismay flickers across her face. And yet she lets out a laugh, one he can only describe as stressed in this context.

"Oh Celestia, what a horrible...horrible misunderstanding!"

With a blue spark of her horn, Skychaser watches as the magical ribbons begin to shimmer and dissolve away, gently lowering him down as they do. He turns his head about at the rather pretty display, with sparkles left behind in the spell's wake before those dissolve in thin air too. Skychaser doesn't get to admire for long as he clumsily has to catch himself with his front hooves those final few inches to the floor.

He shoots her a perplexed look, but he doesn't think she sees it, because she's too busy aiming a secondary laugh at the floor. In his gut, he has the distinct impression that she doesn't actually find this humorous. Not with the way her shoulders have gone rigid.

"I am...so terribly sorry, Skychaser. I genuinely thought someone had broken into my house and...well, I was prepared for a confrontation!"

"I noticed!" he wheezes out, half-exasperated, half-jokingly. "You also look ready to shoot lasers out of your eyes, and I nearly peed myself because of it."  

Dream winces, then squeezes her eyes and sets her horn sparking blue again. When she reopens them - thank God - her actual pupils have returned. The spectrum of colors in them are discernable again too - downcast, he discovers that the azure in her irises appears more pronounced. Or maybe it's the low lighting.

"They say intimidation leaves an impression," she quips, the corner of her mouth barely quirking up. She's still not looking at him. "Guess it worked, huh?"

Sky mouth pulls down into a deep frown, his gaze roaming over his friend. Dream's blue mane is unusually unkempt from what he's used to. The mare's form hasn't even moved an inch from its tight, almost closed off stance in the past minute or two - a significant contrast to the conversational cadence of her voice.  

He doesn't think he's ever seen Dream so...physically withdrawn before. In a way, it was understandable in the aftermath of what's looking more and more like one very awkward, very startling mix-up. But it's also not like she hurt him.

"Hey, Dreamers, it's okay. You freaked me out, sure, but I'm WAY more relieved to see you. I was starting to think something serious happened."

Shortly afterward, Dream finally meets his eye, but only to offer a sad smile.

"I apologize for that! It seems I just..."

"Overslept?" Sky grins humorously, only to pause when Dream's expression dips into guilty. "Wait what?"

"I'd only meant to close my eyes for an hour or two at most-" she confesses, glancing up towards her stairs. "-and take a short rest before meeting up. But the murky weather must have lulled me." A chuckle bubbles out of her and she shakes her head. "I think my sleepy haze made me forget everything else once a 'threat' entered the picture. But that's no excuse. I won't let something this careless happen again, I promise."

Sky rubs his forehead. Not because he has a headache, but because the small puzzle pieces he now possesses are struggling to mash together. "So...you were actually upstairs? This whole time?"

Dream nods. "Yes, I woke up when..." Her eyes trail over towards the front door.

She goes quiet. Almost as soon as that answer fades out, another question begins. "....Sky, how did you get in anyway?"

"Your door was unlocked...?" he provides, letting the question in his tone voice his own confusion. "Which I thought was weird."

Dream answers with a short, disbelieving laugh. "Oh wowy! Seems I didn't lock it behind me when I got the mail today..." she breathes out a sigh. "I'm glad you got out of the storm, but I'll need to be more mindful."

Mail.

An opening presents itself to him. A way to find answers and ease tension, he hopes, as his buried intrigue and curiosity rises from the depths.

"Hey, don't sweat it! But I gotta say...that was a preeetty cool trick you did back there," A knowing grin spreads across his face, and he leans his head forward with a conspirational whisper. "Miss Wizard~"

Dreamaria doesn't respond right away. It takes her one steady beat before she slowly turns her head back towards him.

A blank stare greets him.

"...what?"

"You're a Wizard, Dreamy!" he chirps, bouncing between his hooves. "Congratulations! Even I couldn't believe it when I spotted your letter, but all that fancy-shmancy magic you did sure confirms it." He taps his hoof to his chin, humming playfully. "It sounds like you've had a bunch of snazzy spells up your sleeve for a while! Why'd you never-"

He's so lost in his giddy mental world of excitement and thrill that he almost misses the way Dream stiffens. Almost.

Because her smiles are gone now.

"You...read my letter."

It's less of a question and more a statement she's allowing to sink in. Caught off guard by her abrupt monotonous tone, he finds himself self-conscious in his reply.

"Yeah it was...lying on the counter, and I thought it could be a...clue...but um..."

With each word, Sky begins to recognize the breach of privacy he had committed and how weak of an excuse he really had to snoop on a clearly personal letter. Even if it felt justified at the time. It's his turn to wince guiltily. "Yeah no that...sounds pretty bad actually."

Dream doesn't react, gazing back vacantly in a way she's never done before. It makes him retract a hoof, an uncomfortable knot forming in his stomach. "...Dream?"

She inhales, almost painstakingly slow and deep. The breath is held for a few seconds longer.

Then, after an exhale that's just as prolonged, the smallest smile ghosts across her muzzle.

"I see. You were worried and it just kind of happened. Right? I'm the one who left it out and created this whole mess. So really, it's my own fault."

What? Sky insistently shakes his head. "No way, it's your house. I should've held off...I'm sorry."

Dream reaches out to touch his shoulder, smiling sweetly. "Apology accepted! What's done is done, eh~?"

Uncertainty lingers despite himself; to think he managed to elicit that response, out of Dream, which made it undeniably that much more nervewracking. Regardless, Skychaser wills himself to relax.

How Dream can consistently be that quick to forgive will remain out of his realm of understanding. Good thing, too...he didn't think he could handle impairing one of his most cherished friendships all because of his own ever-present idiocy.

"...can I ask...??"

Sky's a little dubious on where to put his footing down from here, but he trusts Dream enough to be forthright with him about where her lines lie. Thankfully the corners of the mare's eyes crinkle back cordially.

"Yes, Sky?" she invites.

"...does that mean you're like that one guy?" He leans back in, side-mumbling to her. "Star Whirl the Bearded or whatever-"

Dream laughs, loud and hearty. "OH, heavens no! Starswirl was an arcane prodigy. I'm nothing like that." Dream Flow turns away from Sky to walk towards her front door. Curious, Skychaser follows after her. "In fact, despite what that letter claims, I'm not a Wizard."

"What?" Sky laughs out, shooting the back of her head a doubtful raise of his brow. "But they gave you-"

She smiles back at him over her shoulder, serenely closing her eyes and shaking her head.

"I'm not a Wizard. Being a Wizard suggests that I'm some grand expert who plays with different fields of magic for a living! I'm just an Emotion Counselor who happens to have some extra prior study on the side." For some reason she begins to glide an absentminded hoof against the carved wood of the doorframe. "Reinsford legally naming me their pet Wizard doesn't change that."

...pet? "Now excuse me for a second!" Dream says, aiming her horn towards the entrance. "I really need to reset this before the mental buzzing gives me a headache."

Her horn illuminates - an odd mismatch of bright blue with tinges of her magic's usual orange - and Skychaser gapes as the unassuming decorative markings carved into the door's wooden frame begin to light up brightly, one by one, until it's covered with these glowing elaborate lines and shapes completely unfamiliar to the pegasus. Dream turns back to him, coaxing him with a nudge of her head towards the display.

"If you don't mind, Skychaser, could you please touch one of these runes? If I add in your magic signature, we won't have to worry about another silly mishap."

Sky has literally no idea what any of that means. But Dream looks composed and attentive, so he follows her instructions. This "rune" he touches brightens, casting a warm halo of white light around his hoof. Then it all fades away, dimming the room back to just Dreamaria's light spell.

He glimpses at the unicorn and takes in the unexpectedly soft way she's looking at him.

"...thank you for trusting me." She expresses with warmth, placing a hoof over her chest in some form of relief.

"I mean yeah, always, but that was...?"

Dream perks up. There's a playfulness to her demeanor as she casually shrugs.

"A magical alarm. Just in casies. You activated my runes when you walked in," she giggles. "That's what alerted me and woke me up! But now that I've included you into the formula, you're my trusted exception. No more false alarms if something like this manages to happen again."

Okay. Sky's mind is officially boggled.

"Wait, so you're over here trying to convince me that you're NOT a Wizard-" He gestures incredulously at the door. "But you can do crazy shit like that?!"

Her ears twitch back, enough to catch his attention. Just like that, she's back to averting her gaze.

"Ah...this isn't as complicated as it looks, actually!" Dream defends cheerfully, strain returning to the smile she's wearing. "The initial set up was more tedious if anything. But I appreciate the compliment!"

With that, she strides away from the front door and back into the house, presumably towards her kitchen. However, her attitude regarding the subject bugs him. It's not like he knows much about unicorn history and titles and whatnot, but still...

"I thought being called a Wizard would be like...the highest honor for a unicorn or something." He scratches his head, a little embarrassed over his own lack of knowledge. "So I guess I'm not getting why you're..."

"Being called a wizard is a compliment to a unicorn's abilities." Dream supplies for him, slowing her gait to a halt. She turns her head without facing him, choosing to speak into the air instead. "Being named a Wizard is different...just something silly they began labeling me one day." More jovial laughter shakes her shoulders. "It was a little much! So Ponyville became my home of choice."

Despite her light-hearted, almost whimsical tone, Sky's ability to read body language doesn't fail him. He sees tension retake her frame.

"So you don't want to be one." Sky notes with a frown, eyebrows pulled back. Hooves clacking against the hardwood floor, he stops just beside her to brush a soothing wing against her shoulder; something he realizes he's never had to do, because comfort has only ever been given the other way around. "Too much pressure?" He prompts quietly.

Dream Flow is staring off, a distant look on her face. There's a slight shift to her jaw.

"I...don't have time to..."

She's deep in thought. Contemplative. Choosing her words carefully as she lowers her head to one side.

"...humor their fantasy of me."

A tense silence follows, along with a creeping feeling of personal familiarity. Sky tries to work a response through his mind, but he doesn't get enough time to when Dream's gently pushing his wing away and beaming up at him. "But never mind that. This weather must be doing things to me. It's not like me to put a damper on the mood! I've never been the biggest fan of rain."

"It's not a damper..." Sky tries, because really, when has Dream ever opened up to him like this? It's never even crossed his mind that she even had things to open up about, as stupid as that was.

But it's clear to him that Dream's finished, with the way she holds up a hoof and how the curve of her lips eases. "I wouldn't want anypony getting the wrong idea about me here either, actually. So I hope we can keep this between us? No more ‘Dream the Magical Wizard'?"

Dream drops her pitch a few decimals just to exaggerate the title, and it's so out of the blue that it wins her a short laugh from him. "Of course." Sky answers without hesitation. If she's shared all she's willing to, enough to return to her usual self, he won't push it. That's how she's always been when it came to him, after all. "You're just 'Dreamers the Dork" to me."

A grin breaks across Dream's face at that. "I like that better, actually."

"Ooooh no, don't say that, or else I'll start greeting you like that. Everywhere we go."

Dream giggles and continues her trek to the kitchen with Sky in tow. He now sees that she's heading towards that little area directly beneath her stairway; a side room to her kitchen used for her laundry appliances.

...memory swears that the folding doors to this room were closed earlier.

"Okay, let's fix this..." she hums and steps into the crowded space, leaving Sky standing at the threshold. He never identified it until now, writing it off as some random metallic plate on the back wall, but Dream Flow snaps it open and reveals it to be a door to a breaker box.

Confused, he's about to stop what should've been a futile attempt at bringing back power, but just like that, Dream flicks the top-most switch and the house comes back to life around him. Light refills the room, the microwave lets out a beep of relief, and Sky meanwhile is whipping his head back and forth between the main room and Dream herself.

"Wait, I thought the storm took out the power, how did you??"

"Oh, no." Dream grins sheepishly, gesturing towards the circuit breaker behind her. "That was all me."

Oh, how the surprises never cease with her. When did she even get downstairs to pull this stunt on him?

Well, she could teleport. But even that made noise. How he never heard her even once is-

Oh. Thunder.

"This was...one elaborate plan, Dream."

"That's true. But when you've never lived alone before, you sort of...end up a little paranoid." Dream rubs her foreleg shyly. "I saw lights on downstairs, sensed someone I couldn't even see walking around, and had no clue what they wanted. Naturally I assumed a break-in, so I took the necessary precautions to keep safe and take action."

If Sky didn't feel bad earlier, he's certainly feeling it now.

"Damn...didn't mean to scare ya, sis."

"That goes for two of us..." Dream Flow sighs dramatically. "Causing fear in you...I'd never wish for that again."

"Hey, I'm just glad it wasn't anything paranormal!" Sky exclaims, backing up to let Dream join him in the actual kitchen. When she does, though, she turns her head towards her appliances.

"...oh. Well this is embarrassing." She says, looking straight at one of her sticky notes. "These were meant to be private, but wow does this explain why my 'intruder' was so entertained by my kitchen."

Skychaser snickers. "Hey, I for one appreciated your wise words. I think it's cute that you're messing around with affirmations yourself."

Speaking of...that reminds him.

"I was wondering, Dream," Sky motions his head back towards the very space their face-off had played out. "What's that room by the stairs? I thought it was a coat closet, but..."

He trails off, wondering if Dream will catch on.

"Oh, that? That's just my private study! I've stored a bunch of very personal memories from Reinsford in there." She smiles. "I take it you read my note. It's basically a little reminder for myself to keep moving forward."

Ah. Move on from a town of expectations? That made enough sense to him. And he sure was glad all of the wild threads tonight were finally ending with answers.

"And like everything else, I can only guess that creepy orange glow was you too?" he teases. "I only got a glimpse, but it definitely was a distraction before everything broke loose."

Dream doesn't say anything at first, as if waiting for him to continue or deliver some punch line. When he doesn't elaborate she gives him an inquiring eyebrow raise and a tilt of her head. "Wait, what glow?"

Sky stops. Just in case, he searches Dream's face, but she looks sincerely clueless.

"The...one inside the study?" He provides, hoping for any sign of recognition. "Something was glowing, but it was faint and I couldn't see anything."

Dream looks taken aback. Eyes darting sharply towards the door in question, she gives it one disbelieving look.

"'Glowing'...?" she whispers breathily, and the goosebumps that had long faded away are now returning to Skychaser's pelt. He blanches.

"Oh Gods it wasn't you..." Sky tugs at his hair and makes some sort of makeshift curtain to hide half of his face behind. "Oh Gods, what was that then?!"

Dream's multi-colored orbs snap back to him. "A-ah! Well-" her voice carries a slight tremor, one she catches and visibly swallows down (as if that'll hide how she's just as freaked out as he is, she's not fooling him). Then she laughs it off, giving him a playful grin. "It's probably not ghosts?"

"Probably?!"

"It's more likely some old runic project of mine! Responding to the electrical energy in the storm." She waves her hoof towards the ceiling. On cue, a rumble of thunder reaches them. "Elemental conversion and all!"

"Lady, I still don't get your magic talk, but if you say so..." He heaves out a breath. "Anything but ghosts...or dead bodies."

Dream gives him a quizzical look at that last comment, but apparently decides against asking. "Well hey! You know what'll lighten the mood?" Dream claps her hooves together, eyes glittering now. "The storm won't stop for another hour or two. So it's time for me to begin making it up to you, starting with a movie night! I still have popcorn in the cupboard and plenty of soda~"

Sky squints at her from behind his mane-wall.

"...'Dogs Don't Dance'?"

"A classic." Dream nods sagely.

"And you'll restock your dang empty freezer first thing?"

"Whoops...don't worry! I'll stop slacking and do that tomorrow~"

Skychaser carries himself to the DVD storage shelf her television sits on. It's thankfully on the literal opposite side of the room from Dream's private study, a place he's sure he'll now associate with tension and spooks after the events of the day. Keeping away is proobably for the best, especially right now. Because reassured or not, the pegasus doesn't think he'll be completely shaking off his jitters tonight. A scary movie would probably do him in at this point.  

Dream must be experiencing something similar, because after tapping the popcorn setting on her microwave, he sees her lean against the counter and restlessly gaze off towards that very door behind him. Warding off any surprise demons with her magic stare, he hopes.

But enough jokes. He leaves Dream to it, turning his full undivided attention on the vital task of sifting through DVD cases and finding his favorite comfort movie of jiving animated dogs. They both probably need it.

_________________________________________________________ This...this is a dense chapter and I'm kind of living.

I'm so curious to know what theories and thoughts people have drawn from it, so don’t be afraid to hyper-analyze. Nothing brings me greater joy... I recently fell in love with a few different writing styles and decided to play around with it myself here! I had a lot of fun with it, HEHEH. These probably constitute a whole separate lore upload, but for now, below will be a list of headcanons on Wizards in Destinyverse! For those interested!

-----------------------

Wizard/Sorcerer/Sorceress are all synonymous and are used based on preference. “Wizard” is the go-to gender-neutral term of the three.

The title of “Wizard” has altered throughout time. In pre-Equestrian days, when the Unicorns were all competing to understand magic and develop their power and prestige, the original Unicorn Royal Family were quick to employ the most powerful and innovative mages as advisors. These were the first Wizards - they were gifted high societal status and became the first nobles, whose wealthy descendants still live in the uppercrust of Canterlot to this day.

Thereafter, Wizardry became a profession that certified one’s expertise and allowed a unicorn to work alongside the most prestigious spellcasters and researchers (sometimes working for the crown, but not always). Aspiring Wizards then only earned their own title if they were lucky enough to have their talents acknowledged by the royal family  (in the special case of the mighty prodigy Starswirl himself), or by the authority of an existing Wizard (ie. the sorcerer Clover the Clever, first student of Starswirl the Bearded).

After the three pony tribes integrated into one society (and the Unicorn Royal Family abdicated for the reign of Celestia and Luna), unicorns stepped up in villages all across Equestria to offer magical consultation and arcane services to their fellow ponies. From time to time, an especially studied specialist with a wide range of knowledge would prove their skill or accomplish an incredible feat; thus began the practice of local governments certifying their very own Village Wizard for townsfolk to go to for any magical needs. Not all Village Wizards dedicated themselves to one singular town; in fact, it was considered an honor for a village’s Wizard to proudly represent their town and aid others across Equestria.

The decline of spellcrafting and spellcasting over the centuries has led to Wizards being few and far between. The desire to pass down arcane knowledge still exists, as seen with Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns; so these days, only those with a thirst for knowledge (or even rarer, the desire to pursue arcane advancement) study magic. Even fewer who graduate Celestia's school have gone on to become Wizards, either becoming professors at the princess' school or private tutors of upper-class Canterlot.

The modern Wizard is now defined as a certified practitioner of multiple fields of magic who is consulted for arcane services and/or researches for the sake of arcane advancement. Famous present day Wizards include!

Mage Meadowbrook and Mistmane (both once designated sorceresses of their respective villages). Meadowbrook was the very first non-unicorn to become a mage, and then named Sorceress for her potion-making and item-enchantments.

Starlight Glimmer (sorceress; professor at Twilight’s School of Friendship and occasional aid for Uni-Tech)

Sunset Shimmer (sorceress; royal scientist; founder of Uni-Tech who works for societal advancements in magitech)

Sunburst escapes the definition by a thin hair, due to not being an actual spellcaster or crafter. But he is a valuable magic advisor with his keen mind, and a proud member of Uni-Tech.

#mlp #mlp art #mlp oc #My Little Pony #Skychaser #Dreamaria Flow #destinyverse #story

[hiddendreamer67]

Tears of Fear- The Witcher

Summary: Geralt wakes up to Jaskier crying over his ‘corpse’ and realizes Jaskier is afraid of him.

Word count: 2,102

Had a lot of fun with this, it’s actually my first witcher fic! Feel free to send in more prompts from my bingo card below! Also check out my writing blog @hiddendreamerwriting for more of my work!

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Jaskier was crying.

This was the first thing Geralt processed as he slowly began to wake up from his restless slumber. He was sobbing like a babe, making Geralt cringe as he heard the bard all but wipe his nose on Geralt’s shoulder.

Quickly Geralt became aware of a few other important factors, grimacing through the spike of pain that came rushing back to him. His ribs were definitely cracked, he could feel them slowly melding together beneath his chest. Geralt’s leg was on fire, bent at an angle no human- or witcher- bones should bend. His abdomen felt torn to shreds, and if he looked down Geralt was sure his innards were being exposed to the outside world.

There was a pounding in his skull, a side effect of bashing his skull against a rock, if he recalled correctly. Being used as a ragdoll by a Griffin was not an experience he hoped to encounter again. Had he killed it? He hoped he killed it, for the sake of not doing this twice.

Taking another assessment of his wounds, Geralt knew they would be fatal for a mortal man. Overkill, really; but he’d live. Maybe.

“Fuck.” Geralt hissed, and all of a sudden Jaskier gave a shriek right in his ear, quickly scurrying back from Geralt’s form.

And this was when Geralt realized a third important piece of information: Geralt took in a big whiff of air, recognizing a scent that had been present ever since he woke up.

Jaskier was afraid.

In all the years they had travelled together, Jaskier had never once shown fear towards Geralt- and now, the man reeked of it. It was the witcher’s fault, he assumed. He had let the bard get too close. Seeing Geralt in the throes of a proper battle, seeing the witcher in his primal beast mode as he threw himself and the griffin off the cliff, it had awoken that self-preservation instinct in Jaskier. Finally, Jaskier recognized he was a monster.

“Melitele’s tits, what the fuck?!” Jaskier shrieked again, clawing briefly at the tree behind him to gain distance before seeming to get a grip. He clutched at his heart, which Geralt could hear beating far too rapidly. “I- you- how the fuck- I thought you were dead!”

“Not… yet.” Geralt grit his teeth, growling to get through the pain. “Potion bag. Blue.”

Thankfully, even in his fearful state Jaskier seemed to take some form of pity on him. That, or Jaskier was too frightened to not do as the witcher said. The second was more likely as Jaskier quickly dug through the bag, grabbing the potion and pouring it into Geralt’s mouth with trembling hands.

Geralt grunts his appreciation, feeling the potion take effect. It wasn’t playing nice with the potion already in his system, but Geralt would survive.

“You- you’re okay now, right?” Jaskier cursed under his breath, his tears welling up again. “Of course you’re bloody not, look at you! Why your intestines are all dangling, are they supposed to- oh gods, I’m gonna be sick.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt murmurs, closing his eyes.

“What can I do, Geralt?” Jaskier’s hand is hovering just above his shoulder, touching it briefly as if afraid now to even make contact with such a demon. “I’m no healer, you have to tell me what you need. Another potion? One of the glowy ones?”

“Jaskier.” Geralt repeats, feeling his body drifting back into unconsciousness. “Shut up.”

---

The next time Geralt wakes up, Jaskier is crying again.

This time not on him, thankfully. Instead he’s sniveling to himself across the clearing, head tucked between his knees. Geralt isn’t certain how long he’s been out, but before it was just past dusk and now only the faintest bit of moonlight trickles through the trees, indicating it’s well indo the night. Perhaps he had been unconscious an entire day.

“Jaskier.” Geralt calls, startling the bard into looking his way. That scent of fear is still there.

“Y-yes?” Jaskier hurries to make himself presentable, trying to peer through the darkness. He isn’t gifted with the same night vision Geralt has.

“Potion.” Geralt manages to spit the word out without sounding pathetic, so that’s a bonus. The only reason he’s awake now is yet another burst of pain, a clear sign the last potion wore off. He’s not feeling great about relying on intimidating his best friend to get him through the night.

“Right, right, yes, of course.” Jaskier stumbles to his feet, feeling around cautiously for the potions bag. “Yes, that would- that makes sense, right? You just need these and you’ll… oh shit, I can’t make out the shades in this light. Can you? Is this the right one?”

Jaskier trods over, placing one uncomfortably close to Geralt’s eyeball. He grunts.

“Geralt, in life or death situations you really need to use your words-”

“Yes.” Geralt huffs.

Jaskier sighs, pulling the cork and easing the mixture into Geralt’s mouth as he continues to ramble. “So, you’re going to be alright? Just a few of these to fix you right up? I hope. I didn’t check, didn’t want to… well forgive me for not wanting to see, you’re quite a sight Geralt.”

“Hmm.” Geralt thought that was putting it lightly. He had been run out of towns for less.

“Are you going to… need more of these?” Jaskier asked, his scent spiking as he peered into the potions bag. “I don’t- if you tell me what to gather, I can try, but I’m not certain what it is you witchers put in these. Nearest town is a day’s ride, but I doubt roach will let me leave your side, and of course I’m not eager either-”

Geralt didn’t reply. Before Jaskier had finished his sentence, he had passed out once more.

---

The third time Geralt woke, Jaskier wasn’t crying.

The sun was high in the sky, illuminating the bard who was sitting against a tree, strumming a tuneless chord that was far from cheerful. That bitter scent of fear lingered in the air. Regardless, Jaskier met Geralt’s gaze, giving the witcher a pitiful smile.

“You’re awake.” Jaskier stood up, setting his lute to the side. “Again. Not sure if you’ll even remember all this when you fully wake up. Potion, I assume?”

“Mmm.” Geralt made a noise of agreement, reassessing his wounds. He still felt like shit, but if he was willing to put up with a whole lot of pain Geralt could stand. He could take care of himself.

“Right then, here you are.” Jaskier was at his side in moments, pouring the potion down his throat. “That’s it, nice and easy. Wonder what this stuff tastes like, anyhow- for your sake I hope it’s blueberry or something.”

Geralt didn’t bother giving that a response, swallowing down the last of it. He could feel it taking hold, easing his mangled body back together like the mutated atrocity it was.

“Well, nighty night, dear witcher.” Jaskier sighed.

Geralt looked at the bard. The man looked pale, clearly lacking proper sleep. It was clear he had been neglecting himself in favor of staying at Geralt’s side, frightened of what might happen if Geralt woke up alone.

“Jaskier.” Geralt caught the bard’s attention. “I’m fine.”

Jaskier spared a glance at the rest of Geralt’s body, grimacing. “Well you and I have different definitions of fine, I can tell you that. Your witcher drugs seem to be helping, i’ll be the first to admit, but I can assure you that is not how a man’s stomach should look-”

“I’ll heal.” Geralt cut him off. “I can manage. You’re free to leave.”

Jaskier shook his head. “Geralt, my dear, it is becoming increasingly obvious you have suffered brain damage.” Jaskier assured him, brushing the hair out of Geralt’s face. “No doubt about it, you’re as loony as a duck.”

Geralt gritted his teeth. “I’m of perfectly sound mind.”

“Oh really?” Jaskier’s dramatic attitude made it clear he wasn’t believing a word. “Because ‘perfectly sound’ individuals don’t ask to be abandoned in the woods with fatal injuries. Perhaps if there were a danger about - which would be very valiant and very stupid of you, I must add- , but the only danger here is the rotting corpse of a griffin you conquered several days ago. Which stinks, by the way.”

“There’s no reason for you to stay.” Geralt insisted, and Jaskier looked as though he’d been slapped across the face.

“No- no reason?!” Jaskier sputtered. “I thought after all these years you’d have a bit of faith in your best friend! The bar’s a lot lower than I thought if- if leaving your friend to die is acceptable behavior to you. Gods, I’m glad i’m not the one injured-”

“Shut UP, Jaskier!” Geralt all but roars, and it’s a testament to Jaskier’s bravery that the call of a monster doesn’t increase the smell of his fear. Jaskier isn’t getting it. He refuses to understand. Why must he make Geralt spell out the painful truth?

“...I know you want to leave.” Geralt murmurs. “I won’t hold you here any longer.”

Jaskier pauses, taking a moment to try and read Geralt’s expression. “What in all the glorious fields of the world makes you think I want to leave?”

Geralt grits his teeth. “Because you’re afraid of me.”

It’s quiet just a moment too long.

“What?” Jaskier gives a half laugh, clearly torn between making a joke and treating this seriously. “Geralt, I know you’ve got a lovely head wound, but think about what you’ve said for just a moment. Why would I be following you across half the continent if I was afraid? I’ve had plenty of opportunities to scurry away with my tail between my legs, but no! I treasure your company, bland as it may be at times, and not just for the stories we experience.” Jaskier grimaced, looking at the griffin carcass across the way. “Not that i’m particularly fond of this particular one, I must admit.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Geralt murmurs, perplexed for a moment when he can sense Jaskier isn’t lying. “I can smell it on you.”

“You can- so that’s just a witcher thing, huh? Smelling fear?” Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Every new thing about witchers I learn is so bizarre. Lovely, mind you, but- wow. Alright, fine then. So how long have you been smelling this fear on me? Have I been scurrying after you terrified out of my wits and not even knowing it?”

“No.” Geralt admitted.

“Ha! So you see?” Jaskier looked rather proud of himself. “It mustn’t be fear then, you’ve just caught some part of my natural musk. Er, not that my musk is particularly frightened- you know what I mean. Your witcher senses fail you, my dear fellow.”

“No.” Geralt growled, frustrated. “It was new. Few days ago, after the attack.”

“... oh.” Jaskier froze, a haunted expression taking over his usually cheerful features. The bard took a deep breath, meeting Geralt’s gaze. “Geralt, you wonderful witcher... you are one of the most foolish people on the entire continent.”

Geralt gave a low warning growl.

“I have never, ever been afraid of you, and I never will.” Jaskier insisted, his jaw set in his declaration. “And you know what? Yes, I was very afraid that evening, and every day since. But I was afraid for the same reason I stayed by your unconscious form all these days, and it’s the same reason I cried over what I thought was your corpse. I’m afraid of losing you, Geralt.”

The witcher paused, never expecting such a response.

“I sat by, trying my damndest to nurse you back to health, not knowing what the hell I could even do.” Jaskier had tears once again pooling in the corners of his eyes, but he brushed them away in a hurry. “Each time you went back to your slumber, I didn’t even know if you’d wake again. But each time you were conscious gave me hope, made me realize you were still holding on. I know witchers are hardier than the rest of us, but good lord you really gave fate a run for her money, Geralt!”

“It takes more than that to kill a witcher.” Geralt furrowed his brow, not sure how to deal with this level of concern. He had never had another person so invested in whether or not he died. Even with his fellow witchers, it was always common knowledge that one day they’d die along the Path.

“And I never want to learn exactly how much it takes.” Jaskier shuddered at the thought.

#badthingshappenbingo #the witcher #tears of fear #jaskier #geralt #extreme injuries #don't worry everybody lives here

[imaginesmai]

Steve Rogers-Be Okay

Plot: HYDRA takes Steve. When you get back to him, he’s not the sweet boyfriend you know.

Warnings: angst. Like, really, really angsty. With happy ending, or maybe not?

“Please” you begged, grunting as the shield hit the side of your face and threw your backwards. You winced at the white-hot burning sensation that then spread across the entire half of your face, cringing when you felt blood fill your mouth.

Steve was quiet in front of you, and continued his advance towards your battered body. You tried to put your hand up and shield yourself from his attack, but he gripped it and slammed your wrist on the ground, the weight of his knee falling onto you. Your scream was so loud that  barely perceived the sickening crush of your wrist.

Rushed breaths were leaving your lips as you pushed him away, and you hugged your wrist in your chest. You sent him flying backwards, blue energy emerging out of your good hand and putting some distance between you and your boyfriend. Or what was left of him.

“Please, baby, please” you begged, tears streaming down your face. You kept him down for a few seconds, his pained grunts hurting you more than your wrist. “I-It’s me, Y/N. Don’t do this, Steve. Please.”

Not more than two hours ago, there was a happy smile on your face. A hopeful one. You had found your boyfriend after being taken from you for two weeks. HYDRA had kept him with other prisoners in a secret basement in Siberia. You had been able to rescue every last of them, and you were determinated to save your brain-washed boyfriend too. You felt coldness spreading through you like a disease, making your shiver. It had nothing to do with the cold in Siberia.

Steve’s pupils were as dark as the night sky, the blue nearly non-existent. There was a glow in them that sent chills down your spine, your common sense begging you to do something, anything. But that wasn’t any soldier that you had to defeat, that was the love of your life. The strength in your hand disappeared and Steve was set free. He growled and looked back at you, with those lifeless eyes that would haunt you forever.

You clutched your wrist harder and forced back the tears of fear and pain that pricked at your eyes.

“Steve, this is not you.”

“Shut up” you froze, insides turning to ice. Used to his sweet voice in the mornings, cute kisses on your forehead, his cold voice seemed something straight out of a horror film, deep and distorted. Full of hate.

You felt sick, adrenaline rushing as your mind went into panic mode. As Steve rose up from his position in the ground, you tried to call out for someone. Sam, Natasha, Tony, anyone. Because you knew it wouldn’t come out good. The communication with the team must had fallen down, and they were all still inside that basement. There was no way they would hear you, so you tried other ways.

“You’ve gotta-“

The shield cut you off, hitting your middle with full force and making you choke on your breath. He ran towards you, and you managed to dodge his punch by only inches. For almost five minutes, you battle it out, consisting of mostly you trying to avoid Steve’s hits and not hurt him too bad. Blasts of blue energy tried to keep him tied down, and you found it was harder than what you thought. Steve became more and more frustrated each time you blocked one of his punches, so he decided to use his gun.

He shot two times, one flying past you and the other hitting you on your side. You fell on your knees, clutching your side and gasping for air. Steve stopped too, looking down at you with a small smirk.

“Please, you’re stronger than this” you tried once more, backing up until you met the wall. “I-I can help you, Steve, I can-“

“Shut up!” he bellowed.

Before either of you could blink, another bullet left the gun and tore through your ankle, where seconds ago was your body sitting on the ground. A pained scream left your lips, and your vision became blurry with tears. They leaked from your eyes, as you continued to whimper. You looked up and saw him enraged, but confused. Stories about how he fought Bucky until he was almost on the brink of death came back to your mind; how he managed to pull him out of their control before it was too late.

You opened your mouth again, but he moved faster and had you by your hair in the air, faces inches away from each other. He had his lips pressed in a tight line, his jaw clenched, and you found yourself wanting to hug him. So you did.

Ignoring the multiple injuries your body was managing, your moved your arms to his shoulders and, slowly, hid your face in his neck. His grip on your hair didn’t flatter and you got a constant pain on the back of your head. Steve tensed under you, feeling your tears wet his neck and your whimpers shake your body. He begged to himself to wake up, to wrap his hands around you and cradle until you had forgiven him for the pain he had caused you.

But HYDRA was right, and you were wrong.

His eyes, that had been wide and were starting to regain its blue colour, came back to hard and stone. The hand that wasn’t gripping your hair moved as fast as the sound, and a knife appeared on between his fingers. You were pushed into him as your arms fell from around his shoulders, the knife plunged through your right shoulder.

You couldn’t tell if you screamed first or pushed him away, because the pain was so overwhelming that you blacked out for a second. Your powers created a protective cover for you, pushing Steve a few meters away.

Quickly and desperately, your hand came up and tried to rip it out, to do anything to alleviate the harrowing affliction. The feeling of the metal sliding out was almost as horrible as getting stabbed again, and you sobbed in pain. Clutching your bleeding shoulder, your rolled over onto your chest.

The blue cloud that had been covering your body disappeared while you tried to crawl away, and you were hit with Steve’s shield once again. You felt weightless, flying towards the edge of the building and hearing his steps reaching you. The world danced across your eyes, blood pooling in your mouth and making it hard to breath.

Through your intercom, you heard Tony calling your name; the communication was back and they were out of danger. Steve’s boot came into contact with the bullet wound on your side, and you screamed. Loud.

“Why can’t you just shut up?!” he screamed, his eyes full of rage and confusion. “Shut up! Shut up!”

Steve pressed harder with each word, and a string of pleas left your lips. You were running short of air, and the pain was so bad that you were staring to lose focus in your surrounds.

“I love you” you whispered, and you spat blood on the ground.

Steve screamed in rage, and kicked you one last time, making your body roll on your back and fall through the side of the building.

Through his whipped-brain state, he heard you screaming. He heard each and every hit you took in your fall, your body twisting in ways that shouldn’t be twisted. He heard Tony flying past him and felt Sam’s hands on him, restraining him on the ground thought he knew he wouldn’t be moving any time soon. Also, he saw. Steve Rogers was aware of the way your body landed on the abandoned minivan in the middle of the streets, small and white snowflakes decorating your sprawled hair. He saw how the air left your lungs before your eyes rolled back, one bloodied hand hanging from the vehicle.

Tony landed besides you, his mask lifting and his iron suit detaching from his body. It was still standing, on guard, while its owner ran towards the van screaming your name. He managed to pull you down, not damaging your bruised and broken body anymore.

“Friday, get the jet over here” he chocked out, his own eyes tearing. He watched your stilled chest and the blood leaking out of your wounds. “Make a full scan and send it to Cho, tell her to be ready on the tower.”

“Yes, boss” the mechanic voice answered.

Sam’s face appeared in Steve vision, who couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. He saw his mouth moving, yet he couldn’t hear what he was saying. After shaking him a few times and looking to the ground, Steve understood he was going to get him to down. He gripped the captain’s armpits and lowered him until he was in front of you.

Without wanting to, Steve fell to his knees and touched your cheek, aware of the wary looks on his friends’ faces. They didn’t trust him yet; and he didn’t trust himself either. Bruises. Blood. Bent wrist. Arm. Leg. Pierced ankle.

He heard what Friday was telling Tony through his intercom, even if he wasn’t supposed to. Steve barely registered Natasha touching him shoulder. She covered her mouth with her other hand, cursing when she saw you.

“I did this”

Beside the loud noise of the helicarrier coming down, that was the last thing Steve remembered before blacking out.

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For five hours, the avengers waited while you were in surgery, the doctors fixing what the could and assessing any further damage they may not have caught on the scans. In total, you had five fractures bones in your hand, three bruised ribs, one cracked and two broken, one of which had punctured your right lung. That was because of the fall, which also caused your tibia and humerus to break.

Cho told Tony that the knife might had caused important damage on your shoulder, and she had to take some scans to see so. When she had said that might had problems with the mobility, Steve had broken down into sobs and Sam had to take him away, giving him some sedatives. He didn’t have to hear about the bullet going through your ankle or getting stuck on your side.

By the third hour, Steve could go back to the med bay, his eyes red and his face stone cold, guilt eating him alive. No one could stay still, the possibility of losing an important member of the team too terrifying. Tony tried to talk to Steve, making him see that it wasn’t his fault; that he had been whipped. But the only thing Steve could think about was if the last words he had told you were shut up.

Two more hours passed until doctor Cho appeared through the doors, bloody hands and tired eyes. She waited until everyone was around her, and then started talking.

“She’ll be okay” she said, and there was a collective sigh of relief. Not from Steve, who frowned.

“Will? Then she isn’t okay now?”

“We, uh, had to pump her with enough drugs to make an elephant sleep for a week. Her powers have caused some complications, since they didn’t let us… work on her” Helen looked to the floor, avoiding Steve’s hurt eyes. “She will be sore for months, and probably won’t leave the bed for two or three weeks.”

“That’s what you call being okay?” Steve asked, raising his voice.

“Hey, Cap” Tony raised his hand, making him shut up. “She has done everything in her power, alright?”

“Yeah, sorry” Steve nodded, bringing his hand up to his face, scratching an invisible itch. “And, um, her lung?”

“There was blood on her lungs” she explained. “We drained everything and patched her ribs up, but we’ll have to keep an eye on her, for infections or anything related.

“A-and her ankle?”

“The bullet went straight. Thankfully soft tissue took the damage, but the lateral malleolus got nicked. Nothing we can’t fix.”

“What about-“

“Captain Rogers” Helen interrupted him, giving him a pointed look. “Anything life-threatening has been treated. She will wake up soon, if she’s not already. You can go and see her. One by one, please.”

A chorus of thank you and kind words for the doctor filled the room, but the only thing Steve managed to do was to sit back on his chair, and hide his face on his hands. You could had been dead, and it would be all on him. All because he had been weak, and had hurt you nearly beyond point of repair.

Everyone decided that Steve had to see you first, and between Tony and Sam dragged him to your door. He was totally against the idea of seeing you, but one look from his teammates, his family, made him realise that he had to look past his guilt and see that you probably needed him. As much as he had needed Bucky.

Tony’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present, and he found himself looking at your room’s door.

“I know you feel guilty” he said, his voice soft. “But… don’t let her see that. Just, be there for her. She needs you.”

“Thanks Tony” Steve gave him a small, sad smile.

The door opened and a nurse stopped outside, looking at them with a blank expression. After asking who was going to enter, she told Steve that he had only twenty minutes, something about not suffocating you. When he finally stepped inside, his heart fell to his feet.

You were hooked up to so many wires it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Your broken leg was kept elevated, and your arm hanging, making way for the ventilator that snaked down your throat. It made him nauseous, and he was tempted to go back. Bandages covered your whole body, and two IV bags hung above your head. He closed his eyes harshly, too ashamed to look at you. That was, until he heard his name being called.

“Steve”

It was broken. Steve Rogers was used to your cheerful voice, that managed to make him smile in the worst times. That greeted him in the morning and dulled him into sleep. Your voice was one of his many favourite parts of you, and hearing it so weak and small made tears pool in his eyes.

“C’mere” you mumbled, your eyes half closed.

He reluctantly made his way to you. His hands were on his lap, shaking anxiously, and his body was far from calm. Your right eye, the one that you could open, focused on his anguished face, and you gifted him with a kind smile. Hesitantly, he brought his hand up to brush over the purple circle in your cheek, one of the many that created an horrible painting in your body. He chocked down a sob when your scrunched your brows, and he put his hand back.

“I’m sorry” he said, trying to lift the weight in his chest. He was desperate to tell you so much more, but his lips were sealed with guilt.

“I know” you whispered. With almost an indiscernible movement, you patted the bed besides you and motioned Steve to sit with you.

His own body was sore after the beatings he had taken when he was in HYDRA’s grip. He could feel some ribs broken, and he was sure he would pass out if it wasn’t for you. And for the need of seeing you alive, erasing the image of you laying down in the floor. Not moving. Pushing his pain aside, he sat slowly and turned his face to look at you.

“I’m okay”

“I’m sorry”

“Steve, I’m okay” you repeated, and Steve was finally able to break into a smile. “I’m going to be okay. Just don’t leave me.”

You were going to be okay, he told himself as he kissed your bruised lips, finally the cloud of guilt dissipating. You were going to be okay, he told himself as he listened to the nurse giving you some instructions. He was going to be okay.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers x reader #capitan america #capitan america imagine #capitan america x reader #capitan america one shot #avengers #avengers one shot #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #one shot #imaginemai #angst

[swiftlymoniquesblog]

Perfectly Confused Angel- Part 10

Warnings: Fluff, angst, surprise appearance, injuries, cliff-hanger

Word Count: 1509

A/N: This chapter is intense but absolutely what I was wanting to give you all! I really hope you all enjoy this one!

As usual, master list can be found here

Previous chapter is here

Prompt list here- requests are OPEN!

-Monique

 It was finally the day you all had been waiting for, Cas was coming home. You couldn’t believe he was finally home after all this time of being broken in that hospital bed. It was the hardest thing for you, seeing him like that and not being to help him but he was alive and he was strong enough to get out of that bed. You were so excited and so happy that he was coming home.

“Hey Honeybee.” He says to you as you are packing up his bag and he wrapped his arms around you. He kissed your shoulder a few times, causing you to giggle like a little girl but you loved every minute of it.

“Hi.” You say back to him, turning around to look up at him, kissing his chapped lips quickly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I can’t wait to leave this place and be home with my girl and my best friends.” He smiles down at you and you mirror his face.

“Well good, cause we’re getting out of here!” You exclaim as a doctor comes in to wrap things up.

“Well, Mr. Winchester, it seems that you are finally back to your normal self so you get to go home. Just lay low for a while, take your medication as prescribed, and you should be completely back to normal soon.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Thank you for all that you’ve done.” Castiel says, shaking the man’s hand. The doctor nodded his head at you and left the room, as a way to bid you farewell.

“You guys ready to go?” Dean said, popping his head in the door, with Cas’ backpack over his shoulder.

“Yup.” You say, looking around the tiny hospital room to make sure you got all your belongings before shutting the door behind you.

Taking Castiel’s hand in yours, you walked down the hallway to the elevators that took you back down to the parking lot. You did this a million times by yourself or with Sam and Dean, going in and out to the hospital room but you never thought you’d be walking out with Cas. Your heart was beating profusely because it was finally happening; you were going home with him.

You met Sam at the Impala, Dean hopping into the drivers’ seat, as you and Cas took up the back seat. You snuggle into his side as his arm wrapped over your shoulders, keeping you close. He grunted at the contact because he was still healing and you quickly apologized, forgetting he was still sore.

“Oh no, no, no, Cas, I am so sorry!” You say, a hint of panic in your voice, as you look over your still broken boyfriend, who just chuckled at you.

“Hey, sweetheart, I’m okay. Really.” He says, his eyebrows still furrowed in pain but his smile was trying to tell you that he was fine.

You sigh in relief, still trying to believe him, but your doubts remained. He just now got out of the hospital after staying for two weeks and you knew he wasn’t entirely himself yet. The next few weeks, you were going to make sure to treat him like a porcelain doll.

 ******A few hours later******

It was getting late and you spent the entirety of the day taking care of Cas. Running back and forth between rooms, the kitchen, his bedroom, the bathroom, just to care for him and you were exhausted. It had gotten to the point where he didn’t need anything but for you to sit with him and hold him, because he needed you to be his girlfriend, not his caretaker. He asked Sam and Dean to join him in the Dean cave to watch a movie marathon. Dean had gotten more comfortable with people being in his sanctuary that he was more open to movie and game nights. Well into the third movie, you had fallen asleep, your head in Castiel’s lap and legs curled up on the couch. Sleep had been far away from you since taking care of Cas that now, it caught up with you.

“Oh, my sweet Honeybee.” Cas said when he had noticed you had fallen asleep.

“She’s out like a light.” Sam said, looking at the sleeping girl in Cas’ lap.

“I mean yeah, she’s been at the hospital every single day, caring for you, man. She hasn’t slept very much since all this has happened.” Dean commented.

“Why? Why didn’t she take care of herself?” Cas asked.

“Why? Because she loves you, Cas! Look, we’ve both known her for quite a long time and know when she loves someone, and she’s never loved anyone the way she loves you. Trust me, I know.” Dean said, looking down at his hands.

“Wait you, you loved her, didn’t you?” Cas said, knowing his friend too well.

“Yeah, I did. But she never loved me back, at least not in a romantic way, like I thought she did. But she loves me like a brother and Sammy like a brother but you. Dude, you are her everything. You are her world, her heart, she panicked when you were admitted to the hospital. She was afraid of losing you every single day and that’s why she kept going to that hospital to make sure you were going to live. Because she would die if something happened to you.”

Cas nodded his head and he spoke, “I know that Dean. I know how she feels about me. I’m an angel, I can read minds and I know everything that goes on in the beautiful head of hers. Which is why I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

The noise of the television suddenly stopped as both Sam and Dean looked over to their friend.

“You’re what?” Dean asked, a questioning look on his face. Sam was left just as stunned as Dean.

“I’m going to ask Y/N to marry me.” Cas said, with more confidence than the first time he said it.

“Oh my god, Cas, that-that is incredible!” Dean said, jumping up to hug the angel, as Sam did the same.

“Our little Y/N is getting hitched!” Dean added, sounding like a proud father.

“She’s really growing up.” Sam said, clapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder as Cas just rolled his eyes.

“And this is why I didn’t want to tell you two. You would freak out and go full Dad-mode on her.”

“Well yes, but she is our girl and we love her to death. So, if anything happens to her, we will kill you.” Dean said, only minorly joking.

“That is the last thing I ever want to do,” Cas said.

“We know, but still,” Sam says, smiling to his friend.

 When it gotten later in the night, early hours of the morning, everyone called it a day and headed off to bed. Cas wrapped you in his arms and lifted you easily, carrying you to the bedroom. He laid you softly in the bed and crawled in next to you, and both of you were immediately transported to a state of utter slumber. Keeping you close to him, Cas held your hand tight, until he noticed something was off. He went to reach for you again but was met with emptiness. He opened his eyes and saw you were no longer lying next to him. He sat up and looked around through clouded vision, to still be met with nothing. He figured you just went to use the restroom, so he lay back against the pillows and tried to get back to sleep but something suddenly kept him from doing so, your scream.

He jumped out the bed and raced down the stairs, where he heard your screams coming from, Sam and Dean soon joining him. The three men were stunned when they saw a man putting his hands on your forehead and a blinding light coming from his hands.

“Y/N!” Cas yelled to you as your scream pierced the silence of the room and then, the man was gone and the room was back to normal light.

“Y/N? Y/N, look at me.” Dean said, holding your head in his hands.

“Dean? Wha-what happened?” You ask, looking into his green-eyes.

“Someone did something to your head. An angel thing, I think? Cas, you wanna help us out here buddy?” But when Dean looked over to see if Cas could help explain things, he wasn’t there.

“Cas?” Dean asked, fully standing up, after gently setting your head back down, and searching for him.

He was seen outside, yelling up to the sky, and confusing the hell out of Dean.

“Cas!” Dean called to the angel, who turned to look at him, with tears falling down his cheeks. He got closer to Dean and he could tell just how upset Cas was.

“Dude, what happened?” Dean was starting to feel the sadness from Cas but couldn’t say a word. After several minutes, he finally came to.

“It was Chuck. He-he was here and he wiped Y/N’s memory of me.”

Forever tag list: @simpleboox @juju-la-tortue @marvelfansworld  @grace15ella

Perfectly Confused Angel tag list: @fandom-princess-forevermore @forever-trapped-in-my-dreams @markofdean79

#castiel x reader #castiel #castiel x you #castiel x y/n #castiel fluff #castiel angst #castiel angel of the lord

[ancientwastedlores]

The Support System (Ch: 12)

STORY SUMMARY: The Avengers have managed to collect all the infinity stones across the universe, and are currently keeping them in far corners of the world, only for research and to see if they can improve the planet and its people. Reader is a researcher with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, as well as a field agent. Loki is currently serving time for his actions in New York City in 2012, and struggling to gain acceptance from the Avengers, when reader decides he just needs a PR manager of sorts.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER AO3: The Support System. Find this chapter on AO3 here. 

Warnings: none

Audience: general.

______________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 12:

‘You dated Raunverkuleiki!?’ you shout, walking into the dining room.

Loki is the very picture of relaxation, with his boots off and his feet up on the ottoman, reading his book and sipping a green tea. You are amused and irritated at the same time.

‘When the hell did this happen!?’   ‘It was before I met you’ he grins.   ‘Yeah NO SHIT’ you kick his feet off the ottoman and sit.

He laughs and sits up straight.  

‘How did you… I mean. HOW?’   ‘You see, when a two people meet each other, and they like each other...’  

You glare at him and he shuts up, an insolent grin still across his face.  

‘She’s so beautiful’ you say.   ‘She really is’ he agrees.   ‘Why’d you break up?’   ‘Oh, it was never serious. She had her duties to her people, I had pranks to play on mine. It was very amicable’.  

You still wish Loki was a little excited, or at least sharing your enthusiasm, but the magnitude of how okay he is with this annoys you. But there was nothing more to say about it. You shrug and stand up to walk away.  

‘Oh, but we did have excellent sex, specifically because she can manipulate reality, so when she was close to…’   ‘La lalalalalala’ you shut your ears, ‘Bye’.   ‘No, wait...’ he gets up, shuts his book and walks over to you. ‘That was like a million years ago. It has nothing to do with my present, I hope you know’.   ‘Um…’ you don’t understand why he feels the need to tell you this. ‘Yes, I know. I was just curious. It seemed interesting’.   ‘Right’ he looks relieved. ‘Well. Bye then, I’ll return to my book’.  

He sits back down, and you give him a confused look and walk away.  

xx

‘Where is this camp?’ Clint asks.   ‘I don’t know’ you respond. ‘Only Tony knows, and he won’t tell anybody. He says for security reasons’.   ‘It’s just a refugee camp’   ‘Which has the Power stone, yes. Tony doesn’t want anyone but him to know where it is’.   Clint rolls his eyes. ‘He’s a control freak’.   ‘You’re surprised?’ you laugh. But you’ve Tony long enough to know that he won’t tell anyone else just so they can’t be threatened by Hydra.  ‘Ready?’ Tony walks into the lab. ‘We leave for the airstrip in ten’.   ‘Roger that’ Clint gives him a small salute.  

Everyone is curious to meet Chikara now, after seeing Raunverkuleiki. Natasha is absolutely captivated, much to Bruce’s jealousy and amusement.  

Cars carrying Clint, Nat, Bruce, Tony, Vision, Loki, Raunverkuleiki, and you leave the Tower for Tony’s airstrip. You’re sharing a car with Raunverkuleiki, who is sitting in the backseat with Nat. You can’t help but keep looking back at Nat, who is staring at Raunverkuleiki so obviously, and Raunverkuleiki, who you are sure notices it, looks like she enjoys the attention. You smile to yourself and look ahead again, and start a conversation with the driver.  

xx 

Raunverkuleiki floats into the jet, her hands running over the leather fabric of the seats. She takes a seat by the window, and wiggles, possibly trying to get comfortable. You see the vigorous shake of her head as she promptly stands up.

‘She doesn’t like the seat’ Vision says. ‘Yeah, I figured, I got the statis cube’ Tony says.

As if on cue, two men wheel in a large statis cube. You spot them wheel it in, and swear that you saw Raunverkuleiki clap her hands from the corner of your eyes. She runs into the cube and curls up.

‘She really loves that cube, huh’ Nat remarks. ‘You think you’d keep her warmer, Nat?’ you nudge her. ‘I…’ she looks at you in shock, then frowns. ‘Shut up’ she walks away. You grin. ‘What’s the joke?’ Tony asks, buckling his seatbelt. ‘Nothing…’ you say innocently, taking your seat.

xx

14 hours later, you arrive at the undisclosed location. Tony is the first to disembark, and he is greeted with howls and cheers. You watch from the window as little children run up to hug him. He has practically adopted the whole planet at this point, and you chuckle to yourself.

He continues waving and hugging little children. He whispers something to the guards, and the guards motion for the people to go back to their homes. A few more cheers and howls later, the square is cleared, and the rest of your crew disembarks. Raunverkuleiki is still in the cube, which Tony figured, so he just got the men to wheel it into the house kept ready for your crew.

‘When do we see Chikara now?’ you ask Tony. ‘After everyone sleeps. No one here knows what’s powering their camp, I don’t want to draw any attention to us’. ‘So… what’s your cover story for coming here now?’ ‘Bruce has been working on advancing some medical tech, so our story is that we’re here to upgrade the facilities here. Which isn’t a lie’. You’re impressed. ‘So is Bruce at the clinic now?’ you ask. ‘Yup’. ‘I’ll see what I can do to help then’ you wave goodbye.

xx

Night falls. There is total darkness in the camp, not even a streetlight on. You walk out of the house and look up at the stars clear in the black sky. You stand there, letting your body relax as your head hangs back.

‘Hello’ Loki comes up behind you. ‘Hi’ you say, without looking away from the sky.

He grabs your arm gently and pulls you down with him to lie on the ground. You laugh.

‘What are you looking at’ he asks. You point at the stars. ‘Do you see that star over there?’ ‘Yes?’ ‘That’s Andromeda. And the constellation to the left is her mother, Cassiopeia’. ‘Really’ he says. ‘No, I have no idea, I just slapped some Greek names on that’ you giggle. ‘You try’ ‘Okay’ Loki points to a star far left. ‘That’s Hades and…’ he trails his finger down, ‘…over there is Perseus, who is running from Hades’. ‘Oh, why is that?’ you ask. After a pause, Loki says, ‘He stole Hades’ favourite flute’. You laugh out loud. ‘Okay, okay, over there…’ you point far right. ‘Is Zeus’. ‘And the constellation below is a goat’ he continues. ‘Oh yeah, I totally see it. So that’s the goat, that’s Zeus and’ you trail your finger across a line of stars, ‘that’s Zeus’ dick’. ‘Oh my god’ a horrified laughter escapes Loki. ‘And what’s that over there?’ he points to a star above them all. ‘Oh, Hera. She’s watching over this whole thing, plotting her revenge’. ‘I see. I suppose the star below is Dionysus then’ he grins. ‘Drinking his wine and watching all this tomfoolery unfold before him’.

The two of you laugh for the next few minutes, enjoying your jokes and each other’s company. You aren’t aware of how long you’ve been laying there like that, but you know quite some time has passed.

‘Enjoying ourselves?’ You sit up to see Tony. ‘Hi! We’re just stargazing’

Tony extends his hand to help you up and you take it. Loki gets up as well.

‘We’re taking Raunverkuleiki to Chikara’ Tony says. ‘Thought you’d like to come’. ‘Of course. Is everyone?’ ‘Not Bruce, he wants to work in the clinic still. But the rest. We’ll head out in five’. ‘Copy that’.

xx

It’s quite a walk, and Tony refused to take a car for fear of waking someone. Once you’ve reached the outskirts of the camp, he stops. He takes out a dial from his pocket and punches in some numbers, and it looks like an invisibility cloak has fallen.

‘Fury helped set it up’ Tony explains, answering everyone’s question. ‘It’s the same tech they use to hide the heli-carrier when in surveillance mode’

Behind the “cloak” is a machine that might possibly be the size of the Hulk. It doesn’t make any noise, but lets out a bright purple light that you hope people in the camp will not be able to detect.

Tony goes closer and opens up the statis cube, similar to where Raunverkuleiki was kept, and opens the door. You don’t know how, but you can feel the power die in the camp. Tony steps back and motions for Raunverkuleiki to come forward.

She cocks her head to one side, an action you find extremely endearing, and suspect you will dearly miss when she leaves, and she walks ahead, her body again moving like liquid. You steal a glance at Natasha, whose eyes are locked on Raunverkuleiki’s hips. You shake your head at Nat’s blatant gayness and look back at the expected reunion.

‘She’s trying to wake her up’ Vision says. You put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Let it play out, Vis. Like a beautiful, silent film’.

Her hand extends into the cube to touch the stone, and immediately, a power surge hits the camp, with lights in every house switched back on to its maximum and machines that make noise roaring through the silent camp. The rest of your crew is also knocked a few feet back. The power has died now, but you hear people start to wake up and screech.

‘I’ll just put them all to sleep, shall I’ Vision says, and leaves. It sounds sinister, but you know he’s just about to use the Mind stone to make people fall into a deep sleep.

You stand back up again, waiting to witness a reunion. The purple light gets bigger. A head pokes out of the statis cube first, then arms, then a torso, and finally legs. You don’t believe in a god, but are prepared to make this whole experience your religion. 

Chikara is bigger, MUCH bigger than Raunverkuleiki. Raunverkuleiki is slightly taller than the average female, but Chikara is towering over everybody, glowing purple. You notice her movements aren’t fluid like Raunverkuleiki, but somehow more authoritative.

You can’t believe you kept her locked up in a cube this whole time.

You see Raunverkuleiki float up to be face-to-face with Chikara, and try to decipher their conversation through body language alone.

Raunverkuleiki points below her, at your group, and they continue making hand gestures and moving their shoulders. It looks heavenly, but you do want to know what they’re saying.

‘Loki…’ you whisper. ‘What are they saying?’ ‘She’s just asking her if she would like to go back’. ‘Oh…’ you seem a little disappointed, but you knew it would happen.

Loki puts an arm around your shoulder. ‘We’ll find a way to help these people’. You hope so.

Vision returns finally, and stands by Tony. Raunverkuleiki comes down to face Vision, and puts her hands on his shoulders. He nods.

‘She says since you agreed to let Chikara be free, Chikara will remain and power this camp until you find an alternative source. She does want Raunverkuleiki to stay with her, though, and keep her form’. ‘We… no one at camp can see them like this’ Tony says.

Chikara sits down on the ground cross legged, which results her now being about four feet above eye level to everyone. She leans forward towards Tony, and Tony takes a step back.

‘Chikara thanks you for freeing her, but says you cannot control her anymore. She wishes to keep her form’. ‘Just gonna be bullied into it, huh’ Tony says.

He looks to Natasha, who usually handles the diplomacy stage of things, but quickly decides she is going to be completely useless in his quest to get them to change back. He sighs.

‘You have to stay behind the cloak then. If people here see you, there will be trouble. I’m just trying to protect everyone’. ‘She agrees, and says she will stay under the cloak’ Vision says. ‘Well…’ Tony shrugs. ‘Guess that’s it then’.

You feel it’s quite anti-climactic. But you aren’t sure what else you expected, really.

Raunverkuleiki and Chikara sit by the machine, and Chikara sticks her hand inside the cube. Even though there is no indication for this, you feel the power come back on.

‘I uh… I gotta put you back under the cloak now’ Tony says.

Vision nods for him to go ahead and Tony removes his dial to hide them. As the shield goes up, you spot Raunverkuleiki excitedly wave at you. You wave back laughing.

#loki #loki fluff #loki fanfic #loki x you #loki x reader #loki marvel #marvel fandom #avengers fanfiction #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston #fan fic #marvel avengers #marvel fan fiction

[wrinkledparchment]

fall from grace;

Summary:  And suddenly, there was nothing … And he was airborne … he had taken to the sky. And he began falling- falling …Down … down … down …

Word Count: 3,357

A/N: this WIP was never finished and unfortunately I don’t think it will be. This is where I left off when I still had inspiration for Connor and his character, and this was meant to be a ridiculously long fic and unfortunately, I never got that far. Sorry it wasn’t everything I hoped it could be but I thought I might as well release it :)

Warnings: angst and dark themes

And suddenly, there was nothing …

Strands of hair were scattered across the white sheets, colored brightly, shining in the light youthfully. Your skin was free of wrinkles, free of any signs of aging, of deterioration.

But there was a difference in the color there; it was pale, and underneath your eyes were sunken patches painted in a bruise-like haze. They showcased the severity of the situation, just how decayed your body was, just how close you had gotten to the edge.

Connor watched attentively, consciously as your chest rose and fell, inhaling and exhaling and supplying your body with much-needed oxygen. He watched on the blue hologram beside the bed, stared at each rise and dip in the monitor.

He was so alert of your status that he didn’t need to watch the monitor to know your heart-rate, or know how many breaths you were taking a minute, if it was too deep to the point it might be concerning, or if it was too shallow and you were having a nightmare.

He’d been staring and monitoring you for so long, that it’d been a very long time since he’d gone in stasis and he was finally able to relax; to be tranquil for even just a few moments. He decided that everything was in order, that perhaps you would survive, that maybe you could come out of this alive, that there was a possibility you would come back home to him.

And if that were to happen, he would immediately make you your favorite food, supply you with everything you’d need to be warm, make sure you were well taken care of. Connor would cuddle you in a blanket and never leave, hold your hand every moment he could, and cherish you even more.

In this moment, it was not you, but Connor that had to face your mortality. You had already accepted, long ago - in fact, that you would be gone someday. You had to come to grips with the knowledge that one day, you’d have to leave everything you worked for behind. However, Connor took on this responsibility on for you.

He had chosen to ignore when you coughed a little too much, when you would tell him that you had to stay home; you would chalk it up to “feeling just a tad under the weather,” or “I need a day off, work is stressing me out.”

Connor knew better than that, he always knew better than that, but he found it too miniscule to bother you about it. You’ll feel better soon, he thought. He saw signs, too many, in fact. People – and androids, in this case – often think that terminal illnesses are things that happen to other people, to people you don’t know. No amount of statistics changed Connor’s mind.

Connor admonished himself endlessly over the past few days, scolding himself over and over for being so foolish, for allowing you to come this close to your demise, to the brink of extinction, to your death.

It didn’t matter now though, because you were going to get better. It seemed the very foundation of Connor’s sanity balanced heavily on these next few hours. Focusing in on his confidence of you being alive by the time he awoke, he triggered stasis mode, and that night, for the first time in a while, he dreamt.

And he was airborne … he had taken to the sky.

The cherry blossoms fell onto crystal white sheets made of silk, each gust of wind was familiar and fresh, wafting the scent of flowers, of hope and love and peace and allowing it to whirl around the bed which had been placed randomly in the middle of an oasis.

The thing he was most delighted by, however, was you. The feeling of your skin against his, your hair brushing against his artificial being, your breath warming his body – it was all so comfortable, so well-known by Connor, so desperately missed …

Connor revelled in the feeling of holding you once again, wallowed in your fragrance, in the heat of your breath against his chest. He drifted off, allowing every emotion and thought to be taken away to an imaginary place – a world where he didn’t have to worry about you being alive the next morning.

His eyes opened slowly, wearily, and Connor glanced at the monitor. Everything was in order; you had a steady heartbeat, a steady breath rate, a fine amount of fluids. You were alright. Exhausted, Connor triggered stasis mode again, eagerly awaiting another glance, another hallucination of a perfect world, a perfect fantasy … heaven.

But this dream was a different form, perhaps still a utopia. A calmness, eerie almost, settled upon the new world Connor had created. Connor had wings, the soft kind people envisioned that angels endowed.

As Connor’s phantom looked to the wings, he smiled. Something about them reminded him of you. The way they smelled, the way they felt underneath his fingertips. The touch was electric yet soothing, tranquil and chaotic all the same. They flapped and soared, rustling against the wind along with Connor’s clothes.

Instead, though, he chose to focus on the adrenaline, or at least the manufactured feeling, coursing through his artificial veins. It was freeing, exciting but he still had a tinge of fear, of anxiety. A totally unique feeling, but then he placed it … it felt like love; your love.

And he continued to soar, quickly and fiercely until he was above the clouds, and he found himself floating, flying and landing amongst them; he allowed himself to feel the wind whip in his face, around his body.

An overwhelming pain struck his back, and as he turned his head just over his shoulder, the wings were no longer a stunning, gleaming, snowy white.

Feather by feather, the rotting wings dismantled, and Connor clutched each remnant, trying to piece them together. Instead, he only felt the hole in his heart grow.

And he began falling- falling …

Down … down … down …

With a sudden shock, Connor’s eyes fluttered open. His eyes quickly scanned the room worriedly, watching as white coats and blue scrubs crowded his vision, but past all that, you were there. Your chest was unmoving, and time slowed.

He calibrated your vitals, and the programmed inflation of his chest paused. Everything caught itself, stopping and shutting down as he saw. [ Heart-rate: 0 bpm | Breaths Per Minute: 0 ]

And as time pressed on, a throaty scream ripped out in the hospital room. Connor’s feet moved quicker than ever before, standing by your side as he shook your body violently, calling your name, pleading for you to come back, even if just for a minute. Just so he could give you a proper farewell.

Doctors stood still, in shock at the outburst. The most stoic figure in all of Detroit, the Deviant Hunter that betrayed his creators to fight for the androids. He was an android, robotic and eerily calm, always. And here he was, vulnerable, begging for his love to come back.

The inaction was eventually realized, and the staff surged forward, attempting to pull back Connor. He thrashed like a child throwing a temper tantrum before his power was released. Without care, he elbowed each staff member in the stomach, just enough to send them reeling onto the floor.

He stepped back to you and buried his face in your stomach. The beeping monitor was a constant, and so was his sobbing. The first tears the android had ever shed. He cursed the universe, he cursed any and all beings, and more nurses came to escort him out.

“Farewell, my love,” he whispered, allowing himself to be dragged away like a ragdoll, and they put him down outside your hospital room. Sitting against the wall, he cried. He spoke, only for it to be muffled into his hands, about how much he loved you, how he would do anything to get you back.

He pulled his hand away, looking at your name. A beautiful, cursive name, once written in golden ink engraved on his synthetic skin, over his artificial veins. It was faded now, a line through it, and drained of life, leaving only a remnant of the bond between the two of you behind. There was no reversal of death.

The android swallowed faux saliva and replayed the memory of your dead, pale body. Your youth-less face, sunken eyes, thin body. He tried to wipe the memory, tried to forget it all. His gaze lifted and he stood up.

Gaining his balance, though losing a bit of his sanity, he pressed the palm of his hand against the wall and pushed off. He had lost you, and that would not do. And so rather than storming back in, rather than attempting to fight for you again, and scream like a petulant child, he looked towards the hallway.

You were gone, yes. But where Connor was about to go, it wouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Because where he was going to go, he would still be able to feel your skin against his, still watch your chest rise and fall, he would still be able to hear your voice; he would still have you.

And so, he stormed out of the hospital. Determined, apathetic, ruthless. He shouldered oncoming traffic without a care in the world. White, bland hallways, lifeless shells in scrubs; there was a disregard for anything that wasn’t you. His feet guided him mindlessly, going to the place he hadn’t been in over 3 weeks, after spending every day by your bedside.

He shoved the key into the lock, swinging the door open and walking away even after the knob damaged the wall. Connor immediately began to shuffle through belongings, through dressers, through cabinets, and through pockets.

He grabbed your perfume – the one that you’d wear only on special occasions, your hairbrush, your old favorite t-shirt, he grabbed your favorite book, your notebook, your laptop and he saved the most painful for last.

He opened up the wooden drawer he kept his clothes in, throwing out the denim and the shirts you’d gifted him, and picked up the velvety black box. 3 weeks ago, he’d scheduled a getaway with you, one where he’d planned to drive you wherever you wanted, and under the moonlight, he had planned-

Connor shook his head free of the memory, of his delicate vision of the future, his dream to live a full, happy life with you. Possibly to raise children, possibly to stay in the city and be the best detective team in Detroit. it didn’t matter as long as it was with you.

He opened the box gingerly, watching as the diamond sparkled in the afternoon light, and he imagined it on your finger. That was impossible now. He snapped shut the box and carefully placed everything he’d gathered in a backpack, and smiled as he realized there was room for more items.

He grabbed your favorite dress, a few other articles of clothing, and examined your nightstand. Inside, there were pills, a doctor’s note, a to-do list, and finally, a letter. A small letter, folded and the paper was ripped, prompting Connor to treat it with care.

Oh, it was a love letter, dated to the first week you’d met. Addressed to him. He read each word with care, noticing and reminding himself of your writing habits, which letters you wrote in print and which in cursive.

However, what he loved the most about it was the way you wrote your name. So simple yet so extravagant, and Connor caught himself thinking how it would look next to his. Where he was going, it wouldn’t matter anymore. This letter wouldn’t, either.

And as Connor read each word over again, a small piece of his heart floated away. All of the things you had envisioned in the future, that you’d stated in the letter, were impossible now. They were meaningless now.

So as a single tear, the first one he’d ever shed, fell onto the paper, he watched the words blur into each other. He watched the letter bend and wrinkle. And then he ripped the letter to shreds, letting each scrap fall onto floor, each taking a piece of his heart with them.

He wouldn’t need those anymore, where he was going. He wouldn’t need any of these rotten memories, these mourning feelings. Because where he was going he would still have you.

He slung the backpack over his shoulder and left swiftly, slamming the door shut, and one of his neighbors gave him a scowl. You would apologize, tell the lady that everything was fine and that you were just in a bad mood.

But Connor was not you. He walked away, barely acknowledging her existence and went for the stairs, making his way down quickly. He knew where he was going, he didn’t need a map, he simply did.

Each step echoed in his mind, the metal stairs underneath his shoes clanking and creaking. He imagined a second pair of feet, slightly smaller, harmonizing with his. Moving forward together.

There, standing next to him, was you. Or at least, a phantom of you. The spirit smiled at him gently, albeit sadly. It was less of a smile and more of a plea. "Connor, please don't do this," you stated, and he furrowed his brows in response. "You can live without me," you assured.

Connor turned away. No, he thought, I can't. You were the lifeblood in his veins, his one and only. You fueled him, you gave life to the soulless city of Detroit and without you, it was empty.

The color of the city was drained by your absence, everything was dim, black and white, dull. It reminded him of his time under CyberLife's control, when he was just a machine.

With you, he felt human, he felt alive. And now that you were gone, he was dead. He was a zombie walking around the streets, unaccompanied and empty. He couldn't survive like this, he knew that. A part of him knew that you did too. That you would want to be by his side, and he remembered your promise. "I will be with you forever, Connor. I'll never leave."

And both of you knew, at the time, that the promise, that statement, was a lie. It was impossible. You were so very human, fragile . . . a very poorly made machine. In time, all flowers wither, all fires burn out. You were a ticking time bomb, and unfortunately, you detonated.

"You left me, (Name), you left me,” Connor whispered gloomily, “I have no choice." You shook your head and stared back at him solemnly.

The neighbor from earlier peered over the railing, watching as the once sane, stable Connor talked to thin air. Even she noticed the difference in his demeanor, even she knew something was missing.

"You always have a choice, Connor," you argued, before dipping your head. "Be happy, for me. In my honor, exist for me. You'll be happy again, Connor. I know you will."

Without a goodbye, though filled with regret, Connor averted his gaze and continued his journey towards the most secluded part of Detroit he knew.

As he opened the door of your apartment building and stepped out into the harsh rain, he stared across the street. You'd thought it funny that the apartment you wanted was just across the street from the place you'd first met.

He could still smell the coffee and the fresh donuts, the scent of your perfume just like it was yesterday. He could still hear the chatter, still remember perfectly the order that Hank had requested.

He remembered that you'd decided to treat yourself and order your favorite donut. He still remembered the clink of the spare change that you'd put on the desk, after overhearing that Hank hadn't given Connor the right amount.

And even after all the reports you'd heard about him, about how he'd chased and frightened all the deviants, you still handed him your number. You still said that you couldn't wait to hear from him.

He remembered how you skipped out of the coffee shop into the sunny Spring day, how he'd just stared at your fading figure with a shy smile plastered on his face.

He relived the moment in his mind, before feeling someone tap him on the shoulder. He turned to the woman, one who had your hair color but not your smile, not your voice, not your face.

"Are you alright, sir?" the woman asked. Connor stared dumbly at her, lost in thought, before nodding and starting his journey again.

He watched the rain fall onto the street, hearing your old favorite song ring throughout the road as you danced amidst the falling droplets. He remembered you waving him over, pulling him into your rhythm.

He let himself go into autopilot, letting his subconscious guide him to the old, decrepit buildings he'd searched for, back when all that mattered was his mission. He replayed his favorite memories with you.

For a few moments, his pain was washed away. He could feel everything in the memory like it was yesterday, and so he blocked out all sensations from the real world, and stayed in the oasis that was your presence.

He came to an abrupt halt, and reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Whining at the pain, the hollowness in his heart and the sickening twist in his stomach, he quickly ducked under the wire fence.

He jumped up onto the ledge, from there swinging off a random bar and over the hole. He jumped back down and climbed, sprinted, and finally landed, hanging off a collection of metal.

He pulled himself up, looking back to the junk and scrap below. And shuffled inside, looking out at the destroyed freighter. It was too sunny here, so he grabbed metal sheets and blocked any and all openings.

He dropped the backpack in a corner, and sat down next to it. Grabbing out the velvet box, he smiled as he imagined a world where you were wearing it. Where you were alive and next to him.

Where he could continue to love you with all his heart. Where your being, your spirit, your soul wasn't a mere recreation of you created as a coping mechanism by his program.

He just wanted a place, a reality where you weren't just a phantom. Where you were alive, and healthy, and next to him. He wanted you by his side, forever, just like you'd promised.

Connor had known, ever since he got into a relationship with you, that someday he'd be without you. He thought he would've handled this better, that maybe he would be able to move on easily.

After all, in the grand scheme of things, you were just a moment, a small part of Connor's life. You were just a flash of a memory, a small moment in time compared to how long Connor would live.

He was damned to live 'til the very end of the universe, to watch Earth become either a dystopia or a utopia. He was damned to watch the sun die, to travel with the humans on their quest for discovery, or domination.

He was a machine, after all. He didn't control his destiny, he never did. He was a prisoner, a slave to his own immortality.

Connor chose not to think of that. He opened up his memory program instead, relieved that he could relive his memories just as they were, undistorted by the passage of time. That when he was lost in the past, he wouldn’t have to feel this heavy weight in the present.

All the pain would be gone. It would be gone until he destroyed himself. And at least then, he might have even a sliver of a chance of being reunited with you. That was a risk he was willing to take.

[ Accessing Memory . . . ] | [ Replay Commencing . . . ]

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