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thatruerealmwalker · 14 days

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The Madness We Realized Working for Playtime Is

The Pipeworks 1: Karl’s First Assignment- Oh god why this?

Read on AO3:

HERE.

Karl Kingsworth is a simple man. Someone who doesn't have much ranking in Playtime's "Pipeworks" sector of the company, but still somewhat good at his job. He gets in, fixes the "leak", gets out.

But when he's assigned to a Leak that the BOSS would cover... well he's not doing okay.

Especially for what the damn "leak" actually is.

HOW DID THIS EVEN HAPPEN?!!?!?!?!

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Soundtrack: Ryūnosuke Naruhodō ~ Overture of the Adventure - The Great Ace Attorney

Karl, a junior staff member at Playtime Co's Public Relations office, often referred to by the staff as "Pipeworks" due to it's unenviable reputation as "We fix the leaks when Playtime fucks up... every damn week", is standing in front of the door leading into a room where a very important “talk” will take place.

His first big assignment- and it has to be about this of all things. There is a almost zero chance that if he messes up here he won't end up as a test himself.

Yeah that's right, he knows what Playtime really does. Everyone in the Pipeworks does. Playtime thought they couldn't let that happen for a while- Then escape attempts started happening and how else were they going to know what to say? That didn't stop Playtime from trying to wipe out the Pipeworks staff and bring in fresh faces- but the Boss put a stop to that quickly. Who knew that telling someone about the shit under your carpet would backfire, especially when it's their job to have contacts and manage the people managing Playtime's image.

That doesn't mean anyone in Pipeworks is off the hook if they mess up. They have a lot of leeway other workers simply don't, but completely failing is still lethal. And this right here? This is something Karl has been dreading once he was assigned to it. Him, low rank new face bitchboy got assigned something the Boss would have taken if he could- How is that fair?

Of course the Boss and the top 3 were hard at work patching an even bigger leak involving a certain news company getting their hands of files that should have never left Playtime's doors. The dedicated teams weren't around either- Wrench was hunting down and trying to silence a potential whistle blower- the second this month- Hammer was dealing with the fact that the sane toy companies were suing playtime co for their next toy line push- because of course Playtime would try to make off brand Hotwheels and not ask Pipeworks if it was a good idea- and Driver... fuck Driver team was just GONE. No one knew where the hell they were sent. At least the Boss reassured the staff that they didn't get "terminated", just doing something hush hush.

And that left only the newbies and clerks to choose from for this assignment.

Of course it had to be Karl. Wrong place wrong time- he swears to god Pierre was drunk when he selected him for the task- and by himself no less!

This is it... all Karl can think is that he's gonna get killed-

The door to the room opens up and he comes face to face with a young girl, probably an intern with how young she looks, looking at him with surprise.

"Oh you're finally here! Mister James was worried we would have to reschedule."

"Y-yeah... Just traffic got in the way. Are we getting started soon?"

"Mister James actually sent me to go get stuff for lunch since it's about that time- you haven't eaten already have you?"

Oh thank the lord above!

"Oh no! And I'd love to join you all! What are we having?"

She waves her hand back and forth in the air, "Nothing too fancy, just some deli sandwiches that got catered to the office today. Any kind you like?"

"I can go for Ham and Cheese if you have some?"

"Ham and Cheese... think so! Just head on in, I'll be back in a bit!" With that the young intern makes her way towards where Karl can only assume to be the cafeteria for the building.

At least he has some extra time... maybe he does still have a chance! Just gotta see if he can figure out how to make that chance in the first place.

Entering inside, the room is rather furnaced- well it's probably normal to expect a place to want someone to feel welcomed when talking... Playtimes own interview/guest/meeting rooms, despite the Boss and the Big 3 pushing it, still lack any real comfort. "You all don't need that, just make em shut up and go away!" is apparently what Pierre said to Boss's face last time he tried.

Karl can only wish that bastard hell for that. There is a reason why Pipeworks always sends staff out instead of inviting people in. Technically two- but everyone knows letting outsiders into the main building or even on the campus itself risks someone seeing something they shouldn't. The impressions a low quality room with a folding fucking table does not make good first impressions!

And by god does Karl need that here.

“Ah, hello there. You must be Mr. Kingsworth. Such a fancy last name you have there my good sir.”

Sitting on a nice leather couch on one side of the room is a rather well dressed man. Brown hair curled up into a stylish cut, the suit he’s wearing being rather expensive looking as he gestures for Karl to take a seat.

“Please, make yourself at home. It isn’t everyday I have a toy company, especially one as prodigious as Playtime wanting to work with my humble craft.”

Humble is a fucking UNDERSTAMENT. This person Karl is talking to is Alexander James- who happens to own a somewhat high class clothes line. You know, with a clientele that could most likely pay for an average American home in a single payment.

Alexander James, who’s clothes make regular appearances on runways and fashion magazines. Alexander James, who should have NO investment in Playtime at all. Alexander James, who Playtime cannot make disappear or actually pay off.

As Karl takes a seat on the couches on the other side of the room, with a beautiful table he maybe would have actually paid attention too if he wasn’t dying from anxiety born from this entire situation, he only hopes he can actually cover this neatly.

“No need to address me as such Mr. James, I’m merely a representative for Playtime. Thank you for allowing this conversation under such short notice.”

“If we are to drop the honorifics, please, just address me as Alexander, Karl. Now, while I’m sure you’re as eager to start this conversation as I am- I believe we should first have some lunch no? May I suggest some tea while we wait? I recently had it imported from Japan. Supposed to help cleanse anxiety from the body, but it’s quite delicious as well.”

Alexander gestures toward the tea set in the center of the finely crafted table that separates the two men. As much as Karl thinks he really shouldn’t impose so soon- especially when he hopes he can cancel this entire “deal” before it gets off the ground, the smell of the tea, which is that of a very sweet scent of cherry blossoms, one that Karl almost mistakes for vanilla, entices him to partake.

Time flies by after just a cup of some rather well made tea. Soon enough the intern returns with the promised lunch, the smell of the sandwiches adding to the comforting feeling Karl’s hosts provide. He only wishes he could feel that comfort when it would stick.

Lunch is eaten rather quickly, Alexander keeping tidy as he swiftly eats the well made sandwiches. The ham in Karl’s sandwich gives a wondrous crunch as the melted cheese mixes with the taste. It’s only the bread, softly sweet but not extremely so, that makes it a fine meal.

Once again, Karl wishes he didn’t have such a heavy burden on him to properly enjoy this.

The food is soon gone and messes cleaned up. Tea refilled as Alexander is handed over a folder from his intern assistant.

“I’m glad you have been enjoying yourself Karl, but I believe we should begin our talks sooner than later, don’t you agree?”

And now the bliss is gone, and Karl realizes he still lacks any plan… he really shouldn’t have indulged. With the poker face trained into him by his higher ups, he keeps a front of joy over his growing dread, a smile shining with false bravado, “Of course Alexander. Thank you for the meal and tea, it was quite a treat… so about the partnership.”

“Yes yes, so, I will be honest with you Karl, when your company reached out with this idea, it was quite a shock. But… It has sparked my mind to begin working on some designs already.”

Alexander opens the folder and begins to lay out several papers, all Karl briefly ignores in favor for the final items to part for the insides of the folder- the damn thing that started all of this.

A set of enlarged photographs… of the BBI Roxie and Catnap… posing in several company branded cosmetics… Not in the factory. Outside of the fucking factory. Seen by someone not connected to the company.

The humor at the situation is not lost on Karl. Honestly, if it was someone else from the Pipeworks, he would be laughing his ass off at it. But it’s happening to him. He cannot find humor in this. His very life could end if he messes up here.

Somehow, an employee was able to sneak in fashion magazines for the Critter sector of the BBI. Said employee was approached by Roxie who requested them to send these damn photographs to Alexander James’ designer office so they could “Become a model with my brother!” after seeing the ad for runway models for Alexander’s work.

Someone, they got the photos out, got it set up to where it was not some random person but the COMPANY sending the damn things- and kept it undercover for another 2 MONTHS.

How?

HOW?!!

HOW DOES THIS EVEN HAPPEN?!?!?!

Karl simply swears if he even encounters the racoon he’ll deck them in the face for this fucking shit show! If he can’t cover this up- It’ll be the last damn thing he does!

He would lash out at the apparent mastermind behind this instead, but they are currently locked in a cell as the company finalizes the “Farewell” procedures. God Karl can only hope no one else needs to be said “farewell” too. That’ll be even more work for Pipeworks if so-

But all he has to do is make sure Alexander doesn’t… what?

Wait what hold on no that’s not how this was supposed to go-

Karl’s mind rebooted as he finally processed the last line from Alexander James… NO.

Eyes upon the paper placed down first- OH FOR FUCKS SAKE.

Karl was very close to breaking his false smile at this point… because Alexander made designs. MADE CLOTHES DESIGNS FOR THE FUCKING CRITTERS.

WHAT THE-

“Oh that’s wonderful Alexander. I’m glad you found the proposal that engaging… your thoughts on our models?”

“Well Karl, you and Playtime have outdone yourself. Those mannequins look almost life-like! How could I say no to such an opportunity to have some fun.”

OH THANK GOD- he thinks they're fake! Good good Karl can work with this and-

“I do hope when I get my hands on them I’ll be able to find which designs work best. Photos never do capture what I need to make my work shine.”

OH GO NO- Fuck Fuck Fuck- SAY SOMETHING- YOU CANNOT-

“O-of course sir!- we would just have to figure out how to get them ready on our part!”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH- IDIOT. You can’t just-!

“Splendid! I look forward to cooperating with you all… I am worried about the bad press that using your… Catnap would bring. Can Playtime ensure that it wouldn't risk any bad press for the Magazine?”

Okay… There is still a chance! End the deal right here!

“I’m sorry sir but… they unfortunately come in a pair. We’re attempting to fix the bad PR done by the incident with the Catnap plushies but… I cannot ensure it. Maybe we can postpone this until it’s far safer to do the photoshoot?”

Alexander gives some time to ponder while Karl internally sighs. He almost messed things up real bad but he’s almost there. Just gotta make sure Alexander says no and he’s free-

“Well… Let’s give it a try. It won’t be my first controversial piece after all. It would be a waste for your kind folks to throw away the work you did with the large toys anyways.”

Oh no, “Are you sure Mr. Ja- Alexander? We at Playtime care deeply about our partner’s wellbeing. We can push this back if it would-”

With a wave of his hand, Alexander gives a chuckled laugh, “Thank you for your worry Karl, but I promise, there will be no hard in at least giving it a try. I’m excited to start soon all the same! It’s not everyday you get to make clothes for mascots after all!”

With a silent breath, Karl weighed his options. He knows for a fact that if those photos got to someone who knew just a bit more, this could end up being a leak the Pipeworks couldn’t patch up. The problem comes with Alexander himself. If Karl pushed for the deal to stop here and now… he might realize something is wrong here. The man already pointed out how life like they are, so he’s noted that. Karl can only hope he truly is that ignorant or disbelieving of the idea that those “mannequins” are really alive.

A half lie. Just say to the man that the toys are damaged and can’t be used.

“I’m sorry Alexander but… Playtime was hoping to drop the deal entirely.”

Karl suppressed a flinch when Alexander’s eyes snapped to his face like a spotlight, “Oh? For what reason Karl? Both we here and Playtime have put quite the bit of work into this already, no?”

“And you would be correct, however a… accident occurred recently and our, hehe, ‘models’ ended up getting damaged. The employe who caused such a thing has been reprimanded and demoted but-”

“Mr. Kingsworth.”

At the tone forming from Alexander’s lips, Karl’s protests died in his throat. Alexander was leaning forward now, hands interlocked with his chin over them- oh no.

“I would not survive in my line of work without being noticed when a clear lie is being told bluntly to my face. I’m no idiot Kingsworth. I had only hoped you’d be willing to keep things on track… but it seems I’ll have to force your hand.”

Sweat began to drip from Karl’s forehead as the worst case scenario seemed to come about, “Now Alexan-”

“Mr. James, Kingsworth.”

“Mr. James, please, why would I have any reason to lie about this?”

A laugh bellowed from Alexander James, once that put fear into Karl’s very core.

Alexander gestured towards the photos that laid in the center of the table “To the common person, Mr. Kingsworth, these individuals in these pictures could be assumed to be only manufactured… The eyes have a watery shine to them and I wouldn’t miss the tongue shown on this one here.” He pointed towards a photo of Roxie with one hand wrapped around their “brother” and another doing a peace sign over their head. Both are wearing Playtime branded water coats- and that fucker is with their tongue out as they practically winks at Karl through the photograph.

He can at least agree with Catnap’s face- Karl’s was fucking tired of this yesterday.

“Now… All of this could be described as you attempting your utmost best to prove to me quality hand made models… and I would have bought that if that was your sell. I really would…”

Alexander leans back, fishing out a piece of paper from his suit that he treats with utmost care. Slowly unfolding it as if to make a point of Karl’s helplessness.

“If I didn’t get a letter from this… Roxie as well.”

NO.

THAT RACOON BITCH.

HE’LL FUCKING KILL THEM YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO HIM- WHY THIS?!!

Alexander, uncaring for Karl’s internal damnation of a certain purple racoon, begins to read out the somewhat messy handwriting of one Roxie Reedcycle:

“Hello there Mr. James! My name's Roxie! Marie said she would send this to you so I wanted to add a letter! Me and my brother would be perfect models! All of your clothes are so cool and I really want to give it a try! Catnap says he doesn’t want to but he got vetoed- I’m not sure how Clothes would work with our tails- I mean it was really uncomfy trying on all the clothes Marie found for us. It just wasn’t good, I hate my tail being cooped up like that ya know! Maybe you could also figure out how to make it not itch so much? The clothes kinda made my stitches feel tingly and it wasn’t really good. I was scratching at it and everything and Naps had to stop me- I don’t think my fur likes cotton. : ( So maybe something soft? OOOOOO maybe silk! I’ve never worn silk before! I think DD would look wonderful in silk! Would you be okay with the others joined in too?! I can ask Marie if she can send more photos of them like the ones we did before! Hmm- Maybe I should see about stitching up some old clothes into some stuff for everyone- I think Bobby would love a dress! Maybe-”

At the sight of Karl’s now visible horror, his body deflating into the couch he sits on as he stares at the guillotine axe being read aloud in Alexander’s hands, Alexander stops reading out the letter and smiles so damn smugly at Karl, even if Karl would never dare point that out, “Should I keep going Mr. Kingsworth? I must say, I did enjoy reading this letter from such a dear fan of mine. So much details as well- stuff a company such as Playtime would never put into a formal letter. Little Roxie even talked about how much they wanted to try cake again after they was… oh yes “I got super yelled at when I stole that piece of cake. It wasn’t even stealing! Someone just left it out! Even if I got no food for dinner it was worth it though!”

This is a set up , it has to be. THIS WAS FUCKING PLANED- It had to be! No way that bastard Marie didn’t think this through. The fact they even set it up to be sent under Playtimes own names only adds to that! There has to be still a chance, Karl can't just accept this lying down. His life is on the line!

“Haha- Mr. James that must be just a mistake, we at Playtime Co would never condone-”

A slam of Alexander’s free hand on the table, rocking the tea set, quickly told Karl he lost the moment he came through these doors, “Mr. Kingsworth, here is what's going to happen. You’re going to set up a photo shoot for this child and their brother and friends, I’m going to make the best damn clothes I can for them, and Maybe I’ll remain quiet about the rampant child abuse your company takes part in. This is for the good of all of us, isn’t it?”

Karl could only nod at that- what could he do but follow along with the demands of someone who could absolutely spread around these images and letter to god knows who.

“Splendid. I hope you have a good day now! I’ll be looking forward to when we begin.”

That smile of a predator sinking teeth into prey… it’ll haunt Karl for a long time after this.

Karl’s mind doesn’t process leaving, or getting into his car, or driving home, or when he found himself on his bed at his dingy apartment, small tears running down his face as he stares at the fan slowly cycling above him.

Karl no longer can think about any of this.

He can longer process anything anymore.

Because his very mind is consumed with absolute dread at what Playtime is going to do with him when they learn he FAILED.

He can only hope he’s just made into a toy. God he hopes that’s all they do with him.

He can still remember the screams for the most recent tests on the properties of the poppy gas.

He can only beg that he won't end up like that.

Well… Maybe there’s a way he can avoid that fate.

Sitting up from his bed, a plan comes together. A desperate, half formed plan that could just make everything worse… but the best he has.

If he can follow along with Alexander’s idea while keeping the risk of an unfixable leak in check… and use this connection to Alexander to create a social barrier from being said “farewell” too…

All he needs to do is force the company's hand to allow this to happen. And by god does Pipework have what he needs to do that.

Well- Guess it’s time for an honest to god fashion show.

Karl is so fucked.

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And that's it for Chapter 1! I hope you all enjoyed! This was a crack thing I cooked up when talking to @visinox about the @realizinau. (look, someone has to be in charge of keeping Playtime's brand okay when Playtime is... PLAYTIME.)

Of course, since this is part of the Realizing Extra's AU, I couldn't not include the other parts from it. So thank you @iidgm for letting me use Roxie!

I may continue this if it's wanted enough, or hey, better yet even collaborate with even more creators on this project! Feel free to reach out if you ever want to chat about it! I love talking to new people about being creative gremlins!

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turtletaubwrites · 2 months

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Turtletaub Fic Recs ~ Part 2

I continue to get floored by the amazing and delectable One Piece fics I encounter here, so here's another batch! I hope you enjoy this list as much as I have, and that you go show these incredible writers some love! ~ NSFW Fics will be marked with a 🔥 | Other Fic Rec Lists ~ | Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

Ace

Ready? 🔥 ~ by @maddddstuff ~ Here's some oh so fucking good smutty smut. Ace easing you through it 🍑 because he's the perfect, scrumptious guy. I should have waited for a better time to read it, but I couldn't help myself 😅

Barto

Dance Inside 🔥 ~ by @bartosbabymama ~ I love when you have a crush, and now you're sitting in their lap 🥰 He is way too fine, and this is smutty and cute. Barto and his fangs need more love! 💚

Buggy

Please don't say you're gone forever, 'cause I can't hurt no more ~ by @lostfirefly ~ Chapter 1 hit me right in the feels! Such a well written couple's argument that made me want to shake them both, and teach Buggy some communication skills 😭 Chapter 2 was the perfect, sweet conclusion 🥰🤡

I’m full of surprises ~ by @hey-august ~ This is so lovely, and cute, and magical 🥰✨ Feels like letting yourself be free, letting the adventure start. Buggy is so sweet, and I wish his ship had shown up when I needed it.

Crocodile

The Sand Dragon and I 🔥 ~ by @discordantwritings ~ I'm OBSESSED. If you ever read Dealing with Dragons as a kid, get ready for the tastiest adult version of that. 🐲🥵 I would gladly serve Sir Crocodile, I don't even care.

Kid

Calm Down ~ by @sheerxfiction ~ This is fucking adorable, and brought me back to growing up in a hippie stoner town. He's a grump, but all he needed was weed and smooches 🍃🥰 So stinkin' cute, go check it out!

Law

Law Helping You Study 🔥 ~ by @nina-ya ~ Just the sexiest lil study session ever. Law is such a nerd, and has no right being this hot 🥵 Well written smut that I'll definitely read again!

Down the Alley 🔥 ~ by @quinloki ~ VERY inappropriate use of devil fruit powers 🤭 This is so hot! Where is Law when I need him? I need to try this out asap 😭🥵

Mihawk

The Hat Stays ON 🔥 ~ by @sordidmusings ~ Desperate Mihawk desperate Mihawk DESPERATE MIHAWK! This is so flipping hot, go have a read. It is TOO GOOD! 🥵

Multi and/or Character x Character

The Crow's Nest | Zoro x Sanji | ~ by @shewrites02 ~ Such a beautiful, sweet, angsty Zosan fic that made my heart melt! 😭 It’s got Whole Cake Island spoilers, but if you’re caught up, then do yourself a favor and read this! I love them so much, and this wonderfully written fic gave me all the feels 💛💚

Nami

One For Me ~ by @maplekzh ~ This is lovely, and fluffy, and hot! Just the sweetest little moment with Nami x GN!Reader in an established relationship, and I adore how Nami is written here 🍊

Robin

drowning ~ by @oxittocin ~ I love Robin so much, and this is so goood 😭😭 Angsty and sweet, from Robin's POV. It makes me want to wrap her up in a blanket, and make sure she never has another bad day for the rest of her life!

Sanji

Just For One Dance ~ by @gingernut1314 ~ I adored this sweet yearning goodness! It captures one of those rare, magical moments between two people that might not have long together, but will never forget each other. I loved it 🥰

Shanks

Two More Times 🔥 ~ by @fanaticsnail ~ This is insanely good brat taming smut with Daddy Shanks. (Also sweet and lovely because that's our Shanks 🥰) Seriously 🥵🥵🥵 HIGHLY recommend!!!

Zoro

Mean-Mugging ~ by @indydonuts ~ I can't describe how fucking cute this fluffy fic is. I snorted at the Straw Hats antics, then had to immediately go tell my partner about it because it's just so CUTE!! 😭💚 Zoro is so sweet, even if he's scary looking 😅

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sweetestbasil · 3 months

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RUBATOSIS || chapter one: self digestion

PAIRING : Dr.Gaul's Assistant!Coriolanus Snow x Experiment!Reader-Insert ( afab, they / them, sometimes it )

RATING : 18+ ( no smut in this chapter, but it's very unsettling )

WORD COUNT : 13, 776

WARNINGS : infidelity ( coryo's engaged to livia ), power imbalance, unreliable narrator ( it's 3rd POV but focuses on coryo's view ), unhealthy dynamics, dehumanizing language, medical experimentation, body examination that has... strange vibes, body horror-esque, coryo and gaul are messed up in this fic, he's more like his book version than movie

SUMMARY : 🙶 rubatosis - noun. the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat 🙷

Fortune, marriage, and success - all within the hands of Coriolanus Snow, and it still isn’t enough to satisfy him. Tigris has grown distant and Livia is far more trouble than it's worth.

Dr. Gaul has just the solution for him.

A/N : This is my first time posting my fanfic work on tumblr, so I hope everyone has fun reading this. If there are any mistakes, lemme know. This is the first of five chapters!

[ If you want to read it on AO3 instead ]

self digestion || autolysis - stage one of decomposition

Oh, he hated this.

He absolutely despised this.

A click of the soles, stepping against the freshly clean sidewalk, rid of any possible careless litter and debris. Had it not been for others who, too, were using the same path, even if they were going in opposite directions, had he half a mind, Coriolanus would have taken the moment to prop himself against a wall and let out the loudest sound of frustration. It wouldn’t be unwarranted, it wouldn’t be uncalled for. Dare he say, he almost feels he should be entitled to it. It had only been four days, but four days should have been enough time for Tigris to get back to him already. The correspondence was not even something of dire content, at least, Coriolanus imagined so. Questions of Grandma’am, if her time with Mrs. Plinth ( he was not going to refer to her as ‘Ma Plinth’ ) had been going well, how was the solo business venture regarding Tigris’s fashion going, was there any renovations that the home needed, how were they — things that he assumed, wrongly he guessed, that would be so simple to answer.

God forbid that he still had the decency to still check in with his family even after he long moved out into his own place.

If Tigris thought she could play him for a fool, she was the one in the wrong; the signs were as clear as can be, that Tigris was trying to ice him out as much as she could. And after all he’s worked hard for? Fixing the home up, making sure the fridge never stays empty, stabilizing the family. He’s even gotten engaged before Grandma’am could even croak, and is letting Tigris design his fiancé’s wedding gown! What else was he supposed to do to try and gain back her warmth? Dance and clap like a District to make himself seem smaller, more dumb, to please her? There was a lock to his jaw, a small grit in Coriolanus’s teeth, as he sipped down the coffee in his hand, the other in his coat pocket.

He didn’t even wish to broach the idea of his fiancé on his walk to the Citadel. The heavy breath, a sigh, that breached itself out his lips. A hand raised to rub a gloved thumb briefly at the bridge of his nose.

Ugh, Livia… It was a pain to even internally taste the words of her name on his tongue.

It was an arranged marriage of convenience that he sought after, an extra piggy bank that he could expend on; and how quickly the elder Cardews lapped up at his palm when he planted the idea of marrying their daughter. A man who was of the old guard elite families, an assistant of Dr. Gaul’s, inheritor of the Plinth’s fortune, a gamemaker in training? They were downright salivating, that he almost felt embarrassed for Livia having to witness her parents’ stripped to their barest of greeds. The keyword being almost. Coriolanus needed to play his cards right to ensure his future, it was only fair game. If that meant taking his chance with the Cardews’ and their banks, he’d be just the fool that Tigris would want him to be if he turned them away. But, he could reluctantly suppose that the arrangement could be considered an equal drain on both parties. He seized their assets and their daughter seized up his free time. How could he forget the fundraiser dinner that Livia had invited them both to later on in the evening? She was delightful enough to remind him of it while they shared breakfast together, between his bites of quiche so that he couldn’t show a hint of a frown.

Coriolanus sucked in a careful breath between his teeth.

If she could only put herself to better use than just the one redeeming quality of a socialite. There was a slim chance he may have miscalculated. Perhaps it would have been an easier time, having something set up with Clemensia, or Lysistrata.

“Mr. Snow! Good morning and welcome back, Dr. Gaul is already waiting for you in—“

“In Lab H05, got it! And a good morning to you, too.” He smiled back effortlessly to the front desk worker, giving them a wave and just the right, charming amount of teeth with the upwards pull of his mouth.

Entering into the Citadel and seeing the hive of workers shift from one place to another in constant movement; they all tried to keep their voices at a low volume, but there was a constant buzz in the air, as they went from one hall to the other. Coriolanus maneuvered himself around them, slipping his deep mahogany overcoat seamlessly folded across his forearm. Full-Grain leather gloves that kept him warm from the cold, taken off his hands and instead placed neatly into the pocket of his overcoat. What a marvel it would have been for his young, naïve self to bear witness the luxury of a full wardrobe he now had. Never again did he have to spend long nights studying for the Academy besides an equally tired Tigris, who busied herself with trimming down the sizes of his father’s discarded shirts to fit him for school the next day.

It was a muscle memory at this point, the path to one of the many labs that Dr. Gaul had established her practice in. She had told Coriolanus that she had a lab for each different study and project she was passionate towards, ones that were more… presentable, to the average Capital citizen, and ones that were more uncensored. Having worked for over a year under Dr. Gaul’s tutelage, Coriolanus had seen a decent amount, the clean and the vile, but even then, he knew very well he had not seen all. He wasn’t even sure if he did want to see all. Especially regarding what happened last time he wandered around the Citadel during Academy days. The doors to Lab H05 were wide open, Coriolanus noted, seeing it in his line of sight, getting closer and closer. It was inviting, telling any worker to come in and step in at any time ( should Dr. Gaul be around ).

The air here was entirely different from what it was in the hallway. Where the air from when he first entered had been warm, inviting from the nipping cold outside. The vague smell of coffee, and an even fainter scent of something chemical, had mingled and intertwined to give the vaguest illusion that the Citadel could pass for a workplace like any other. However, the lab was as if entering an entirely different building. The lights that shone uncomfortably glaring, fluorescent lights that were hung overhead, on the ceiling. There were small lights, embedded into the floors and columns as well, guiding the path to any who walked in. It drowned the large room in an almost blue light. Lab H05 was one of the “clean” labs. A sterile scent in the air, the chemicals that were so faint in the halls were far more prominent, evident here. But, to the trained nose, there was something faint here too. The rusted scent of iron tickled under Coriolanus’s nose, but it barely registered to him anymore as anything concerning. Seeing the endless shelves of… odd specimens, the scent of blood was the last thing that should ever scare him away.

“Dr. Gaul, good morning,” He kept a steady tone, not one that sounded tired, nor too joyous. Being seen as her “favorite” didn’t mean he could speak to her as casually as he pleased. It just meant that he took her current attention. A fickle thing that could be stripped away at any moment if he showed any less than acceptable.

“Coryo,” He tensed his shoulders the same time she breathed it out in loving fashion. Her back once facing him, now turned as she walks towards him to cut the distance between the two. Since the gap started to form between Tigris and him, Dr. Gaul had taken to using that nickname on him. If it was to be used in terms of endearing him to her, or to mock him with the name that ghosts had called him, none could say for sure.

Coriolanus liked to believe it to be both, if he believed his assumptions of her character were right.

He never once let his eyes leave contact with her own, but he could hear the movement of her prominent, red latex gloves being peeled off her hands. She always thought it to be ironic, to wear such a color despite her profession. It matched the dye job that she had done on her surgical gown. He felt the weight of hands touching either side of his forearms, the smile on Dr. Gaul’s face caused a crinkle in her eyes as she bared all teeth in her smile. He wondered if she knew how threatening her grin looked.

“A morning to you as well. Has it been treating you good?”

It felt as if some sort of warm feeling was spreading out from Dr. Gaul’s hands, through his arms and into his body. What a disgusting sensation, it made goosebumps rise on his skin.

“As well as it could be.” Coriolanus’s voice spoke softly.

Livia drained his energy far more than he expected with her morning rambles and gossip.

Dr. Gaul’s hands smacked against his arms in a laugh, loud and knowing, she always knew, turning around to walk deeper in the lab. “Hah! By the sounds of it, it seems you’re not getting some peace of mind when you head home,” She turned back to look at him, giving him a glance, she was prying something out of him. “That’s no good, Coryo. You need to be in top shape to work, I can’t have my assistant become so… drained.”

The crease in her eyes showed again.

“If this is your preferred state, there is a new species of leeches I am working on. I assure you it is far more efficient than a Cardew of species.”

Well, now it was his turn to laugh.

A dry chuckle that slipped from Coriolanus’s lips, moving to follow Dr. Gaul. Placing his coat on a table made of rich wood, something less… aseptic looking. There were moments where he often froze under the woman’s gaze; a humiliating, bodily reaction that made him feel so small, so vulnerable as he used to be. Yet, it was in times like these, where he could understand how Dr. Gaul still managed to hold sway over people besides just exemplary displays of fear and power. There was a sense of humor to her, if he could call it that, where if a powerful woman like her involved yourself in - you felt so included, special.

“It was nothing like that. Livia just reminded me that after work today, she and I have to attend dinner later in the evening. It’s a fundraiser for the improvement and reconstruction of the Corso.” He turned his sight away from Dr. Gaul’s eyes, not being able to keep the contact any more. Flicking to the sight of the endless, bright shelves that lit up the tubes containing various specimens and experiments. Some failures, some on pauses, some successes, and some were just creative ‘what-ifs’; that would explain some of the seemingly useless fusions, like the jellyfish that had spider legs mixed in with some of its natural lappets, now encased in a resin tube. Coriolanus can’t recall if he was employed at the Citadel yet when this specimen was made. His fingers briefly touched upon the cool glass of it. What a disgusting idea. “I almost nearly forgot about it.” Dr. Gaul hummed at his response.

“Why, doesn’t that sound riveting! What a joy young life is, flitting from one function to the other, all the night-time glamor. You know, before I was transferred to work in the Citadel, I was the same. I thought of giving my children some of my old wardrobe from my youth, but it’s so out of the current trends, it just collects dust now.” What a blessing, for her kids. They could avoid the embarrassment of coming into the room looking as if they robbed the Pre-Dark Days exhibit at the Capital’s museum. The heels of Dr. Gaul’s heels clicked against the smooth, waxed floor. Coriolanus could feel the brief sliver of her heavy presence pass him by from behind, as she went to head over to another area in the room. It sounded vaguely close to the center of it.

“You must be excited, Coryo. Are you going to wear,” Her words paused. She was tasting the air for something. “Ah, what’s her name… That cousin of yours, the one who started her new business a while ago.”

What was the point of this conversation?

“Tigris.”

A brief flare tickled behind his ribs, reminding him of his thoughts earlier before. Standing up from his spot, fingers now leaving the glass of the odd ( sickening ) creature, his prints left slightly behind on the glass. Stretching his shoulders back with his arms, muscles pulled, away from their previously hunched position. Coriolanus walked over to where Dr. Gaul was, who stood nearby another table at the center of the lab. This time, this one was far cleaner, made of what seemed to be a material of stainless steel. In her hands she carried a manila folder, or two, in her hands; her painted nails sifted through the papers carefully. She was writing something quickly down inside of it. He wanted to know, but he held his tongue. Gaul would tell him if it was something he needed to be aware of.

“And I’m not sure. Livia is still picking out her dress and I want to match with her.” He smiled at her.

“Aren’t you a romantic,” She gives him a look out of the corner of her eye, the blue one that matched his. It made his skin crawl, he hated the feeling of it. “Is your heart melting, Snow?”

Coriolanus hopes she sticks to her career as a Gamemaker, being a comedian looks like a bleak future for her.

The smile on his lips grew wider, a small laugh at her words, his hand reaching to cover his mouth slightly to muffle the sound in the large room.

“I wouldn’t say that just yet.”

He wouldn’t say it at all. Livia? Melt his heart? Sure, she could melt his eardrums when she had that obnoxious snort to her loud laughs. It made her sound like a pig, shipped straight to the Capital from the farms of District 10. That would defeat the purpose of why he married her in the first place. It would be the utmost betrayal to himself, after he had promised to close himself after–

“Since you have a date tonight,” His ears perked up immediately. “I’ll reduce the amount of work you have for today, I’ll be merciful.” He wouldn’t argue if she decided to give him more. She pressed a manila folder into his open hands, her grip was tight on it. This was a folder that not many eyes needed to be on. Taking it carefully from her hands, he raised it to his eyesight curiously, catching the sight of the project name written on top of it.

PROJECT: CAPTIVE – A.01 PROMETHEUS

Coriolanus brought his gaze back towards Dr. Gaul. He assumed he slipped a confused gaze at her, because before he could even ask her, she’s already speaking up:

“This is a project I had started around the time you were exiled in District 12.”

His jaw slightly tightened. She didn’t have to use that exact word to describe it.

“It’s far more… unique,” Her eyes rolled around the room as she sought out the word, the moment it landed on her tongue, she locked her sight immediately onto him. Gaul’s smile pulled a bit more at her cheeks, a festering excitement that was slipping out from her internal confines. The threat of teeth in her smile was no longer an attempt of niceties, but far more sinister in its intentions. Coriolanus would argue on a good day that both were the same, that Dr. Gaul’s cruelty was her being kind. “Than my other projects. Far more different than any of my other muttations, this is a beast of a different breed, but one that you and I know intimately well.”

So this was a human experimentation, Coriolanus deduced.

Dr. Gaul would never dare to refer to those below Capital ranks as something human, there was always something else she had to refer to them by. Animal, beast, plague, insect, if it stripped them of their humanity, she was eager to take it. They shared similar sentiments, but sometimes, he had to give them some form of distinct name to separate them. “I’ve actually grown quite fond of it. Usually, I’d handle its tests and exams, but you seem like you need a pick-me-up.”

It should make him disgusted at how easily she could see through him.

The older woman stepped further away from him, into one of the dark recesses of the room. Lab H05 was one of the main center labs within the Citadel, meaning it earned itself the privilege to have its layout be connected to other rooms, outside areas, halls, and the like. It just happened to be, the darker areas that Gaul was heading in were towards the direction of one of the elevators connected to the room. Coriolanus watched her body retreat into the dimly lit area, not quite following after her. He didn’t know why. His hands felt stiff with the folder in his hands. The pounding beat of his heart in his ears matched in tempo with the steps of her heels against the floor. If he was going to move, she was going to need to ask him. She knew too, the doctor knew her own footsteps, and she was very aware when others’ joined in. Turning around to look at where he still was, standing, watching, she looked back at him. Coriolanus could make out her faint silhouette in the dark, but Dr. Gaul’s blue eyes shone brighter in the dark. As if she had tapetum lucidum, how it reflected so wildly. She was not helping the rumors made against her, that questioned if she ever used herself for a subject of fascination.

“Come now, Coryo. You don’t want to waste time.”

A silence fell upon them both.

“Understood, I’m right behind you.”

Walking after her, Coriolanus descended the small set of stairs that she had gone down from, he stepped into the dimly lit area. The manila folder was still grasped tightly in his one hand, at his side. He didn’t understand it, he didn’t understand her. Yes, she said that she wanted to cheer him up, but he’d be a fool if he was to believe that’d was to be the only reason why she was doing this. Volumnia Gaul, telling confidential secrets because she cared for his well being? No, there was always something else. An ulterior motive she wished to serve, or a lesson she wanted to teach. When he was brought back from his sentence of being a peacekeeper, it was not because her heart broke over him. She was not weeping at him having to tread his feet into the muck and grime of District 12. It was because she was holding him up to an ambition that both him and her both wished to see.

“This one,” Dr. Gaul started her words, occasionally turning her head to the side to make sure he was still following her ( he was ). “Started out as a simple curiosity. I had to sit with myself quite a bit to figure out a punishment that would actually serve some productivity.” Her hands reached behind her, flicking at the folder that Coriolanus was holding. He opened up the folder, finally, to look through the report. Whatever the Doctor was gesturing vaguely in conversation, it would be more explicit in her writings. “Displays of cadavers, desecration of the human silhouette, trauma to the cerebrum, these punishments can only go for so long before new ideas must be made. If the rebels expect the same disciplinary action, you can expect them to gain a tolerance to it.”

Squinting at the paper, he leaned his head slightly down to get a closer look of the subject. A small photo was attached to the report by a paperclip, it was a person who seemed to be in a similar age group to his. They looked clean, proper - they wore an ironed, white button up shirt under a dark vest, with unique, yet simple earrings they donned on. Pearls and tiny opals that dangled from a gold chain earring. A family heirloom, if Coriolanus had to guess. They smiled widely in the photo. Their teeth weren’t perfect, their upper cuspid was a bit more pointed in comparison to all others.

They had once been a capital citizen, turned rebel, to… this.

“I wanted to truly push my mind forward, and see if the impossible would truly be… well, possible.” Dr. Gaul grinned at the end of the sentence. Coriolanus lifted the photo up, after hooking his gaze unto the former for a moment. It’s a shame, he thought to himself. How pretty they are, had they not tainted their mind with childish ideas they would have continued to live in the comforts that they were so comfortably lavishing in before. He was curious as to whose family they once belonged to. A filthy curiosity enticed him, a want to digest more at the report at the risk of tuning out Gaul’s feverish ramblings.

“Personally, I outdid myself.”

There was a small desire to curse her under his breath, the writing for the subject’s name was far too rushed and messy to read properly. Did she want him to read the report, or play word scramble?

Dr. Gaul’s steps had stopped, the white noise of her chatter turned to silence was enough to bring his head back from the report. She stood between him and the elevator, holding her hands in front of her, folded. Peeking to the side, the button for the down level was lit up in a glow of red. Her smile widened.

“Curiosity eating away at you, Coryo?”

It still made his skin crawl, everytime she used that name. How frightening it was, that it also brought him a strange sense of the coldest warmth.

“You’ve talked so vividly about them,” Not clear enough. “I want to see what makes you so excited about them.” He wants to see if they could come close to bringing him out of his frustrations. Fingers that touched the edge of the subject’s photo twitched in tempo with the small ding of the elevator. Doors opening, Dr. Gaul stepped to the side. Hands gestured, letting him know to step in first which he obliged. Yet, no other steps than his own followed him in. Coriolanus turned around, a puzzled look on his face when he noticed how Dr. Gaul was standing in the middle of the elevator’s doors.

“Expected me to come join you? You can’t be so attached to my hip, Coryo.” She laughed, her hands reached in between her surgical gown and work attire. Pulling out a set of keys attached to her worker’s ID, she tugged a key off. Dr. Gaul dipped her body slightly in to twist at a lock that had revealed another panel of floor buttons aside from the usual floor ones. This must have been the key designated for the Citadel’s researchers and engineers. He had a private key of his own, but that was reserved for Game Makers. Still in training, but Dr. Gaul had persuaded the others to give him his own copy. “I have other things that need tending to, so you’ll have to have your fun without me.” Pushing a floor button that was labeled C09, glowing red under her touch, she gave him her key. She pressed into Coriolanus’s free palm, closing his fingers to clasp around it.

“You can keep this one. I’ll ask for another copy.”

Was it because this one almost seemed rusted over to hell and back? Coriolanus wasn’t an idiot. He could feel the textured sensation of something that, usually, was supposed to be smooth metal.

“Thank you, Dr. Gaul.” He spoke softly back to her.

Dr. Gaul sent him another smile towards his way, the abominable sight of her gradually leaving his sight as the doors closed. A divide now between the both of them.

Instantly, a breath of air was released from Coriolanus. His head reeled back, eyes closed, leaning against the wall of the elevator. He was now by himself. Free from that imposing woman, he finally could be released from her watchful gaze. Always gauging him, examining him as if he, too, was another subject on her surgical table. Perhaps, in a strange, distant sense, he was. Which is why he likes it far more when their interactions are limited. Even if it makes him feel guilty if he hasn’t spoken to her for any prolonged amount of time.

Another breath, he brought his head back down, eyes open. Opening his hand to where the key was held in his hand. It was frighteningly warm in his hand, most likely from when both Dr. Gaul and him held onto it. The material of the key was dark in color, rust having formed around some of the edges. Spots of dark stains marred its dull shine, it almost looks black in contrast to the key’s natural dark hue. This most definitely was blood, now dried. In his head, Coriolanus could see the vivid picture in his head: Dr. Gaul barely bothering to remove her gloves after leaving the examination room, holding the key between sticky gloves. A sneer pulled on Coriolanus’s face. He pocketed the key away.

He wanted to focus on something else.

The weight of the manila report at his side stuck out glaringly obvious, he still had yet to fully read through everything. His fingers were still thumbing between one of the pages, bookmarking a random place in the report. Should he wait to see the project on his own? Give himself something ‘fun’ to surprise himself with? A discomfort prickled at the hairs on his neck. No, he didn’t like surprises too much. Surprises meant no control, and no control meant chaos that wasn’t under his hand. And what more could be asked, when what he needed to know was right here. Hands flipped back open the manila folder while he waited for the elevator to finish its descent.

On the first page, there was only one photo of the subject, before the project had started. Dr. Gaul was always so thorough, so there must have been more to see. And how he loved to be right, when the sight of more clipped on photos peeked through in between pages. He stopped at the sight of them. These had been nude, taken in what was most definitely an examination room. They must’ve been in captivity for a few days for how haggard they looked. Gleam completely gone, with only a dark emptiness seen on their face. Signs of minimal swelling on their left cheek from when they were hit by a peacekeeper when resisting arrest. Bags under the optics, suggesting either sleep deprivation or developed insomnia. His eyes lingered on the photos that took in zoomed in shots of identifiable beauty marks that were scattered around their body. One around the back of their left acromial, around the sternocleidomastoid, one on the left mammary gland, and another on the right femoral muscle. Unconsciously, his fingers traced along the edges of each photo as he examined them until they traced after the words of ink.

The objective of the project: engaging and testing pain receptors on the subject. By use of non-licensed medication and surgical operations, the subject’s NTRK1 gene was mutated to a certain extent to gain the closest imitation to Congenital Analgesia ( while still keeping the subject alive ). If Coriolanus recalled, in his textbooks, Congenital Analgesia was a condition that always was given to a patient by a pass down from the parent. It was never really something ‘made’, or ‘given’. He could understand now why Dr. Gaul was so pleased with herself for accomplishing this feat. Curiosity was beckoning him, wanting to see more of what the report entailed.

Pages dedicated to each operation, each test done. There were pain charts made, scales from 1 to 10, to test out the nerve receptors. Each test, the numbers on the chart went lower and lower; 10s that went to 9s, to the current lowest being a 6 for the majority of the subject’s body. The more sensitive areas, such as the frontal or the palmar of the body, were around 7 to 8 on the chart. Flipping to the back of the contents, there was a small note in Dr. Gaul’s handwriting.

Today, please take care of Project Prometheus’s nerve exams. The last surgical operation was done last month and they have just now fully recovered. Update the report by the end of today, to measure if there are any fluctuations on their pain receptors.

Sounded simple enough. If this was all he had to do today, then there was a chance he could clock out from work even earlier to give himself space before tonight’s event. A ding finally was heard from the elevator, he was here at Lab C09. Folder closed in his hands, his foot stepped out of the elevator and onto the floor. What a drastic difference Lab C09 had been in comparison to Lab H05. If it hadn’t belonged to Dr. Gaul, Coriolanus may not have been able to believe that this was an actual functioning lab. It almost seemed forgotten by the Citadel, half of the fluorescent lights not working, or blinking at different intervals. It bathed the floor in a very gray, almost vile green hue. The scent of copper and rust was far more noticeable, and the smell of medicine felt almost nauseous here. There were no grand columns in sight, and no endless amount of shelves dedicated to new specimens and ideas of creation. The floors were unkempt, specks of dirt packed into the corners of where the wall and once sleek tiles met. Occasional cracks on the floor, parts of the design broken and shattered into bits of ceramic. The halls were long, with endless doors that ( thankfully ) all were open, empty, or both. With the exception of the large corridor doors at the other end. He could make out the sight of Peacekeepers that stood on guard, near the corridor door and by the elevator entrance.

This definitely was Dr. Gaul’s more… uncensored labs.

Coriolanus took a few more steps into the lab and noticed the large stain of dried blood that dragged from where his feet stood, past the corridor doors. Eyebrows raised at the sight, but his eyes did not widen. Marvelous, the subject might still be rebellious. If this was to be the case, he’d be severely unimpressed. All these exams to change the NTRK1 and nothing done to affect the amygdala.

Sloppy work here, Dr. Gaul.

Pushing through the corridor doors, after giving the briefest of nods and acknowledgement towards the Peacekeepers, he found himself exactly where he needed to be. Entering an area that was entirely void of light, except for one thing.

A large window glass on the other side, showing the examination room on the other side. It lit up this half of the hall, shelves of varying medicines and chemicals lined against the walls of the examination room. Surgical tools were lined up high on the wall, out of reach, not yet pulled out and placed on the side. Today there was no operation to be done. Examination lights shone overhead, and under it was the examination table where Project Prometheus sat.

They sat down so compactly, so politely, knees folded to their chest and arms wrapped around them, their face leaned against the crevice their legs gave. The subject definitely had changed, physically, since the projects had begun. Their skin barely had the warm glow it had in their photo, had it not been for the peeks of color on their joints, he’d assume that there was no more blood rushing through their body. Their hair that once looked so well maintained, luxurious, was cut at awkward angles. Yet, it still managed to frame their face well enough. Figures, that was former Capital genes at work. Their body has taken significant damage since then. Scars of various shapes were scattered all across, bandages wrapped in some areas, and stitches that dragged around entire limbs, like their arms, thighs, feet, even one on their face. As if they were some over-played ragdoll that was patched up far too many times. There was no fight he could see from their eyes, and no anger. Was the blood on the floor halls really theirs, or did that belong to someone else?

This could not even be called anything, but a shell of a husk.

Coriolanus stood there, watching, taking in the sight of them. It barely felt like he was breathing. And that alone irritated him. It’s like his body was trying to make itself seem smaller; as if he was somehow bothering them. He sighed out his frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. They couldn’t even hear him from the thick glass, what would he be so concerned with? Bringing his hand back down, about to open the manila folder once again to compare their ID photo to their current state - he peeked at their form again.

He had been noticed by it.

His breath felt lodged in his throat, his original action now tossed to the side, as they and him both just… watched each other. Their eyes that had looked so sullen and distant before, were so focused and vigilant of him. But, they didn’t seem scared of him. Their body didn’t look tense, their expression didn’t twist into any wrinkles. What feeling was running through their body? Could they possibly feel anything? Coriolanus stepped away from the glass, slowly, and down further into the hall, to where the door of their examination room was. A peacekeeper stood guard near the heavy door, beside them a surgical gown, cap, goggles and gloves were on a hook. Excusing the other to the side, so he could reach and grab the attire to put on himself. Coriolanus questioned, as he tugged the latex rubber gloves on, if he still wanted to entertain the idea of holding their test today. Teeth grinded inside his jaw, he hated to admit weakness, but it was no lie that they unsettled him when they had stared back.

That probably contributed to why Dr. Gaul favored the project so much, both must take joy from bringing him such unease. A sigh hissed from his teeth, as he put the surgical mask on.

“I’ll be back out in just a moment. I’ll let you know if an emergency comes up.”

It’ll be easy work, and then he can leave.

Opening the door, the sterile smell of the room rushed past him as the metal door was moved from its tight seal and then closed heavily behind him. Their head had moved away from where the glass window was, turned to stare at where he stood near the door, their folder still in his hands. Thinly-veiled sweat was forming inside the gloves, with the silence that fell heavy in the room. He opened the folder.

“Good morning, Subject A01, I am–”

…?

Did they say something?

“...I’m sorry, did you say something?”

Another tense silence fell in the air.

“... That isn’t my name.” Its voice was quiet, slightly hoarse but not entirely. Unexpected, considering their length of stay here. His fingers pinched tightly at one of the pages.

“...What do you mean?” He was not going to call them by their Capital name. They had long since lost the right to use it, after rebelling against Panem.

“Dr. Gaul calls me something else.” Coriolanus was going to kill it if they did not clarify.

“And what does she call you?” This was the nicest tone he could muster.

They spoke it once into the air, still looking at him with those dead eyes of theirs. Had Dr. Gaul been so fond of it to have given it an entirely new name? And they accepted and went along with it? That didn’t feel right, from what he’s examined about them so far. They were a rebel, they had fought against a Peacekeeper, they were dragged around the halls bleeding.

And they gave up their old name?

It had shifted out of its cradled position, their legs dangled off the examination table and their arms were placed on their side. Coriolanus could see the patient gown they wore more clearly. It kicked its feet in the air idly, as it waited for his response.

… Do they even know the situation that they’re in?

“...Right. Well, do you know why I’m here?”

“Not really. I’ve never met you before.” Was context clues also something it gave up while in captivity? “I know the guards, and I know Dr. Gaul. I don’t think I know about you,” They’re a prisoner, it’d be counter-intuitive if people were giving them info about every single staff member here. His mask covered the lower half of his face, but he hoped the slight shift of facial muscle was enough to convey that was trying to smile towards them. He walked further into the examination room, closer to where it sat and where the shelves of drugs and medical equipment were lined up. Their stare was burrowing holes into his back, while he shifted around, opening and closing shelves and drawers to check inside for what he needed.

“Well, I am Dr. Gaul’s assistant. You can call me Snow,” He was not giving his first name to a former rebel. “I’m here today because Dr. Gaul is a bit busy today to handle your check-up, so I’ll be filling in her role.” Gloves shifted bottles around, turning them around to read the labels. The disinfectant, cotton swabs, tweezers, needles, rubbing alcohol, syringes, the bite-rag, marker, he had it all except the custom medicine that Dr. Gaul had made for it. In the instructions of how to construct their exam, Dr. Gaul had explicitly mentioned that they were to take specific medication, as they had helped keep it conscious at all times for operations and exams. It was needed so that they’d be able to relay the ratings, which is why Coriolanus was reading yet another prescription bottle in his hands, squinting in frustration.

“It’s this bottle over here.”

A delicate, scarred hand had pointed at another bottle that sat idly on the shelf. Coriolanus turned his head slightly, seeing the subject no longer on the examination table, standing behind him quietly. Not staring at him, they were entirely looking at where their hand pointed. They were only standing just a couple inches away from his body, careful not to touch him as they stood on the tips of their toes to point at the medicine. With this proximity, it was easier for him to get a closer look at them. The stitches on its body were done with thick, prominent threads; there were far more beauty marks he could pick out on their face that the photos didn’t display. The patient gown was made from a material far thinner than he expected, a visible silhouette could be seen from underneath the flimsy cloth. His mouth felt unusually dry.

A cold chill trickled down his spine. He barely noticed them. He doesn’t even think it made a sound when it moved.

“Careful, keep your space from me.” He spoke, a careful warning to their ears and a threatening promise on his. He didn’t want to risk being so close to them like this, he barely knew the extent of how violent the project could possibly be yet. Still, they listened, backing away from him and putting their hand back down to their side. Both it and him stared at each other again, the tense air dancing back inside the room. They looked as if they had wanted to say something, and Coriolanus, internally, felt almost violent for how demure they were being with him. It repulsed him, how it felt almost endearing if he looked at them for a second more.

“Is something wrong?” Eventually he bit the bullet, speaking first between the two of them. He can’t bear another moment of silence with it.

“... I don’t need a bite-rag. I don’t think I really scream much anymore.” They still had an issue with explaining context to him more, he’ll tell Dr. Gaul that needed some work lat– His jaw ticked… Why did he care about your abysmal social skills? It was a captive, it had no one to speak to other than their own captors. Pulling down their prescription from the shelf, a dark, thick liquid, he said in return: “It’s best to have it on hand, just in case you need it. Now, return back to the examination table.” For a split second, he thought he could see their gaze soften at him. Were they seriously entertaining the idea that he was being nice to them? Coriolanus just didn’t want to deal with their sounds while he worked. It’d be like trading one screaming fit for another, for when he had to go on his date with Livia later in the evening.

They nodded, and followed his command, walking back to sit on top of it. Their body was sitting in his direction though, observing, waiting for him. Coriolanus still felt unsure about them, but… it was strange, their obedience. It made him suspicious of its intent with all this. Trailing back to the center of the examination room, he placed all the tools on a metal tray. Pulling out an exam stool from under one of the tables, he set the syringe to the cap of its prescription. He pulled the plunger of the syringe up, watching as the barrel filled up with medicine, until it sat nicely. The needle left smoothly from the cap, and a drop of the liquid dangled at the edge of it. This form of silence he liked far more better.

“...Do you have family, Dr. Snow?”

So close. Coriolanus flicked the needle harshly, the drop hitting somewhere else. He placed the ready syringe down, and picked up the black marker. Turning back towards them, their head rested in their palms, watching him intensely.

“That’s none of your concern. Now please, remove your gown so we can get started on the examination.” Grabbing the stool to pull it underneath him, he got comfortable in the seat while it moved to get up. As their hands reached behind them to undo the tie around their waist first, it still spoke ( much to his chagrin ).

“I was just wondering since Dr. Gaul usually talks whenever she comes to visit.” That explained why their throat was not as hoarse as he was expecting. Dr. Gaul was treating her trials with them as a morning brunch. “She sometimes talks about her day, or talks about her family.” They loosened the tie around their waist, the fabric more flowy around their lower body. Coriolanus stared intently, taking in the first peek of skin. Looking past the scars, despite the stitches pulling at parts of their skin, and the dented scars, their skin looked soft, malleable. They must’ve been popular on weekend nights, back then. Their hands reached up to undo the tie around their collar. Rather than watching him while he worked, it was his turn to watch them. There was that beauty mark on their left acromial. Eyes leisurely trailed back up to their fingers, the smallest note with how it fumbled around behind them to untie the flimsy string. Their movements were clumsy, in his eyes, which almost surprised him. “She likes to talk about her three kids often.”

Coriolanus looked away from their stitched fingers, confusion on his face.

“Dr. Gaul only has two kids.” He’s seen the photos she has in her office. She has two sons, both who have gone on to have families of their own. Not once has she mentioned a third kid, Coriolanus isn’t even sure it was possible at her age. Didn’t menopause usually affect a person’s chances of getting pregnant? Maybe it was a secret child she had abandoned at the maternal ward while dropping off her resignation as an obstetrician.

“No, she has three. She told me their names: Caius, Martius, and Coriolanus.”

Oh.

Oh, now that’s…

“I see. You must be closer to Dr. Gaul than I am.”

He didn’t know what to really say to that. There was really nothing for him to go and argue about, especially with the patient. Coriolanus couldn’t quite outright say that the third child was him, especially when he specifically told them to refer to him by his last name. And if he revealed that this was an entire lie on Dr. Gaul’s end, he wasn’t quite sure how the woman would react for doing so. It wasn’t his place, when he had no idea what Gaul had wanted to achieve. He understood the physical punishment and hypothesis being put upon Project Prometheus, but he had yet to understand where the emotional, and the mental, aspect of this punishment was. Dr. Gaul will tell him if it was needed, or he’ll figure it out based on his own conclusions. That must be one of the purposes Dr. Gaul had assigned this task to him.

“Alright. I’m done.”

Coriolanus blinked. He didn’t even realize he lost focus on them, he let out a small exhale as he lifted himself from the exam stool, marker ready in hand.

“Right, for the next step of this exam, I need to…”

Words trailed off for him.

What an entirely different view it was, from before, looking at them only from the back. From behind, it was just read to him as a large canvas of skin that had already been stained and painted on. Nothing that gave way to what person under the flesh could be. Yet, the front… There was more to regard and take note of, a far more different feeling than just having viewed from the photos alone in the reports. If he were to ignore the marks left on their body, had they stayed perfect from before, he could’ve made the argument about their body being more alluring than the average Capital citizen. That familiar, dry feeling touched his throat again. What a waste, for genes like that to be wasted on a rebel. There were more beauty marks and moles in the front, along with more stitches and scars. Coriolanus could see the surgical scars that were healing between their pectoralis major area. A curiosity rose, questioning how scarred tissue would feel under his gloves. He raised an eyebrow, as his gaze dared to move to a lower section on their body. Must be for easier mapping, that Dr. Gaul decided it was best to have their pubic area shaved clean.

“...Dr. Snow, are you okay?”

His tongue darted out to lick his dry lips under the surgical mask.

“Fine, just thinking about Dr. Gaul’s instructions.” He was going to go insane before he could even head to the fundraiser tonight. Coriolanus reached his free hand out, hovering it over their shoulder area, guiding them to stand closer to the area between the exam table, and his stool. He took note, that despite the way their body has changed since their captivity, their body still held a warmth that radiated off from their skin. “Stand here, please. For this next step, I’ll be using this marker here to map out the different muscles and areas on your body. Are you familiar with this?”

The subject nodded, a yes from their lips.

Good.

The sound of the marker cap popping off filled in the lack of words on Coriolanus’s part, the black cap falling on the tiled floor and rolling off to a dark, distant corner of the room. “For today, we’ll only be focusing on the external pain chart. Meaning skin surface only,” He lifted the subject’s hair, pushing up against the subject’s head, strands that were long enough to block full access to the neck. Bringing the marker up, he pressed down the chiseled tip of alcoholic ink on the subject’s skin, making the first section of dotted lines. Writing on their skin in careful, small letters, the areas that compromised their neck; the semispinalis capitis, the levator scapulae, the rhomboid minor–

“How long have you worked for Dr. Gaul?”

Fingers nearly stumbled in drawing when the muscle stretched in movement, he lifted the marker carefully away from its skin. The idea of putting in Gaul’s suggestion box the order of a mouth gag was becoming all the more tempting to him.

“It doesn’t concern you.” Coriolanus responded, coolly.

He pressed the marker back down on its skin, moving himself to the anterior of its body. Between his gloved fingers, he held their chin. The muscle limp in his hands, letting him lift their chin up to show more, exposing the unfolded expanse of their skin. The project was an annoying one, but at the least,they were a pliant one. The black dotted lines drew itself across the subject’s body: the sternocleidomastoid, the sternohyoid–

“How has your day been so far, Dr. Snow?”

Would Dr. Gaul throw him to the curb if he strangled one of her projects?

Coriolanus lifted himself slightly from his leaned down angle, his fingers that once lifted its chin up, had pulled their chin back down to look at him eye to eye. Its gaze stared back at him with such emptiness, a lack of anything to be seen, no anger, no defiance, no discomfort, not even joy. His eyebrows narrowed down slightly as he took in the face that held no question to how, and what, manner he held their body in. Were they trying to please him? Make his guard drop down by asking questions, hoping that he’d become more sympathetic towards them?

“Dr. Gaul isn’t here. You are under no requirement to attempt conversations like you’ve done with her.” He spoke, trying his best attempt at sounding sympathetic to their ears. That would be the easiest explanation. The soul of them was sucked out by Dr. Gaul forcing them into an illusion of a grotesque socialite. That’d explain away the project’s incessant speaking.

Yet, the subject had tilted their head under his fingers. The slightest push against his grasp.

“... Do you not like talking, Dr. Snow? Dr. Gaul always looks so happy when she’s talking.”

So they were trying to suck up to him. He locked his teeth. And to think, he was giving them a chance of redemption, by assuming that they had been conditioned to engage in meaningless conversation. Maybe he was wrong about their obedience. There was still a spark of a rebel within them regardless of their time, their experiences, in captivity.

“I only ever see Dr. Gaul, so I got excited to see someone new. I’m sorry for upsetting you,”

They could’ve fooled him with that tone of voice. They sounded as dead as their eyes had looked. Yet, Coriolanus bit his bottom lip as the doubt touched his head; the subject’s stare, if he gazed deeply enough he felt as if he could almost make out a sullenness to them. Were they legitimately apologetic? He didn’t want to even know the answer, he just wanted to finish this job as quickly as possible. He let go of their chin, releasing it. Gloved fingers now traced the space between their shoulder and collarbone, the subject angling their neck to the other side to give him room. He brought the marker back down to their skin, more dotted lines appearing under his wake.

“... What exactly is your relationship to Dr. Gaul, if I may ask?” He hated them, he decided. He hated how quickly they managed to rope him into this dumb small talk. It was almost audible, the sound of the subject blinking, feeling their gaze boring under the layers of his clothes. Did he say the wrong thing? Did they not want conversation? He adjusted the weight of his stance, uncomfortable under the silence the subject had unwillingly placed him in. Was he not doing what they wanted, was that not enough for them?

“Dr. Gaul is…” Their words trailed off. They were trying to find the words, unsure of what to say to him. They most likely didn’t want to try and insult her, considering her assistant was in the room with them. They don’t want to risk possibly earning more punishment. Project Prometheus may have been smarter than what he initially assumed. Coriolanus moved back to the posterior, hands trailed themselves across the subject’s shoulders, feeling, to remind him of the muscle underneath before he marked it down. Trapezius.

“Dr. Gaul is my caretaker, I think.”

Well isn’t that something unique.

If the subject had decided to say captor, overseer, punisher, he wouldn’t have cared. It would’ve been honest. Caretaker? That was something different, that was something sympathetic. The thought of them turning this twisted dynamic into something heartfelt, fell sour on his tongue. It made him feel repulsion towards them. Why bother to lie? “Tell me about that.” His voice was soft, inviting the project to open themselves to him. As the marker continued to mark their skin, Coriolanus took one of its arms under his hand. The subject’s fingers twitched slightly, when he brought his hand under theirs. Their hand was not that big in comparison to his own, unable to fully fill out of his palm. The fingertips were usually the more sensitive parts, when it came to sensations. He hummed. Adductor pollicis.

“...I’m not sure how to describe it well.” They sounded unsure. Spending this extended amount of time with them, Coriolanus could make out the slight tonal differences they had in their voice. It was very small, though. The muscles in his hands seem to slightly tense.

“Do your best for me.”

Their fingertips, the slightly yellowed nails, tapped slightly at the latex material of his gloves. Almost as if fidgeting to gather the words, the right ones, to say to him.

“Dr. Gaul has always been… someone there, I suppose.” Because she has to. “The guards are there too, but they don’t really notice me in the way Dr. Gaul does.” He wrote down on another part of the subject’s arm, drawing another dotted line. Brachioradialis. “Even though the tests kind of hurt, but I’m getting used to it now, she’s been the only one so far to give me a name, a birthday, check up on me, tell me about her day,” He was almost impressed at how their were trying to upsell the ‘normalcy’ of their captivity. A new name and birthday? Maybe the secret third child of Dr. Gaul wasn’t him, but actually them instead. He almost laughed aloud at the prospect of it. Coriolanus turns to the other side of their body, taking the other arm of the subject to write on after finishing the other. Biceps brachii. “That’s like a caretaker, right?” And now it was asking for his confirmation? It truly does want to appease him. He let out another hum, as if he was thinking to himself when he was going to go along with their delusions. “It sounds like Dr. Gaul cares a great deal for you.” He lied to them.

Making his back to the anterior of the subject’s body, he stood in front of them, the subject tilting their head up to him. Project Prometheus was shorter, in comparison to him, standing at eye level against his chest. Latex touched the area of the linea alba, Coriolanus kept his gaze steady on them and they did the same. There was a silence that fell between them, but it felt so uninviting to him now that he finally had it. The subject still held their indifference, their apathy, and he wanted to know why it bothered him so much when he should like how easy of a prisoner they were being. No, there had to be something more. There was always something more. His fingers dragged down their skin, and his marker followed behind, writing down the names of the muscles he touched. The subject had moved their arms, and Coriolanus tensed for a second, thinking they were finally going to react, going to grab him, hit him, something – yet, their arms shifted away from the angle of his body, moving in to hold the muscles of the pectoralis major up in their hands, cupping them. They were making more room for him to write on their upper abdomen.

Coriolanus loathed them.

Had he had half the control, he would’ve smacked the stitched hands away. He liked it far more when they acted like a ragdoll, instead of this game of pacification it was trying to play. Writing down on the external oblique aponeurosis, he brought his hands back up their skin until it rested under their wrists. He held both their wrists on either hand. “Please, bring your hands down so I can continue mapping.” The words came out more as a whisper than he had intended. They instantly had listened to his command, letting their arms fall back on either side and their chest exposed to him. His eyes lingered briefly on the sight, taking in the small details that made the subject unique. The beauty mark on their left mammary gland, now in his line of sight. No longer blocked by the limit of only just a photo. There was that dry feeling in his mouth again.

Carefully, bringing a hand up, gauging their reaction, he held one of the mammary glands in his free hand and a marker up in the other. Judging their face, they seemed neutral, no frown or smile, no wrinkle, no squint. He could assume there must have been discomfort under those dark pits for eyes. He knew that’s what he felt, doing this right now. Coriolanus wondered if it would have been better or worse, if Project Prometheus were to be more… reactionary.

“Let me know if anything bothers you.” Dotted lines followed after his hand. He’d take it, the laborious small talk. It was much more preferred right now than this tortuous silence that had fallen between them. Thick and constricting, had it gone on any longer, Coriolanus knew he would drive himself internally insane if he was to be left alone to his own thoughts. If Project Prometheus had done nothing while he was holding onto their very own breasts in his hands. Had it been any other person, they would’ve squirmed under his touch. Possibly even a twitch to unconsciously move away, as the marker moved against the skin of the areola. The mapping of the right gland was dotted and marked completely.

“You don’t bother me.”

Now, that felt deliberate.

Ink halted, stopping after writing out the final letter of the pectoralis minor. The words were written next to the beauty mark he had noted before. Coriolanus was tempted to make dotted lines around the area, as a place of special interest, though marks like these were no major muscle or nerve. Blue eyes had looked up through thick lashes, he slightly lifted his craned head up to get a better look at the subject. Peering towards their face, he didn’t know why he expected anything different. It was the same look of disinterest, the broken lights hung above them casted a haunting shadow over their face. Did he also look similar, when they stared back at him? In certain angles, despite the unnerving look the room had given them, Coriolanus might’ve thought their eyes seemed naturally soft towards him. Innocent, maybe.

Did they see nothing wrong with what he was doing? … Or had all the tests and operations ruined not just their nerves, but fried them, that their sense of danger seemed near non-existent?

Was this another form of appeasement that it was trying to pull on him?

Unconsciously, his hands had released themselves, finally, from holding onto Project’s Prometheus’s breasts. Both now marked, his free hand slid down the expanse of their abdomen. The ridges and bumps of their scars and stitches were felt briefly, the full grasp of the sensation blocked by the barrier of latex rubber wrapped around his fingers. Not once did he look away from the subject as his hands made its way down, and neither did Project Prometheus. His hand stopped at the tensor fasciae latae. Something was wrapping itself around the cavity of his chest, making the activity of breathing a difficult feat for him to do. Coriolanus didn’t know what he was doing. Was he trying to garner a bigger reaction from it? An attempt of possibly stirring violence, even?

Maybe it was delaying his own discomfort, he realized. Looking down, he stared to see the spread of skin below that had no splotches of black ink. They were shorter than him, he’d have to get down on his knees if he wanted to have clear and easy access to mark its legs. How humiliating… Having risen up through the ranks and bringing the Snow family back to its rightful place of acclaim and fortune; only to fall back down on his knees to a prisoner, a former rebel. If the other families caught wind of this, he’d never hear the end of it.

Reluctantly, still holding onto their hip, his body moved itself to the floor. Knees touched against the uneven grout of the tiles, the position a bit awkward. He was thankful, for the surgical gown he wore, that the vile floor of the examination room wouldn’t stain against his clothes. Tracing his hand down to the stitch mark path of their leg, he rested it at the back of their thigh. Coriolanus tilted his head up, ready to command that Project Prometheus moved their leg more towards him. But, his words fell into a silent, held breath as he gazed up at them from his position. The shadow that had cascaded over their face briefly from before was now entirely enveloped around their body. Sickly green fluorescent lights shone above their head, akin to a haloing effect. Illuminated around the edges of their body, their hair, the subject still looking at him. Only him, and nothing else. A thrumming noise was loud in his ears; it felt dangerous. It felt like a warning that something was wrong here. He had felt it before.

Project Prometheus moved its leg forward, more into him, without a word ever spoken between the two of them. How pliant it was with him.

He pressed the marker against their skin as thank you, dipping his head back down to their thigh. It would be risky, if he lost focus. There was still so much he had yet to know of the subject, the layers that were contained behind the flimsy shield of flesh and tissue. He dotted the area of the vastus medialis, careful not to press the ink against the subject’s stitches so as not to irritate the healing skin there. Maybe its attempts of appeasement were working on him. Not once did he think he’d have a shred of enough care to think about the possibility of ink seeping into their wounds.

He marked down the region of the knee. Patella.

“...You’re a very gentle person, Dr. Snow.” The subject spoke quietly, in a whisper just loud for him to hear. “You treat me so carefully, I barely feel a thing when you hold me.”

It mistook his lightweight hands for kindness. Reality was that he was just wary about setting them off.

“Does Dr. Gaul not treat you in the same manner?” The words came out softly from him. Reaching now the ankle of the subject, gloved hands reached down underneath the sole of its foot, lifting it up for better writing access. Instinctively, Project Prometheus placed their hands on either side of his shoulders so as to not fall. Their body leaned itself more into him, using him as a steady weight of support. The proximity of their small body bent over his, the glare of the fluorescent lights was entirely swallowed up, casting a dark shadow over him, blocking the light from reaching him. Could they feel, under their ragged fingers, the tenseness in his body at their action? If the subject wanted to, they could easily go in to attack him in this vulnerable position. He’d do the same if he was in their position. He continued to write, marker steady in hand. There would be no satisfaction to be gained for the subject, in seeing him stumble and cower.

He wrote the words ‘abductor hallucis’ on their foot.

“She… does not treat me rough, no. If I had to describe it, I think the word for it is more… ‘inanimate’.” He doesn’t quite recall if a new law was passed that required captors to treat prisoners humanely. It sounded as if it was trying to recall certain words again. Should the exam go entirely smoothly with no problems, he might feel generous enough to convince Dr. Gaul to bring Project Prometheus a dictionary for them to study up on. Not like it would do much. It wasn’t like they had anyone to really practice their knowledge on.

Coriolanus wondered what the prisoner was exactly before all this, back when they were formerly Capital. They lacked the air of dignity and ignorance that most Capital elites donned well, but maybe that could be attributed to their decay while staying here. Or perhaps the prisoner had come from a small, simple family. The kind that handled all the manual labor that the Capital never liked to speak loud about. The workers who were hardly ever seen, or acknowledged. That could explain why he never heard any recent fuss over a family’s child being ‘sent away’. No one would ever care for a background prop.

It held onto his shoulders more tightly, as he adjusted the subject’s position. It didn’t want to topple over him.

Project Prometheus's right foot now marked accordingly, he placed its foot back down on the rotten floor. Ready to reach his hand to hold onto their left, the subject moved without the need for his touch. The left leg was gestured forward for him. How sweet of them to realize a pattern. “I don’t mind it, though. As long as she still talked to me.” How fascinating. The subject was pacified by the easy act of conversation. Such a simple thing to be pleased by, Coriolanus could think they were joking. Regardless of how things were going so far, he still didn’t forget it. The bloodstains on the halls was something he could not erase so easily. That suggested, no, it told him, that Project Prometheus had something up their sleeve still. Though, nothing had occurred. Nothing had happened because they were still speaking to each other. Coriolanus continued to write on its foot. Lumbrical.

“...Do you get upset if she doesn’t speak to you?”

He couldn’t help but ask.

He wanted to know. He needed to know.

“...I get lonely, and sad.” Was it trying to downplay its emotional reactions to him? “I wonder if it's because I did something wrong to upset her.” If a prisoner of his tried to fight back numerous times during their captivity, he’d get annoyed too. It was strange, though. Coriolanus knew that morals and values were of no concern for Dr. Gaul, especially against rebels. Any torture, punishment, placed on them was not seen as being done onto another person, but just another animal, a specimen in her collection. It would not be above Dr. Gaul to cut off a limb, or two, to get a prisoner to stop fighting. So… why not do the same here? Perhaps, this form of mental and emotional punishment was more lethal than he assumed. Another curious test from the mad woman, it was impossible to ever understand her whims.

“Sometimes, I think it might be one of her tests.”

Coriolanus didn’t say those words.

He didn’t like this. Such a statement, spoken so simply, brought him a sick swirl of unease.

The movement of ink had halted, yet his mind continued to race. The thin hairs at the back of his neck stood at its ends, and he held tightly onto the marker in his hand. Quietly, carefully, he placed the plantar surface of Project Prometheus’s foot back down on the uneven tiles below the both of them. Reaching his hands up to his shoulders, where the subject’s extensor retinaculum were, he held onto it firmly. The subject put up no sign of objection. Sweat was slowly building up under the tight material of the gloves he donned on, but it was not a sweltering warmth. It was a cold, clammy sensation.

“What do you mean by ‘one of her tests’?” Punctuating the words at the end, he kept his tone inquisitive, curious. Perhaps, a dabble of suspicion. Not towards the subject, but more towards the matter. What was needed in this situation was caution, and he’d be a gutted fool if he was to let the rebel become aware of how much the question startled him to his core. For right now, he’d play the gentle, confused assistant that it assumed of him before. He already told the lie of it knowing Dr. Gaul better than he did.

“Her tests,”

It spoke as if he knew! He knew very well what it was. What once was a flash of fear, had become a steady stream of anger. He knew because he is Dr. Gaul’s assistant. It was his job to follow in the steps she’s placed out for him, and more. Why would a prisoner, a subject, know about the ways Dr. Gaul operated? How much does Dr. Gaul tell it in these ‘conversations’?

It made him sick, that the lie he told before could actually become true.

“I never notice it until it’s done, until she tells me at the end. She never shares the results with me.” For once, he is tempted to strip his pride and beg for more details. “Most days, it’ll be physical tests, like today. Others, it’s more… talking, or writing.”

“Writing?”

It came out quickly before he could properly think his words over. He doesn’t recall seeing possible writing exams in Subject A01’s report. To be fair to himself, he did skim it briefly since he was only just now introduced to the project. There wasn’t much time for him to familiarize himself with all the tiny details written inside. At least, the things that were legible.

“Dr. Gaul hands me scraps of paper and just asks me to write what I think. Like uh, a journal…I guess.” Keeping a diary couldn’t be the only test Dr. Gaul was having it do. If writing random streams of thought was enough to be intellectually challenging, he wouldn’t be seeing students at the University fighting to win passing grades. “I don’t understand the reason why, and I never remember what I write. My memory is not the best.” It was giving him an excuse to try and shift the conversation. How funny it was, trying to take control of the situation. He’d never let such a thing happen. In this examination room, there was only one person and a subject, the dynamic that was at play was clear. The grip Coriolanus had on their extensor retinaculum tightened, an unconscious movement on his part. Project Prometheus had taken in a soft breath of air at the action, the sound loud enough between the both of them. Had it not come from a prisoner, what a sweet sound it could’ve been.

“Could you explain it to me,” His voice came out softly, despite the gnawing irritation that he held back. The tight grasp he had loosened, one hand stroking down a careful thumb down the stitched wrist of the subject in gentle circles. He shifted in his kneeled position, adjusting to a more comfortable weight as the layers he wore started to wear at him, an uncomfortable shift. Wearing the surgical uniform could be sweltering. Tilting his head up slightly to gaze up at the subject, praying that his eyes did not betray and reveal his inner thoughts. “Try to remember.”

Coriolanus could’ve sworn he saw a slight falter, a tremble, in the dark optics of Project Prometheus. Its supercilium furrowed just the slightest inch upwards; did it look apologetic? The first visible change of expression he’s witnessed in the time he’s spent here in this examination room, and it’s one of regret. The subject’s fingers twisted itself into the fabric of his surgical gown, opening its mouth partially as they sought the right sound, the right word. He could make out the faint peeks of its canines.

“... I’m sorry, Dr. Snow. I can’t remember at all,” They breathed out, in admission, surrendering. It treated it as a guilty confession.

“Not a thing?” He whispered softly to them, prompting them to speak more. Coriolanus applauded himself internally, for how sympathetic he sounded.

The subject shook its head.

“My memory is not good.” Again, it reaffirmed its previous statement.

Was his question that hard? Surely, specks of small details, flashes of imagery, that would be sufficient enough of an answer for him. He wasn’t asking for a full essay of their inner workings ( though, he wouldn’t mind it ). However, as both their eyes continued locked in a stare, his thumb slowed its movements. The leathered finger stopping at the center junction of its stitches, the feel of the raised, textured skin apparent under the feel of the material. Project Prometheus was being sincere. Its face hadn’t changed, its body had not moved away from him. Dare he say, the minimal space between them; something he did not mind earlier before, had become much more apparent in his feverish mind. The subject answered him so honestly, it made his suspicions of before seem so ridiculous now. One thing did nag at him though, the writing, the insistence of journaling, the memory.

…

“... Do you remember how long you’ve been here?” Two years ago, Coriolanus recalled. Two years ago, that was when he was abandoned in District 12. When Dr. Gaul had started the experiment on Subject A01, busying herself with curiosities while he was drowning himself in depravities and vices, waiting out like a dog for some form of mercy to reach him.

A new, tense silence consumed them both. He watched the subject carefully, taking note of the slightest movement that could give any indication of anything more. Tracing with his eyes, following how Project Prometheus’s cuspid snagged at their chapped bottom lip. A faint flush of red spread across the muscle, from the pressure exerted on it. Unconsciously, it reminded him of how dry his own mouth felt, the hoarse sensation in his throat. He darted out his own tongue for a brief moment to wet his own mouth, hidden underneath the surgical mask he wore. Nothing was being said between them, but yet there was so much being told. A fierce feeling was soaring, running through the veins of Coriolanus; he knew what it meant and he feared for it. Not for what the answer could be, but what it possibly could bring up.

“You don’t remember how you got it here at all, do you?” His voice was so hushed, spoken as if taboo. It gave him the same feeling of it, the rush as the blood was entering his head and his heartbeat loud in his ears.

A form of dissociative amnesia.

Project Prometheus had developed gaps in memory due to an extended amount of isolation and exposure to severe trauma. It all clicked in Coriolanus’s head. He understood now what Dr. Gaul was attempting to achieve in her games with the subject. The tests, the daily conversations, the journal writing – Dr. Gaul was examining the subject’s mental decay as part of the Project’s ongoing research. Not only has the woman deteriorated and changed the way the prisoner’s nerves had worked, but their mind as well. Is continuing the Project even viable to do anymore? It was a form of punishment. Would it be ethical to operate on a being of flesh, when the subject no longer knew what it was being punished for? The question would most likely give Dr. Gaul a kick of joy. She loved to ponder questions worthy of debate. Coriolanus wouldn’t put it past the woman if she already gave the inquiry out to one of her classes in a lecture hall.

“I vaguely do,”

His eyebrows rose in interest.

“But only in subtle feelings.”

Nevermind.

“I think I experienced some form of confusion. And bits of anger, too. Dr. Gaul… For a moment, I used to be so scared of her. Now, I can’t even remember the reason why.”

Project Prometheus’s indifference, Coriolanus realized, it was not just solely based on apathy. What had become of it was a blank state, unsure of how to process things so the mind refused to process it all. But, it was still something highly susceptible to influences, shown in how Project Prometheus had become conditioned like Pavolv Dog, to associate Dr. Gaul’s silence with anger and disappointment, and her socialness with satisfaction and joy. It all was dawning on him. He could see it now, why Dr. Gaul was so disturbingly fascinated by this project. Gloved hands moved away from the subject’s wrist, and reached out to lay in gentle manner against the side of their bare thighs. The subject allowed him to, never raising a sign of objection. Could he teach it to experience anger once more, when he treated their body like this? Maybe discomfort, disgust, despair - he wanted to show their blank canvas of a mind what it felt like to fully immerse themselves in these ugly emotions. He knew why they were like this, but there still was a lingering crumb of vexation directed at the subject. Somehow, in their newfound state, they still felt far more free than he ever did; how they almost felt nothing, and he had to feel everything.

And yet, there was another thought that touched him. He wondered, if he spent enough time with the subject, could he too, be able to condition them to other things. They thought of him as merciful, kind, in comparison to Dr. Gaul. Could he make Project Prometheus worship him, and in the same quiet breaths they were fond of, resent him? The thought of making them accustomed to anticipating his attendance, and lamenting his absence sounded tempting.

How nice it would be, to have someone other than a deranged crone enjoy his presence.

Tigris certainly didn’t anymore.

Coriolanus rose himself from the ground, gripping on the meat of Project’s Prometheus’s flesh to lift him. Under his touch, the pliant stretch of skin and tissue made the subject remove their hands from his shoulders. Another faint breath escaped their exhale. It was a sound he was slowly getting used to. Back to their original height difference, he no longer had to crane his head up to look at the subject. The subject had to lift their head up to look up at him, now. What did Project Prometheus see, in their gaze as they stared at him, Coriolanus thought. Was he too, consumed in shadow and bathed under the gritty lights of the examination room like they once had?

“We’re done with the mark-up.” It took him a moment to move away from the subject. “We’ll move to holding the nerve exam now, after I administer a low dosage of your medication.”

The uncapped, black marker was placed back down on the metal tray, aside from the examination table. Replacing its empty space was now the syringe he had filled out before, the dark color swishing as he picked it up. The needle gleamed under the fluorescent light. Turning his back around, Project Prometheus had already sat themselves up nicely on the edge of the examination table for him. Their legs dangled off, their hands held at the edges of the worn-out leather cushion, eyes fixated on his person. They were waiting for him. He’s almost bothered, how easily the subject could anticipate his next set of commands. He hoped that this was just due to routine, not because he had become easy to read. Coming up to meet them there, the only sound that filled the air was the sole of his shoes stepping against the tiles. Gloved fingers reached to grab at the jaw of Project Prometheus, the syringe held close to their face. It shone particularly brilliant, mere inches away from their face. The subject showed him no fear, no resistance, despite the way the skin of the cheeks had moved under his grasp.

Already, he wanted to break them.

“Show me where to inject you.”

He’d be sweet, Coriolanus would let them pick where it was most comfortable for him to inject the medication in. Project Prometheus complied immediately to him, holding on the hand that held their needle to adjust the position. They guided him to the back of their neck, moving their hair to make space. To reward their compliance, he pricked the syringe quickly under the skin, careful not to touch an artery or nerve. The dark liquid inside the barrel slowly filled out, emptying itself as he pushed the plunger down. The subject did not let out a sound, a favorable contrast to Livia, who waited for him outside these Citadel walls.

He was going to mold them into something useful.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosas fic #thg series #thg fic #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #volumnia gaul #tw medical #medical horror #fanfic #.// ♡ basil's archive #. // ♡ rubatosis series #its insane how much i wrote for this first chapter lmao #its like 30 pages on google docs #i am obsessed with this man #i really wanted this chapter to be a focus of snow & reader building their dynamic and bond before we jump off the deep end #i am really excited to write the coming chapters

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ecclesiasticallatinfest · 4 months

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Join us!

In our first ever Our Flag Means Non-English Fanworks Fest!

Rolls off the tongue, doesn't it.

As we all know, the Our Flag Means Death fandom community is spread across the globe (Awesome map set up by the RenewAsACrew team and filled in by the fans!)

So how about we celebrate how international we are and focus on non-English languages with a fanworks fest that will run from the 7th of February 2024 until the 15th of February!

And by fanworks, I mean:

Fanfic

Fanart/fancomics

Fanvids

Meta on translation/subtitling/dubbing choices!

Schedule and rules under the Read More:

Schedule:

7th & 8th of February: Write fic in a non-English language OR translate a fic into a non-English language. (If you want to do the latter and translate someone else's fic, check the fic author's profile to see how they feel about translations!)

9th & 10th of February: Make fanart or a fan comic in a non-English language.

11 & 12th of February: Make an OFMD fanvid to a non-English language song. (Hard mode: Don't use Con's French version of La Vie En Rose. Bonus points if you make a supercut of all the different dubs of Oh Daddy for some multilingual awkwardness)

13th & 14th of February: Write meta on the translation choices made when it comes to dubbing and subbing to a non-English language you speak, OR write about meta about the use of non-English in the show.

For example, here is some meta from a while ago on the German dub and how it handles the formal and informal form of address, and here's one that does the same with French.

15th of February: Catch-up day and also AO3's International Fanworks Day!

This is both a catch-up day for posting fanworks mentioned above OR catching up on commenting on those fanworks! And obviously you can also comment on non-English fanworks that were posted outside of the fest!

Rules:

All characters and pairings welcome.

All ratings welcome.

All non-English languages welcome - AO3 supports the following languages.

Please post your fanwork to the AO3 Collection (if possible and if you like) to make it easy for everyone to see the fanworks made for the event.

Please use either Ecclesiastical Latin Fest and/or EcclesiasticalLatinFest if you post about it on Tumblr or Twitter or elsewhere to make it easy for everyone to see the fanworks made for the event.

You can use a few sentences of English in your fic here and there, same as English fics often have Jim saying some words or sentences in Spanish.

You can start posting your fanwork when it is the correct day in your timezone.

You can participate if you're a native English speaker, so break out your best secondary school/Duolingo German/French/Spanish! There's no foreign language practise like reading and writing fic.

Don't be a dick.

#OFMD #Our Flag Means Death #Ecclesiastical Latin Fest

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codfanficedits · 7 months

Text

One fucking mistake - Full version - Ending two.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader - She/her pronouns being used - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!OC

Summary: Simon lost you after making a mistake on a mission.

Wordcount: 12655 | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: cussing, swearing, grieving, angst with comfort, conversation, mentioning of memoryloss, therapist, depression (and the nasty kind), funeral.

A/N: Full version of the fic. This is the happier ending.

I didn't proofread and English isn't my native tongue, so please let me know if there are mistakes.

AO3 Link ~ Full version ending one.

One fucking mistake.

That was all it took for life to take you away from him. Simon hated himself, flat out hated himself. He was the one he asked you to go on this mission with him. Simon was the one who double checked your gear, giving your bulletproof vest some little tugs to make sure that it was secure. Simon had been the one to beg you to come on this mission with him. After all, you had been the best thing that had happened to him, and what better way to keep you safe than to keep you close to him at all times?

Another sip of whiskey when he tries to drown out the memories of that mission.

Simon had promised himself to keep you safe, safe from the world, safe from the enemy, safe from himself, and he had failed. He had failed you so badly. If only he had listened to you when you said no the first time, if only he hadn’t pouted and tried to bribe you into coming with him. If he wouldn’t have done that you’d still be next to him.

Another sip of whiskey while he tries to forget his own screams when he lost you.

Simon would give everything in his power to turn back time, to accept your first no, to kiss you on your nose and to take that mission on with someone else. He would sacrifice the whole taskforce if that meant he could have you back. All of them, with his bare hands if he had to. But he knew it wouldn’t make a difference, he knew he couldn’t change the outcome, so the only thing he could do was punish himself for his mistakes.

When he finishes his glass of whiskey he wants to raise his arm to order another one. A large hand on his arms stops him.

“You’ve had enough, Simon.”

Captain fucking Price.

“I’ll fucking decide when I’ve had enough.” Simon barks. His anger redirecting to John, angry that the captain approved you going on that mission with him. It was his job to care for his soldiers and Price had clearly failed you and him.

Price’s hand grabs a handful of Simon’s hair. “Get a fucking grip on yourself, Simon.” His voice is a low hiss, almost intimidating. “That’s a fucking order.”

A stare off starts, Simon doesn’t want to back down, no, Simon wants someone to be punished for losing you. And Price refuses to be that person.

“I get that you’re grieving.” Price starts.

“Oh do you now?”

“Simon.” A soft sigh follows Price’s lips. “I do, but this is not the way to deal with this.”

Simon stays silent, of course he knows this is not the way to deal with it, but it is the way that feels good, the way that makes him forget about you. The way that makes him forget about the guilt that he feels.

“Come on.” Price orders him. “Let’s get you back to base.” The hand that had been gripping on his hair makes its way back to his neck, and with a firm hand he guides Simon off the barstool, back to the car.

It is a quiet, but tense ride back to base. Neither of the men want to break the silence.

Eventually Price bites the bullet.

“We’re worried about you, Simon.” He begins. “I am worried about you.”

“I don’t need your worries or your care.” Simon spat back, all he wanted was you back.

“You need something. Something we can’t give you.”

“What are you implying?”

“Simon.” It’s a soft sigh. “Maybe it would be for the best if you took some time off, yeah?”

No. Simon had already lost the person he cared most about, he couldn’t stand losing his job too, even if it was temporarily.

“Not a chance.”

“But, Simon I thi-“

“I said not a chance.”

Price let out a sigh, he knows better than to argue with a heartbroken, grieving soldier, but Price also knows he can’t allow this behaviour to continue for much longer. Simon is becoming a liability to the team, to himself, and he needs to prevent that.

The both of them don’t say a word until they reach the base again. But even then the tension was thick between the two of them. Without saying a word Simon got out of the car, taking large steps to avoid any form of communication with Price, not in the mood to talk anymore.

Simon reaches his room quickly and when he closes his door behind him, he gets overwhelmed with this insane amount of guilt. He had already lost you, and it felt as if everything was slipping between his fingers.

Simon falls to his knees, praying to the Gods that you’re safe and that you will return to him soon. His prayers are raw and desperate, begging for the universe to stop the cruel trick it’s playing on him.

He doesn’t get up when the door creaks open and Soap gets in. Price had told him what had happened, and Soap wanted to talk to his friend, but the sight of a grown man on his knees, begging the universe to bring someone back is a difficult thing to watch.

“You’re praying again?” Soap eventually mutters. “How raw are your knees?”

“Fuck off!” Simon snaps at him.

Soap can only shake his head. “I don’t think you’re truly mean.” He answers. “You have sad eyes.”

And with those words Simon is left alone again. His whole life smelled like you, and it would take time. Undoing you from his blood.

He crawls to his bed, on his knees, tears streaming down his face when he is once again reminded that you’re not here with him.

He doesn’t even bother with taking off his clothes as he crawls under the covers the two of you used to share every night. And he starts to think about another universe, one where he has found you again, where the two of you fall in love again, were the two of you stay together and have the happiest life together. And he loves, loves, loves you. Simon realizes that if he could have done it again, he would have loved you better, but he could not have loved you more.

The feelings of guilt and grief have started to feel so familiar that is has become comforting enough to fall asleep.

And when the morning comes, and Simon is once again reminded of what life has taken from him, he starts to understand why people smoke until their lungs are black, why people drink the night away or why they throw themselves off buildings.

His mind didn’t register the warm water of the shower anymore, everything in life started to feel dull, the warmth of the sun no longer hitting his skin, the smell of lavender no longer reaching his nose, even food started to taste as bland as he felt.

Simon dreaded going to debriefings, the stares he would get, full of compassion, it made him sick to his stomach, they all thought that they knew what he was going through, but no one really knew how he felt, and he was not about to share it with anyone.

He was the last to join, and as expected all the heads turned towards him when he walked in, taking his usual seat. He despised the looks his teammates gave them, and he refused to meet their gazes, his eyes focused on the paper before him.

“Simon.” Price starts.

“Ghost.” He corrects.

“I’m sorry.” Price clears his throat. “Ghost. We’re going back to that mission whe-“

“Why.” His voice is sharp.

“We’re going to search for a body.”

Simon can feel his heartbeat in his ear, and he can feel his face getting red. He doesn’t want to search for a body. Because not having a body meant you were still Missing In Action. It meant that there was still a chance you would come back to him, it meant that if he prayed hard enough, you would return to the place where you belonged. His arms.

Finding your body would mean that you would be Killed In Action, it would mean that he would need to find a crowbar and pry the pieces of God of out his body, a punishment for being abandoned. Finding you would mean that he had to accept that his mission had killed you, and he wasn’t ready to face that.

“No.” His answer was short.

“It has been three weeks.”

“I don’t care!” Simon slams his fist on the table to power up his words.

“We’re going and you can either join us or stay here.” Price gives him the choice.

And Simon doesn’t know what to do, because he wants to stay in the bubble he had created for himself, he wanted to believe that you would just show up, as an early Christmas present. And if he went to look for you, he’d know for certain you would never come back.

But he couldn’t let the other find you. It would be a betrayal towards you, he had sworn to protect you, he had already failed at that, the least he could do was bring your body home himself.

“I’m coming.”

His teammates look up, slightly confused, all of them had expected him to stay on base.

“Are you sure?” Soap breaks the silence.

“Do I have to repeat myself, sergeant?”

“Of course not Lieutenant.”

But Simon zones out quickly after that. His mind wandering towards the upcoming mission. Bringing you home. How would you look when he found you? Would you still be as pretty? How would your face look? He was worried, worried he’d find you with a terrified look on your face. Worried he would find you half dressed, your innocence taken away by the enemy. All he could be was worried.

He doesn’t even register his teammates getting up and leaving the debriefing room.

“A word.” The stern voice of his captain snaps him out of it.

“What.”

“You can’t go on like this, Simon.”

“Ghost.”

“No. I’m talking to you as Simon.” Price answers. “I’ll allow you to go on this mission, as I understand how important it is to you, but after we’re back.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m your captain and you listen to me.”

Simon can feel the muscle under his eye twitching, he hated it when Price reminded him that he outranked him, but he knew Price wouldn’t back off if it came to a standoff, although Price did seem like a sweet man, he had a lot of bark in him when needed.

“Yes captain.”

“When we’re back, I want you to take some leave, get some professional help. I can’t watch you drink yourself to death every night. I can’t keep covering for you to our higher ups, Simon. You deserve better than this.”

No, no, no. Simon felt as if he deserved exactly what he was given, after all, he had been the one to drag you along on that mission.

“If you say so.”

“Now, go prepare yourself. I can imagine it is going to be tough to get back there.”

Oh it was. Just the mere idea of going back to the place where he lost you was enough for Simon to get his stomach to churn. But he needed to go, he owed it to you, he owed it to himself.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

The words repeating themselves as a mantra inside his head. His heart dropping to his stomach when he has to wear a bulletproof vest again, the memories of him tugging on yours flooding his mind. Your innocent smile, the pout when you reminded him he had to do the dishes when the two of you would come back, a part of the deal he had made with you so you would come with him on that godforsaken mission. He can still feel the sensation of your skin under his knuckles when he playfully brushed them against your cheeks. Simon was desperate, he felt like he was drowning. In pain, anger and self-hatred, and you had always been his lifeline, helping him stay afloat. And now you were gone, by his doing and it takes everything in his being to not drop to his knees and wail. God, God, God. He missed you, your smile, your skin, your hair, your scent. Your eyes. He missed your eyes, they spoke a thousand stories and he was ready to read every word.

If only he could go back in time. But he can’t, instead he has to walk to the same chopper that flew the both of you to a mission, but only brought him back.

He closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the chopper, after he has taken a seat, begging the universe to let him wake up from this horrible nightmare.

Simon knows he needs to find you now, alive and well, it would be his only chance to have you back again. He doesn’t want to find your body, he doesn't want to be met with the aftermath of that mission. No, no, no. He wants you to sit on a piece of rubble, patiently waiting for him to come pick you up.

He can’t accept your fate, because it isn’t fair. It wasn’t fair and it never, ever will be fair.

Right now you’re still Missing In Action, and right now he still has the chance to have you again.

It’s a horrible sight for the rest of his team, they know they want to help, but Simon pushes them all away, every single one of them gets shut out, no matter how hard to try to just be there for him. He wants you, and no one else is allowed to get close to him. Even with the skull mask on, and his eyes closed, they can all tell he is not doing well. But how does one console a grieving soldier that doesn’t want to be consoled?

Soap opens his mouth to say something, anything. He can’t stand his friend being in so much pain and he wants to know if there is something that he can do. But Price stops him, because Price knows how it is to grieve over someone he knows will never come back. Price knows that the feeling, how intense it may be in the moment, will eventually fade into something lighter, a feeling that is there, yet doesn’t weigh down on his chest so much.

And Simon doesn’t know, Simon doesn’t realise how much his coworkers, his friends are struggling with him. He doesn’t know how much they miss you too, how much they want you to sit on that piece of rubble when they arrive. They want you to, for your sake, for their sake, but most of all for Simon’s sake.

It is quiet when the chopper touches the ground, no one dares to get up first. No one wants to be the person to bring the bad news.

Price eventually decides that it is up to him. He is Simon’s captain after all, he was your captain after all. His eyes scan the area in front of him.

God, let you sit on that piece of rubble.

But you’re not, of course you’re not, and Price feel stupid for even allowing himself to have this bit of hope.

“Let’s go look for a body.” An order from his low voice.

Simon gets up from his seat, clinging on to the idea that it is all a big prank, a big joke, and that you are still on that piece of rubble, a payback because he bribes you into going on that mission.

It feels as if his legs are going to give out when he sees the area covered in rubble, dirt and pieces of the building you’d been in.

He needs to hold on to something, something to keep him steady while his body wants to shut down as his mind begins to flood again with the memories.

A flash grenade.

A fucking flash grenade had separated the two of you, and he should have seen it coming. He should’ve seen it happen, he should have protected you, but he didn’t. He can see the husk of the flash grenade stick out from between the debris, as if the universe is taunting him. He remembers being blinded, a loud ringing in his ears, and you were nowhere to be found. He remembers calling your name, yelling your name, screaming it, but he never got a response. He remembers that cold, sickening feeling when he tried to radio you, but he didn’t hear the radio, or you. He remembers a grenade going off near him. He remembers running there, hoping to find you, but you were never there, and he had to go back to the chopper empty handed. He remembers how the air suddenly became painful to breathe when you weren’t waiting at the chopper for him. He remembers how he had to make the choice to go back.

He remembers. He remembers. He remembers. He remembers.

A sudden wave of nausea waves over him, and he is just in time to pull up the mask and the balaclava, retching out sour vomit when it becomes too much. The guilt, the fear, the anger making their way up from his stomach.

He cleans his mouth with a sip of water. Simon can’t forget he is still a soldier, and he needs to be strong, for you, for himself. And when he feels like it is okay again, he joins the others, picking up large pieces of debris, hoping to find a sign of you, a little giveaway that you’re still very much alive and kicking.

He works hard, the desperation showing through his movements as he lifts up piece after piece. But you’re not there, all he finds is disappointment and the confirmation that his worst fear is becoming a reality. It is starting to become dark and Simon knows that they have to return back to base soon.

“Ghost.” Price calls out from the field.

“You might want to see this.”

But Simon doesn’t want to see this, because he knows that this can’t be good news. Simon knows from the tone and voice of his captain that if they have found you, you’re not alive.

His steps feel heavy, as if concrete is tied to his feet while he makes his way over to Price, stopping in his tracks when he sees your dog tags and the ball chain wrapped around his hand. The look in Price’s face tells him enough. They have found your dog tags, but not you.

You’re not coming home with him.

No, no, no. This couldn’t be, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You had to come home with him. At this point it was no longer about you being alive, it was about you coming home. He wanted, no he needed to see your pretty face one more time, he wanted to tell you that he loved you one more time.

Simon made his way over to Price, he needed to see if they were really your dog tags. They had to be someone else’s, they shouldn’t be yours, they couldn’t be yours. Dear God, anyone’s but yours.

They were yours.

Of course they were yours. He recognized them from afar, his vision getting blurry from the tears when he looked at the shiny metal. His mind was racing and he couldn’t think.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t think.

You had to be here, you just had to be. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the stinging pain of the glass shards on the floor. Raking his hands through the debris, tossing away concrete, stones, glass, everything to try and find you.

The leather on his gloves is strong, but not as strong as his love for you and it doesn’t take long for his blood to stain the broken pieces of building he was touching. He had to find you.

You had to come home to him, you just had to.

He can feel a hand on his shoulder but Simon ignores it. He just needs a little longer, he just needs a few more minutes.

“Simon.” The low bass in Price’s voice makes it impossible to ignore him. “We need to go back.”

“No.”

“It’s an order.”

It breaks Price, seeing his best soldier suffer like this. And Price himself doesn’t want to think about your fate. He hopes you’re still buried under all that rubble and debris, he prays that your dead body isn’t taken by the enemy, because he too knows how disgusting men can be.

“We have to go back.” Price usually doesn’t repeat himself, but he’ll make an exception, just his once.

Simon gets up from his knees, knowing that if he leaves now, he has to accept your fate, his fate, the fate of the relationship the two of you had.

“But.” Simon tries to protest.

“Don’t.” Price sighs. “It won’t get easier over time. Rip off the bandage, boy.”

Simons knows it is for the best, but by God did it hurt, he didn’t want to leave you, he didn’t want your status to be changed to Killed In Action, no he wanted you to be Missing In Action until the two of you reconnected again in the afterlife.

Simon holds out his hand, wanting to hold your dog tags. The only thing he is bringing home today.

He holds them the whole flight in the chopper, this thumb caressing the metal, memorizing the way your name is marked on the cold metal. He brings them to his lips, kissing them through the balaclava, hoping that you’ll feel his kiss in the afterlife.

Simon, Price, Soap, Gaz, they all know this can’t go on any longer, they all know this is breaking Simon, the infamous Ghost crumbling down at the loss of his beloved.

“A word.” Price doesn’t waste any time when they’re back to base.

“I know.” Simon sounds defeated as he follows him into an empty briefing room.

“This can’t go on like this, Simon.”

“I know, just.” Simon doesn’t want to talk, but he has to. “Just let me stay on base until the funeral is over.”

An empty casket.

Price would’ve denied anyone else, he would’ve told anyone else that the army wasn’t a babysitter, but he couldn’t deny the broken soul in front of him. He couldn’t risk losing his best soldier because he had sent him home too early.

“Of course.” Price finally answers. “But I want you to go to therapy when you’re on leave.”

Therapy. Simon finds it a filthy word. Because therapy would mean that something is wrong with him, and the only thing wrong is your death.

“I promise.” You would’ve wanted it for him.

Price had never expected Simon to agree so quickly, but he is glad Simon doesn’t put up much of a fight, although it worries him slightly.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Price warns him.

A faint smile forms on Simons lips. “The dumbest thing I ever did was bringi-“

“Stop.” Another order from Price. “You’re beating yourself up.”

“But it is my fault!”

Silence, because the both of them know that you still would’ve been alive if Simon hadn’t begged you to come with him. The both of them know that you would still be alive if you wouldn’t have gone on that mission. But Price could never tell Simon that, he could never bring his best soldier down even more.

“Get some rest.” Price orders. “I’ll make sure that.. that..” He struggles to find the words, but it’s clear what he means. He will make sure that you’re put to rest as soon as possible. Your empty casket into the ground, your dog tags the only evidence that you ever existed.

It is the worst day of Simon’s life. The flowers, the suit he is wearing, the people surrounding them. He had dreamed of the day this would happen, but you wouldn’t be gone, you’d be getting ready to marry him, and by God, every time he thinks his heart is ripped out of his chest, the claws of life dig deeper and rip out the remaining pieces of his love. And he catches himself looking for you, even though he knows you won’t arrive.

But his love for you is still inside of him, and he carries you wherever he goes.

Simon knows he has to speak, his final act of love towards you. You deserve it, even though your body is not here, you deserve to get a proper burial. But it’s hard, too hard. The worst part of that love is that he remembers it, walking around everyday thinking that he is going to die in the universe that you loved him in.

He clears his throat, heads snapping into his direction as he tries to brace himself. It’s easier to treat this as a mission. Saying what he needs to say, keep his voice from breaking and getting out.

His eyes shift to the empty casket on the left, and without his permission his vision starts to get blurry and his goddamn heart starts to ache again. God, God, God. How he wished the two of you could’ve met as kids, because he knew you would’ve loved the softer version of him.

Simon looks down at the paper before him, the little speech he wrote to honour you, but he can’t read it through his tears, so he has to speak the words from his heart.

“Since you happened, I’ve never been the same.” Off to a great start.

“I don’t know what’s more tragic, that I keep looking for you wherever I go. Or that you’re never there, and I promise you, someday, somewhere, we’ll be together again.” Fuck, he can’t keep his voice from breaking.

“Whiskey was easier to swallow than the fact that you aren’t coming back.” He is becoming a mess, for all to see. His feelings on display as if it were in a museum. “I’ve learned that I can drink too much and forget the night before. But I’ve learned I can’t drink enough to forget the people I’ve loved and lost.”

A sob interrupts his speech.

“I don’t know what to say to you, except that it tore the heart out of my body saying goodbye to you.”

He has to get out, he needs to breathe fresh air, he wants the grief in him to be replaced by the scent of fresh flowers and sunshine. Who knew losing his lover could turn a hardened soldier into a sobbing mess?

Someone hugs him, but he is too far gone to even register it. Those same arms, same hands guide him to his seat, and his mind is empty when he listens to the rest of the wake.

And now he is sitting in a comfortable chair, a therapist in front of him. Simon still doesn’t know why he accepted it. After all, he still believes that he should suffer from what he has done to you. If you didn’t deserve to live, why would he?

He filters out her voice as he concentrates to the ticking noise of the clock. These appointments feel like a waste of his time. But so does rotting in bed, so he keeps telling himself you would’ve wanted this for him, for him to seek the help he doesn’t feel he deserves.

71 days. The last time he saw you was 71 days. And for those 71 days he feels like an empty shell of an human. And the worst part? Your shirts no longer smell like you, he had to throw out your leftovers, the mold covering the food you had prepared, but he had tried to cling on to it for as long as he could.

71 days, and your voice is a mere memory, it sounds different on the video’s he has from you, and he is ashamed that he can’t remember the real sound anymore.

What would you think of him? God he hopes you can’t see him from the afterlife like this, a goddamn mess, the last time he took a shower must’ve been a week ago, and if he doesn’t go to his therapy session, all he does is, well, nothing. The time he has on this earth is waisted by staring at the wall, hours on end. Just staring, and when his mind is done beating him up for making the mistake of asking you to go on that mission with him, it’s just turned off.

A waste of space, a waste of oxygen, a waste of everything. A pathetic excuse of a human being.

“Simon.” The voice of his therapist snaps him out of it. “Are you okay? I’ve been talking to you for minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He grumbles.

She doesn’t believe him, he can feel it, and he can’t blame her, after all, most sessions are filled with an awkward silence, he doesn’t want to talk, and she learned that asking her questions gets her nowhere.

His mind wanders to your funeral again, how the empty casket is haunting him, how the nightmares about you being cold, dead and alone are haunting him, how even when he sleeps, he finds no peace from his mistake.

He can hear his therapist sigh, her long nails tapping on the clipboard, and it’s fucking annoying. He wants to tell her about the flashbacks, how he keeps relieving the mission, how he keeps replaying the last minute with you, he wants to, but he can’t. It is his secret, his punishment.

His therapist clears her throat. “Well, our time is up. Is there anything you’d like to discuss before we call it quits?”

“No.”

“Alright, see you again next week then, same time.”

With a scoff he gets up from the chair, ready to go home to embrace the darkness of his bed again.

The days are starting to look the same, they melt together in a blur of grief.

He lays in bed, unless he really has to get out. A quick visit to the bathroom and back to bed he goes. When he is unable to ignore his rumbling stomach, he orders some takeaway, just to eat it on the couch, the empty cartons starting to flood the place. But he doesn’t care, not in the slightest, he doesn’t care when he can see the mold on the little pieces of food left in the pizza box.

He doesn’t care when he can smell himself whenever he gets into the bedroom again, he doesn’t care when he rewatches the same show for the fifth time, not a care in the world when his screentime is over sixteen hours a day. He doesn’t care when he stops answering texts, he doesn’t care when calls are met with a loud sigh, annoyed that they’re interrupting the game he was playing.

Simon despises the days he has to go to therapy, it is the only day in the week where he has to get up, shower, wash his hair and brush his teeth. It is the only day of the week where the rotten air from home is replaced by fresh outside air, and he hates it, the comfort of his home being ripped away, just like you got ripped away.

His legs bounces while he sits in the waiting room, he still feels as if he doesn’t belong to therapy, while he knows that there is something wrong, he doesn’t want to admit it, he doesn’t want to accept the help.

He frowns when he gets called in by someone else than his usual therapist, but he goes in anyway.

“Where is she?” He asks bluntly as he goes to sit down in the same comfortable chair he always sit in.

“Who?”

“My usual therapist.”

The woman in front of him frowns. “She didn’t feel as if she was booking process with you, so she asked me to take over. Didn’t she tell you?”

Simon can only shrug, truth be told, he never paid enough attention to even remember anything from those sessions. “Could be.”

Her lips press together until they are a faint line and Simon can tell he doesn’t like her one bit.

“Let me introduce myself.” She continues. “My name is Sarah, and I’m…” He zones out within seconds, pushing her voice to the background.

“Simon!” She has a fucking sharp voice.

“What.”

“I’m talking to you.”

Simon raises an eyebrow, this is the first time a therapist has been this direct to him. “Right.” He mumbles. “Continue.”

“Did you get anything I just said?” Sarah asks him.

“Well, your name is Sarah, and..” His voice dies out. “That’s all.” He adds with a sheepish tone.

“Why are you here, Simon?” She asks him, as she holds the clipboard to her chest.

Because my captain asked me to.

But he stays silent, just shrugging as she asks him that question.

“Do you even want to be here?”

Simon frowns at the second question, of course he doesn’t want to be here. “No.”

“Then why bother coming anyway?”

Because you would’ve been so disappointed in him if he didn’t at least try. But Simon knows that what he is doing isn’t even close to trying at all. It is just easier to lie to himself that he is trying.

“Because..” His voice his hoarse.

Because he wants to get rid of that feeling of guilt, that is weighing him down on his chest, the feeling that keeps him up at night, being so heavy that he worries that he’ll suffocate in the matrass if he acknowledges it. Because he wants to deal with the grief that came with losing you, because every little thing outside of the routine that he has created for himself reminds him of you. Because he wants to be happy again, but just the mere thought of it feels like a betrayal to you.

Because, because, because.

But the words leave him, just like he left you there to die by yourself, and the thought of that tightens his chest, his ribs suffocating his lungs and it feels like he can’t breathe. Short burst of air leaving his nose when he tries to wipe away the image. That familiar feeling again, a panic attack waiting in the shadows of his mind.

God not here, not now.

But Sarah doesn’t react, she doesn’t try to talk him out of it, instead she just lets it happen, observing how he handles it.

His hands pressing against his temples. He doesn’t want to think about you, about leaving you, he doesn’t want to be confronted by his mistake.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

He remembers the advice you gave him, you’d walked in on him having one as he sat down on the shower floor. He tries to remember your voice, your face when you said it to him. But he can’t. Fuck. He can’t.

He loves you, so why is he forgetting it? Why is your face becoming a blur. Why is your voice different in every memory.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

The panic dies out after a few deep breaths, guilt popping up like the mushrooms do around autumn.

“Why are you here, Simon?” Sarah repeats the question.

“Because I can’t live like this anymore.”

“Like what?”

A scowl forms on his face, he hates feeling this vulnerable, it makes him feel weak and he still feels as if he should overcome this with ease. “Living in my own filth because I can’t be bothered to actually live.”

“Why can’t you be bothered to actually live, Simon?”

For fuck sakes, he hates how many questions she is asking, he hates how it forces him to think about things he doesn’t want to think about, things he has crammed away in the shadows of his mind.

“Because I don’t deserve it!” His voice is louder than he wanted it to be, but part of him hopes it scares her off, that it makes her stop asking questions.

But it doesn’t, Sarah doesn’t bat an eye.

“Why do you feel as if you don’t deserve to live?”

Because you didn’t get to live.

“Because I killed her, I begged her to come with me on a mission that killed her. I am the reason she is no longer walking on this earth. She said no the first time and I’m a selfish asshole for taking her with me!” God it feels good to get that off his chest.

Sarah stays silent, and the silence causes his words to float in the air.

“She said yes herself, right?” Sarah eventually says. “Why are you holding yourself accountable for that?”

“Because she said no the first time. And I bribed her with doing the dishes.” He spat out.

God he hated how Sarah would let his answers linger in the air, it meant he had to think, think about what happened, think about his answers, think about how actions, how it affected everything.

How he would never give himself peace.

“Because I keep wondering how life would’ve been if I had accepted her first no, I wonder how I would be if she wouldn’t have gone with me. Because. I. I. I.” Simon starts to stutter, the words flooding out him, things he had kept hidden to rot inside of him.

“Because I know that she would’ve been alive if it wasn’t for me.” A tiny voice for a big soldier.

“You can’t change what happened, Simon.”

Of course he can’t! Fuck, it annoys him. “I know.” He grits his teeth.

“Do you think she would want you to live like this?”

Fuck, a cold sensation running over him, his stomach feels as if it is doing summersaults.

“No, no, I don’t think so.” He eventually admits. Of course not, you would only want the best for him, you would’ve wanted him to move on, to make something out of his life. Oh God, you were always so sweet, so innocent, and he, he took you away from this world.

That same feeling in his chest again, he presses his eyes shut.

The image of that fucking flash grenade sticking out of the debris again. Haunting him, taunting him.

As the tightness in his chest gets worse, he can’t stop the hot tears falling down.

Fucking weak.

“Simon.”

“Simon?”

“Simon!”

Sarah’s voice brings him back to reality, but not just enough, flashbacks running through his mind while he tries to feel the fabric of the chair under his fingertips.

“Tell me what is happening, Simon.”

Short, quick breaths, the tightening in his chest becoming worse, and worse.

“Simon? Tell me what you’re seeing, right now.”

He wants to open his eyes, he wants it to stop, but this is the clearest he has seen you in weeks. He doesn’t want to lose this, even though it hurt like something he has never felt before. He wants it to stop, but he doesn’t want it to end.

“The mission.” He mutters.

Silence again. He hates how Sarah lets him struggle with his emotions, his feelings, and he wants his old therapist back, whatshername, who would fill up the silence so he wouldn’t have to.

“I keep replaying the mission in my head.” Simon adds.

“Tell me.” Sarah commands. “Walk me through what is happening.”

“It always starts the same.” He begins. “Always.”

“How does it start?”

“We’re waiting for the chopper. We’re both wearing a bulletproof vest, and I make sure hers is safe. I tug on it a little, a few times actually. I would brush the skin of her cheeks with my knuckles.” It is a whisper, but it is a start.

“And then we move to the chopper, she is sitting next to me, and all I see is her beauty. It was supposed to be an easy mission and she is talking, talking about how she will let me do all the dishes she can find, she is teasing me about having to wear an apron while I’m doing the dishes.” His breathing is starting to get more controlled.

“It was supposed to be an abandoned area.” Simon continues, his hands gripping the armrest of the chair. “I let my guard down, we were joking too much, laughing too hard. The enemy must’ve heard us. And then, then, then.”

“Stop.” Sarah says. “Put the film on hold, and tell me what you see.”

“I see her, the sun high on the sky, a smile on her face, not a worry in her eyes. And then I spot the flash grenade. And I want to warn her, but it’s too late.” Simons starts.

“Okay.” No it’s not okay.

“Can you put yourself in the image?”

“What?”

“Put yourself in the situation, standing alongside yourself and her.”

Silence again.

“Can you do it, Simon?”

“Yeah.” He mutters, feeling awkward, but he can, standing next to himself and next to you.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to her?”

His heart starts to race again. Yes, yes, yes! There are so many things he would like to say to you, so many things that he wants you to hear, but that will never reach you.

“I. I. I want to tell that I’m so, so sorry.” He begins. “I want to say that I should’ve listened to her, that if I could do it all over again, I would do it differently.”

He holds back a sob.

“I want to tell her that I will always love her, that she will always be a part of me, no matter what happens, no matter how old I grow, no matter who comes in to my life, she will always matter.” The raw words leave his lips, dragging the heavy feeling from his heart with them, leaving him able to breathe for the first time in months.

“Can you hug her?”

What a stupid question. But he can, and he does, he presses his eyes shut and hugs you, and although it is in his imagination, it feels real, for him it is real. The version of you that got one more hug, tells him that he is forgiven, and it brings a little bit of peace to him.

Simon finally opens his eyes again. “God.” He breathes.

“How does that feel?” Sarah asks.

“Better.” He admits.

“Good.” Is that a smile on her lips?

“Are you going to be able to handle being alone?” Sarah breaks the silence.

“Yeah.” And for the first time it does feel like he is able to handle being alone. For the first time he wants to go outside, to breathe the fresh air. Hell, he even wants to grab the bin and clean the house.

He wants to live again.

243 days.

God it has been 243 days. And while his grief for you is a token of the love he holds for you, life is moving on, Simon is moving on. He no longer spends his days and nights in his bed, instead he goes out, out in the open, out to visit a coffee shop, a bookstore, the park.

He treats life as if he had died and had begged God for a second chance, taking in every detail of the beauty of life.

243 days. He has missed your birthday, you have missed his. But don’t worry, he took a cupcake to your empty grave and sang for you. You still visit him in his dreams, and while he still wakes up missing you, longing for you in his bed, he is grateful to have you visit him even if it is through his nightmares and dreams.

He no longer has therapy sessions with Sarah, although they have helped him a whole lot, he is okay by himself, the flashbacks no longer taunt him and when this mind wanders back to that day, he can put himself back in the narrative, telling you that he loves you, that he wishes life could have been different.

Simon even went back to work, not to his full extend yet, that is a little too much, just yet. But he is getting there, and he hopes that you’re proud of him.

The grieving has become easier over time, and with it came a little bit of guilt, for the longest time it felt like he was forgetting you.

But he is not. You’ll always have a spot in his heart, he can never really forget you. Although he can only remember your face from the pictures and video’s, he remembers you. Although your voice isn’t the same in every dream, flashback or video, he still remembers you. You left your mark on his heart and he won’t get rid of it.

Simon takes in the ambiance of the little coffeeshop that he is in, waiting for his date to arrive. Sophie had been a nice girl, she isn’t you, obviously she isn’t you, and it took him a few weeks to get used to it. He stopped looking for you in her eyes, and while she will never leave such a mark on him as you did, she is pretty amazing. Simon told her upfront about you, how you always be a part of his life, through his work, through the apartment he shared with you, through him. And Sophie was okay with that, Sophie had no intention to replace you, no Sophie knew that she could live alongside Simon’s love for you.

A smile breaks out on his face when he spots here, a little wave following quick.

“There you are!” Happiness in his voice.

“Yeah, sorry I’m late.” You were never late.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad you’re here.” She kisses him on his cheek after those words.

And it took him a while, but he can smile after the small gesture, it no longer feels like a betrayal towards you, after all, he would’ve wanted you to move on too, it is only fair that he allows himself the same.

His eyes soften when he smiles at her, it was like a tug at his heart strings that he had long ago thought were cut.

“Going back to the taskforce.” Simon eventually says.

That piques her interest. “For long?”

“Nah, it’s for a birthday party.” Simon shrugs.

A little bit of an awkward air lingers around the both of them, neither of them sure what to say next. Sophie wants to ask if she can come, but she respects his space too much, she respects the walls around him too much to just barge in and demand he takes them down. Besides, the base is the only place where she hasn’t stepped foot in to replace you.

On the other side of the table is Simon, wanting to invite you, but worried that he is just using her to drive out the memories of you, worried that his teammates will think that he is getting over you way too quick. Worried that people will judge the level of love he has for you.

“So,” Simon clears his throat. “It’s Soap’s birthday, and we’re celebrating tomorrow evening.”

“And I know we haven’t been dating for long, but maybe, maybe you’d like to come?”

A deep breath. No reaction.

“Yes.” Sophie smiles while she talks. “Yes, I would like that. I’ve heard a lot about them, can’t wait to finally meet them.”

A smile tugs around his lips. “Good, good.”

“So, I’ll pick you up around 7ish, and I’ll drive us to base. Just wear something casual, they’re soldiers, so don’t expect anything too fancy.”

Even after 243 days he can’t help but feeling like a traitor, inviting another woman to the base the two of you used to serve at.

Sophie smiles at him, her worries melting away at his relaxed demeanour.

“8ish.” She repeats. “I’ll make sure to be casually dressed.” She presses a kiss on his cheek again. “I have to get back to my work, but it was nice to see you in my lunchbreak.”

Simon lets out a sigh when he is all alone in the coffeeshop again. Oh how life went different than he had hoped, but he was content. His eyes take in the scenery once more.

You would have loved it here.

He puts his car into park while he waited for Sophie to get out of her apartment, his leg bouncing against the steering wheel, he could feel himself getting nervous, as if he would bring Sophie in to your territory. As if he would take away the final thing on this mortal earth that was only yours. Simon tried to push those thoughts away when he saw Sophie leave her house, a bright smile on her face. He could see that she had tried to dress casual, but it was a little too perfect to be casual, and it warmed his heart.

She kissed him when she entered his car. It was endearing to him, all feelings of guilt being pushed to the side when his lips touched hers.

“You look amazing.” He complimented her. A soft blush forming on her face. Her hand rested on his knee when he started the drive. It was quiet and he still wasn’t used to it. You, his teammates, his captain, the lot of you would always tease him about his bad driving skills. But not Sophie, she was missing out on the inside joke.

“It can be quite rowdy on base.” Simon warned her.

“That’s okay.” She said with a faint smile.

“Good, good.” He muttered.

A soft squeeze on his knee, and a smile formed on his lips.

Simon tried to focus on the road, pushing away every single thought inside of his mind. He shouldn’t feel guilty for moving on, he shouldn’t feel guilty for bringing his new girlfriend to his base. He shouldn’t be so nervous about his teammates meeting Sophie.

He shouldn’t. But he was.

A deep breath emerged from his lips when he parked the car on the base, taking in the atmosphere.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Ready.” She nodded.

When he exited the car, he took in his base, the memories of you flooding in again. Sophies hand in his shook him out of it, and he smiled at her.

He let in the commotion, the rowdy, loud cheering happening all around.

“Simon!” Price calling out over the parking lot. “We have something you should see.”

244 days.

You finally can remember it all. How Simon begged you to come with him on this mission, something he could’ve done by himself easily, but he tried to sweettalk you, bribe you, just anything so he wouldn’t have to go alone.

And you fell for it. How could you not? After all, he promised you he’d do the dishes, and you hated doing the dishes.

You remember Simon double checking your gear, softly tugging on the bulletproof vest to make sure that it was safe and secure. He always made sure you were safe and secure, no matter what happened, Simon had made it clear that you were his number one priority. You, and you alone.

The moment of eye contact that follows after always makes your heart flutter, the little lines next to his eyes when his lips tug to a smile, it is enough to make your stomach do a million summersaults. The moment you smile, and the little apples of your cheeks start to rise, he brushes his knuckles against the sensitive skin on your face. The callouses on his knuckles was something that you always enjoyed feeling, a little routine before a mission. Something you always held dear.

It didn’t matter that he was wearing his mask on the chopper flight to the area you had to scout. You could see in his eyes how much he was smiling every time you added something on the list of dishes, the fine lines around his eyes, the sparkle in his eyes.

A gasp. “I’ll let you even wash the food dish of the cat.”

“Lovie, we don’t have a cat.” His voice sounds amused.

“Nuh uh, I’ve been feeding the strays that live just outside the base.” You protest.

“Fine, fine, fine.” It isn’t even a real protest, Simon would do anything to make you happy.

“AND.” Your voice sounds happy, as if you just got the best idea ever known to man. “You have to wear an apron.”

“An apron?”

“Yeah, I still have a pink one.”

“Fine.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, but I’m wearing nothing underneath it.” Simon snickers.

“Deal!”

“And, you can only look but you can’t touch.” He adds.

“But that’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, lovie.”

Life indeed wasn’t fair.

Because the next thing you remember is a white flash, ringing in your ears and a lot of stumbling. A lot of pain when you tumbled down the stairs. You can remember Simon calling for you, screaming your name and you want to react, but your body doesn't allow you to.

Another loud noise, and you realise that a grenade must’ve gone off when you’re getting covered by debris.

It is dark when you wake up again, the sensation of someone tugging on your ankles is waking you up, your body hurts and you’re disorientated, your eyes flutter as you try to stay awake, as you try to grasp what has happened. The men towering over you speak a language you don’t understand, and frankly, there is nothing you understand at the moment.

Who are you? And why are you here?

One of the men pulls you up, his hands under your armpits as he drags you away, your skin is grey from the dust and debris and as your eyes finally focus you can see the fear in the eyes of the people around you.

You desperately try to remember, your brain knows there is something hidden inside, something that would explain all of it, but you can’t. You can’t seem to find the key to the door inside of you that hold all the information you need.

Your dog tags get caught on a pole of metal sticking out of the rubble, and you groan a little when it cuts off your airflow, even if it is for a brief moment. Neither you or the man carrying you realise how important those dog tags are. But of you are just focussed on getting you out of there.

Another groan when the ground gets more uneven, sharp pain being unbearable with every bump. You try so, so, so hard to stay away, but your body tries to protect you against the pain, and before you know it your eyes start to roll back, and it gets dark again.

When you wake up again, you’re in a bed, stripped of your belongings, but a variety of bandages around your limbs, a woman speaks to you in a hushed tone, but you can’t understand the language they’re speaking. A soft groan leaves your lips as you try to speak, but your throat is dry and everything hurts.

Later, you learn that you’re taken in by the local villagers, who have been tormented by the war for the longest time. The same war you and Simon participated in, the same war where you were convinced you were on the right side, only to learn that there are only losers when it comes to war.

As the universe continues your injuries start to heal, and while you still don’t speak a word of their language, the villagers are nice to you, almost as if caring for you is just what they need to take their mind of the running war in their area. You know something is missing, you can’t remember your name, age, your life, Simon. Nothing. Not an ounce of recognition when they show you your torn up uniform. Not an ounce of recognition when you hold up a mirror in front of your face.

Not an ounce of recognition when the local men are shouting against each other, and while you can’t make out what they’re saying, you know it is about you, the way they point and glare, the way they call you a fucking filthy Brit. The other half of the group of men is a lot more quiet, they plead, and you can only imagine it is for your life, yet you do not fear for it.

What is a life worth if you can’t remember it?

But they let you live, and while you’re not sure why, you end up being thankful for it. At night you always end up dreaming about the same things, it is almost like clockwork, either you dream about yourself, walking around a maze, which seems to be without end, a skull mask in the middle of the maze. You always, always wake up whenever you find the mask.

The other dreams is about a faceless man, tugging on the bulletproof vest you wore when you were found, his knuckles brushing against the apples of your cheeks. He tries to shield you before the white flash goes off, but your dreams never reveal his face to you.

One time they dragged you back to the area where they had found you, a black chopper had landed nearby and you could make out that they wanted to know if the men rummaging the area seemed familiar to you.

But they didn’t. Four tall men, and while they wore the same uniform as you, none of them rang a bell inside your mind. You shook your head, implying you didn’t know them, no matter the matching uniforms. Not even the heartbroken screams from the masked man could crack open your memories.

Looking back, when the dreams started to come, you knew you recognized the mask one of them was wearing, it was the exact same as you would always find in the maze, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the face beneath it.

Slowly, but surely small glimpses of your life started to seep into your mind again, droplets of memories coming back. The smell of oatmeal brought a snippet of your childhood back, the memories of it being breakfast, and secretly feeding a spoonful to the dog.

With every little dot you could connect to your former, came an explanation to the people around you, with a lot of gestures, and some drawing, you could get your point across.

The smell of lavender brought you back to the house of your grandma, the strong scent always lingered in her house, and if you pressed your eyes shut and let the sun settle down on your skin, you could go back to that time.

While you peel off the skin of an orange you’re hit with a new memory, your breath hitching in your throat as your mind slowly makes the memory clear. You’re peeling an orange, a large hand holding on to your thigh as you peel the fruit. “Thanks lovie.” The gruff voice sounds so clear when you remember it, as if he is in the room with you and you know that it is someone important to you, as your body warmed up when you remember his voice.

But you just remember his voice, and not his name.

It would frustrate the living shit out of you, knowing that there is so much more memories hidden away in you, and you just can’t seem to remember them. You know that there is so much more to you, yet you’re unable to discover your own secrets.

When you’re stargazing, late at night, a new memory pops up, the masked man laying next to you in the grass, while the both of you look up at the stars, in the corner of your eye you can see him takes his mask off, the balaclava being pulled up to his nose, before he leans over and presses a kiss on your lips.

The realisation dawns on you, and while you can’t remember his name, it is clear that he is important for you, that you are important to him, and a cold feeling comes over you when you realise you let him slip between your fingers just because you didn’t recognize him. A knot in your chest as you try to remember who he is, who you are, why you were wearing the uniform. Panic taking over when your mind can’t answer your questions. The knot in your chest spreads through your body and soon you find yourself unable to breathe. Short, desperate burst in which you try to suck in as many air as you can.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

Fuck.

You remember, you remember walking in on him having a panic attack, you remember kneeling down to him, telling him to take a deep breathe in through his mouth, exhaling out his nose. You remember. You remember walking in on Simon.

Simon.

A loud sob leaves your mouth and your hand claws at your chest as you remember. You remember all the kisses, the three squeezes on your shoulder, or your bicep when he couldn’t tell you he loved you but still wanted you to know, you remember all the late evenings and lazy mornings.

Oh you finally remember.

Your loud sobs wake up the people who had cared for you, they’re worried and you can’t yet explain if the tears are from happiness or agony. But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter because you finally remember. You could be described as hysterical when you point to your old uniform, back to yourself, trying to tell them that you DO remember, that you DO know who you are.

And never had you imagined how easy it would be to go back to your old life. You’d learn that you would be considered missing and killed in action for more than eight months now.

Eight months. You had missed 244 days of Simon’s life, and he had missed those days in yours.

The ambassy was kind enough to listen to your story, your fingerprints confirming your identity. K.I.A flashing the screen when they pull up your information. And you want nothing more than to go home, to feel safe in his embrace again. You’re not allowed to call him, since the two of you aren’t married he isn’t your legal contact person, and you have to wait, but you’ve waited 244 days, how much more will a few more hours hurt?

God, how you have missed him, with the returning memories, the feeling of longing for him also came back, and right now the only thing you wanted in life was to hold him again, to feel him again, to be his again.

The rest of the trip goes by fast, your mind can barely cope with the returned memories, let alone process what is happening when they put you back on a plane to your base, but you can feel the excitement, the love, oh you can feel it all.

Just like you can feel the dread seep into your bones when you see him, holding another woman’s hand.

Your old teammates cheer when they see you, and you’re overwhelmed by the familiar feeling washing over you, all the successful mission you’ve celebrated with them, all the losses you have encountered and overcome with them. They’re your family and you’re so grateful to see them again.

But someone is missing.

Price drags him along, and your heart stops when you see him. Simon.

Your smile fading away when you see him holding hands with someone else, a woman you’ve never seen before. Fuck.

He has moved on and you can’t blame him. You’ve been gone for more than eight months, and you’re so, so, so proud that he has overcome this. You’re proud that he didn’t let himself rot away, give up on life. But by God, does it hurt.

His eyes widen, pupils dilate when he spots you, long strides to meet you as soon as possible and you can see his hand letting go of hers, but she holds on, even if that means that he kind of drags her along.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

She finally let go off his hand.

Two.

One final steps and his lips crash on yours, kissing you with an intensity you’ve never felt from him before. His hands all over your face, fingers entangled in your hair, his lips hungry for a taste of you, a taste he thought was long forgotten, but he now remembers and so desperately craves. It’s a goddamn messy kiss, and it feels as if the both of you are fifteen again, and this is your first kiss ever, but you don’t mind, you would rather have fifteen million of these kisses, than never kiss him again.

Eventually he has to pull back, a reminder for the both of you to breathe. He presses his forehead against yours.

“I even washed the cat dishes.” A soft whisper and enough to break to ice, to make you smile again as you wrap your arms around him, the woman behind him catching your eyes. God, she looks miserable, but you can’t blame her.

Simon follows your gaze, letting go off you, almost as if he has been caught doing something bad. His throat feels dry as he looks from you to Sophie, he loves both these woman, but the way he loves them is different. The atmosphere in the air shifts, and a certain amount of awkwardness fills the air, the joy surrounding you dying down quick.

Price clears his throat. “I’m sure you all have a lot of catching up to do. The briefing rooms are empty.” Not a very subtle hint, but all three of you get it. Simon is the first to move, taking your hands in his, holding on tight, afraid he will lose you again if you slip between his fingers. As the three of you walk towards a briefing room you look towards your right, the woman next you has her head bowed down and you can see a mix of emotions on her face. You want to reach out, say something to her, but what can you possible say to her to make this easier?

The tension is thick in the air when you reach the briefing room. “Can I have a word with you, Simon?” Sophie asks, it is the first time you’ve heard her voice, and she sounds sweet. Simons eyes shift to you. “In private.” She adds, that same sweet voice now holding a sharp tone.

His eyes meet yours again, almost as if he is asking you for permission, and you nod. They both go into the briefing room next to the one you’re in, and you sit down on a chair, being as close as possible to the wall, you know you shouldn’t eaves drop, but you need to know what they are discussing.

“Listen.” It’s Simons voice. “I never thought this would happen, Sophie.”

Sophie.

It’s a lovely name, she seems lovely, the whole situation is just fucked.

“No one thought this would happen, but what matters is what you’re going to do, Simon.”

You perk up, ear pressed against the wall, hoping to God you can make out what he will answer. It stays quiet and all you can hear is your own heartbeat thumping in your ears.

And in the other room Simon doesn’t know what to do, what to say, he stares at the woman in front of him, knowing full well that the love of his life is sitting in the room next to them.

Truth be told, he had loved Sophie, he wouldn’t have been with here if he didn’t. But his love for Sophie always was paired with the loss of you, he knew he wouldn’t never loved her the way he loves her now if you never went on that mission with him. He knows that the love he felt for her was his heart trying to replace you.

“I..” But it is hard for him to say it, it is hard to break a person while only thirty minutes ago the both of them were on their way to meet his teammates.

“You’re choosing her?” Sophie’s voice is far from amused.

“Yes.” Simons begins, nervously fidgeting with his hands. “But you have to understand, it’s not an easy thing for me to do.”

“It’s not easy for you to do?” Sophie’s words are laced with venom, and you can understand why. You’re the ghost of his past, while she should have been the ghost of his future, and there you were, suddenly showing up, taking away the relationship she thought she had.

“Do you have ANY idea how this is for me?” Sophie continued. “I’ve BEEN there for you, Simon! I’ve sat with you while you cried about her, I’ve let you tell countless stories about her.”

“I know, and I’m so-“

“I’m not done yet.” The words are spat out. “I’ve been to her fucking empty grave! Asking for fucking permission to be with you! I’ve sat there, telling her how I’ll never replace her, but live alongside her fucking ghost. And now you just toss me to the side as a fucking used up doll?”

Simon is taken aback by the, for him, sudden outburst. He had been so caught up with his own healing process, his own grieving, that the thought of it weighing down other people never occurred to him. “You went to her grave?”

“Yes! I’ve learned how to fit myself inside her shadow, I’ve seen you look disappointed whenever I was a little late, or when I would kick out my shoes at the door, I’ve seen you compare me to her the whole goddamn time and this whole relationship I’ve been competing with someone we both thought was dead!”

“I didn’t knew you felt this way.”

“Because you never fucking asked, Simon, because it has always been about you and her and me, and never just about you and me.”

“That’s not true.” He protests. “Maybe in the beginning, but I’ve learned to love you for you.”

“Then why are you looking at her like that, huh?”

“Because.” Simon takes a deep breath, he knows he has to rip off the bandage, it isn’t fair for Sophie to continue this, he knows where his heart lies, and while it was with Sophie, the moment you came back into the picture, the floodgates within his heart had been opened and his love for you is pouring out. “Because it will always be her.”

“I don’t blame you Simon.” Sophie’s voice starts to crack. “But sometimes I wish we never met each other.”

“Don’t say that. You’re an amazing person, pretty, smart.”

“Oh cut the bullshit.” Sophie hisses. “I’m all that, yet I’m not enough for you to choose me. I helped you grieve over someone who would always be your number one choice. I had been warned by my friends and I so desperately wanted you to be different. But I guess you are just a simple man after all.”

And those words stung Simon, more than he would ever realise, he hated how much of a cliché he had become. Yes he had thought he was fully over you, and yes he had thought he could’ve moved on, but now that he had to choose between Sophie and you, it was clear as day who he loved more.

“I wish I could’ve been something more.” Sophie’s words are a soft whisper.

“And for someone else you will be.”

After that there is just silence, two ex-lovers looking at each other. One over the moon because his lost lover returned to him. The other heartbroken after she realised he never fully choose her.

“Do you want me to bring you home?” Simon asks, realizing he had been her ride.

“No. I’d rather walk.”

“Don’t be stubborn, let me either bring you home or pay for your cab.”

“I’ll fucking manage, Simon. I don’t need your pity after you took out my heart and stomped on it.”

Sophie is still pissed, but neither you or Simon can blame her for it, and part of you wished things could’ve been different, part of you wished you had died that day, that he could’ve fully moved on from you. But that part is small, tiny and crumbled up hiding in your brain as you feel guilty.

You can hear someone stomp past the door of the room you’re sitting in, and the door slowly creaks before you see Sophie. It’s an awkward silence, you’ve clearly been caught listening to them, and you can see the light reflecting the tears on her cheeks.

“No matter how mad I am at Simon.” Sophie begins, and you brace yourself for an outburst. “It isn’t your fault.”

You had expected her to be angry at you too, but she isn’t.

“I’m sorry.” You mutter. “You never deserved any of this.”

A soft smile breaks out on Sophie’s face. “I didn’t.” She agrees. “But I’ve learned some things about myself, and when the sadness is over that will be worth something.”

You smile back at her, in another life the two of you could’ve been friends, but not here, not in this life. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For keeping him sane.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“He isn’t easy.”

Sophie laughs and a bit of the tension melts away between the two of you.

“Just.. Simon is a good guy, no matter how much I wanted to strangle him.” Sophie starts. “But he cares about you, a lot, more than he can ever care about himself or someone else. And you care that much about him too, I can see it in your eyes, in his eyes. It wasn’t a coincidence that the universe brought the two of you together.”

“Thank you.” Sophie’s words are warm, and you can see why Simon had loved her. “I hope you find your Simon.”

“I will. I might even hang out on the base a little longer and get myself a colonel or something.”

The both of you can’t help but chuckle at her comment.

“I hope life will treat you well.”

“I wish you the same.”

After that she turns around and walks away, and you can’t help but stare. Sophie had handled it better than you would’ve done, and you can’t help but admire her for that.

Simon pops his head through the open door. “I’m not easy?” He snickers.

“Don’t be like that.”

He steps into the briefing room, closing the door behind him. “You’re not mad?”

“For what?”

“For dating Sophie.”

“Well, I would be lying if I said that it didn’t tear my heart out when I saw you holding her hand.” You admit. “But I’ve always told you that I wanted you to move on in case I passed away earlier than you.”

“Fair, but I can’t help but feel as if I betrayed you.”

“You would’ve betrayed me if you would’ve let yourself rot away in bed.”

You can’t help but look up as he stands before you. “I’ve missed you.” He whispers as he leans closer.

“I’ve missed you too.” You murmur back before he presses his lips against yours.

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wannab-urs · 1 month

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The King Has Lost His Crown

Pairing: ex!Dieter Bravo x gn!Reader

Summary: Dieter shows up on your doorstep

Tags: dieter being a pathetic loser, drug mention, angst WC: 703

A/N: This is my entry for @freelancearsonist's ABBA Drabble Challenge. I could have gone smutty with this, but I went angsty instead. I may still write the smut version later idk.

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

You sit down on your couch with a glass of wine, settling in for a nice evening of watching mindless TV. Your phone starts buzzing – Dieter Bravo is calling you. You’ve removed his contact, but you couldn’t ever bring yourself to block the number you know by heart. You hit the red Fuck You button and toss your phone to the side.

Throughout an entire episode of some shitty reality show, your phone lights up with texts. You finally pick it up to read them:

Please answer the phone

Its Dieter

I miss u

Can u call me pls?

Baby

Baby ]:

Just as you’re about to tell him to fuck off, your doorbell rings. You check the ring camera and see that he’s standing on your fucking porch. You hope LA suddenly has a cold snap and he freezes to death out there. Okay, maybe that’s a little harsh. But he could stand to lose a toe or two.

He rings the doorbell again – starts just continuously pressing the button until the sound drives you so crazy you have to open the door. And he’s standing there looking like an abandoned puppy in his brown fuzzy coat and a pair of basketball shorts that are too long. You used to find his disheveled appearance endearing, but now it just adds to how pathetic he seems.

“You have 10 seconds to explain where you found the audacity to show up at my house, Bravo.”

He winces at your icy tone, brow furrowing over those pretty brown eyes. He tugs a few strands of his hair, making it stick up even more.

“Baby, just let me in and I’ll explain everything.”

“No. Explain here.”

Dieter sighs, world weary, long and drawn out. You go to close the door on him, but he shoves a croc covered foot into the crack before you can get it closed.

“Wait!”

You open the door enough to see him, but not enough to let him push his way inside the house.

“What happened with your new girl, Dieter?”

“She wasn’t you.”

For a second you almost believe him. Almost. But liars never change.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. What actually happened?”

“What do you think happened?” He mutters, rolling his eyes.

“I think you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants, as usual, and she got fed up.”

“Yeah? Well. Maybe you’re right,” his tone shifts to something like shame, his face turning red. “Are you gonna let me in?”

“Oh absolutely not. You really think you can show up here after getting dumped for cheating on the girl you cheated on me with? Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No,” his brow furrows even deeper. “Of course not. I just thought–”

“It must be so hard for you. All the drugs and pretty people you could ever desire and all you ever do is fuck it up. You’re a disaster. A fucking disgrace. I bet your mamá is real fuckin proud of you. Get out of my face, Dieter. Get off my porch. Go fuck someone else’s life up.”

You slam the door in his face and start crying immediately. The tears come faster than you can wipe them from your face, leaving tracks down your cheeks.

You loved him, you really did. Maybe you still do. But you can’t put yourself through that bullshit again.

–-

Dieter slumps down on the doorstep, not quite ready to accept defeat. He thinks you’ll come out soon, offer him a cup of tea and a snack, maybe cuddle with him on the couch.

His life is a mess, but the one good thing he’s ever had was you. He lost you and it was completely his fault. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get over you. He needs to win you back, prove he can be a good person, a good partner.

He leans back against the door, prepping for an uncomfortable night – sober and stuck outside. He falls asleep eventually and wakes with the sunrise. You never came out to get him. Didn’t even offer him a blanket. You are well and truly done with him, and he only has himself to blame.

#abba drabble challenge #freelancearsonist #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo fics #Dieter Bravo fanfiction #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #The Bubble fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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dem-obscure-imagines · 3 months

Text

You're So Timeless | Vol. 1

Steve Rogers x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Summary: In 1943, Steve Rogers was visited by his soulmate. He fell hard. Problem is, she was from the future and didn’t stick around for long. Now, in the twenty-first century, he finally found her again, except this version of her hasn’t met him yet and won’t know he’s her soulmate for another year.

Note: So this is a combination of my other two Steve Rogers soulmate AU fics, but lengthened and fleshed out into a full fic. I was literally possessed to write this. I have no other explanation. I really like how it came out. I gave this one chapter headings (I am also going to post it to Ao3) and yes some are Taylor Swift titles. Sorry about that. It takes place roughly around the time Civil War would, but we have managed to avoid the war this time around. I also moved some other characters up the timeline because I think they’re neat and I said so. Without further ado, please enjoy my new Magnum Opus.

Also Tumblr made me split it into two parts. Part 2 linked HERE and also at the end of the post.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/injuries, soulmate au, tons of mutual pining, kind of a slowburn but in reverse. Light angst, but a happy ending.

Word Count: 38.7k total (I am not sorry)

Reader Is: Enhanced (forcefields), 24 years old, female

The End

Time.

It was a fickle thing. In the blink of an eye, a year had passed. A mere twelve months earlier, you had been living a different life. The only life you had been responsible for was your own. And your plants, but…they never seemed to last that long under your care. Now, everything was different.

It was the day before your birthday. Your twenty-fifth birthday, which, in the world you lived in, meant that tomorrow, a name would appear on your wrist, the name of your soulmate. It had been stressing you out all day, the weight of tomorrow and everything it meant.

It was late, and you were exhausted from a day of overthinking. The longer you stayed up, the longer you delayed the inevitable reveal, and thinking about it too much made you nervous, so you just decided to get to sleep sooner than later.

It was once you were just about to climb into bed that there was a knock at your door.

“It’s open!” You called. The door opened slowly, revealing Steve, who was leaning in your doorway, arms crossed, that pensive look in his blue eyes. “Oh, hey.”

“Hi.” He chuckled. He seemed nervous, although you weren’t sure why.

“Everything alright, Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I actually came in here to check on you. Wanda said you were…quiet.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You hugged your arms around your frame and bit your lip, looking up at the super soldier standing in front of you. “Just…I don’t know. I’ve been looking forward to tomorrow for my entire life, but…now that it’s here, I’m so scared.”

“Hey, come here.” He said, pulling you to him, strong arms wrapped around you, as if he could protect you from the future itself.

“I don’t know what to do…”

“(Y/N), whoever they are, they are incredibly, incredibly lucky. You don’t need to worry about anything. It’ll all work out. It always does.” He said it like he was certain. Like somehow he knew what would happen in the morning when suddenly your life was turned on its head and you had to venture out to find your other half.

Since you’d met him, Steve wore a leather band around his wrist, covering his soulmate’s name. You’d figured he must have met them in the forties and…maybe they hadn’t made it long enough to see him come out of the ice. But you didn’t ask about it. You never dared to put that question into words. He’d been through enough heartbreak already.

“What if they don’t like me…?”

He scoffed, holding you tighter. “That’s impossible. They’re going to love you. So much. I promise.”

“And…and we’ll still be f-friends?”

Steve pulled away, looking down at you, a hand very carefully touching your cheek. “Of course we will still be friends. Nothing is ever going to change that. I promise.”

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Good. Thank you, Steve. For everything.”

He gently wiped the tear away, the pad of his thumb warm. Once he was sure you were okay, he let go, looking at you with that knowing sparkle in his eye once more. He took a little extra time to look at the shirt you were wearing, the Star Wars tee you’d had since high school. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” You agreed.

“And happy birthday, (Y/N).”

We’ll Meet Again

“Ma’am? Are you alright? Ma’am?” The voice sounded far away. You were pretty sure you were still dreaming. You opened your eyes slowly and immediately became aware of the pounding pain in your head.

“Ow, oh my God.” You reached up and felt there, but it didn’t feel like you were bleeding or anything.

“Ma’am?”

You froze for a second, slowly looking up at the figure standing above you, confusion written all over his familiar features. It took you a long moment to put the pieces together. You were on a porch somewhere in what appeared to be New York, but it was…different. A lot different than the parts of the city you knew. Alright, it had to be a dream.

You looked up at the man standing above you and did a double-take. But no, it was him. It was a tiny, frail version of Steve. Your eyebrows furrowed and you sat up slowly, staring at him for a long moment before whispering, “Steve?”

His mouth opened and then shut again and he made a face of confusion, like he was trying to place where he knew you from, but he didn’t know you yet, and wouldn’t know you for several more years, to say the least. “Do I know you?”

“It’s complicated.” You exhaled. “Can we go inside? You’re going to need to sit down for this.”

Dumbfounded, Steve nodded and you stood up from the porch, only to find that he was at your eye level when you did. Weird. He led you into the small apartment and you looked around. It was quaint. There was an easel in the corner of the room and…Bucky Barnes sitting on the couch? You stared at him for a good, long moment, a shiver running down your spine.

“Who’s the dame?” He read your shirt. “What is Star…Wars…?”

“About to find that out myself.” He chuckled, leading you into the living room. “Buck, could you give us a minute?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Bucky got up and walked to the other half of their tiny two-bedroom.

You sat down on the couch and so did he. The silence was thick. You thought for several moments. You weren’t quite sure how you had ended up in the 1940s. You looked down at your hands and it was then that your gaze finally landed on the writing on your wrist. And then everything made sense.

“What’s the date today?”

“It’s July 4th, why?”

“July 4th…” You whispered. “What, 1943?”

You could see the wheels turning behind his eyes before he replied, “Yes ma’am.”

“Well, happy birthday, first of all. And second of all…” You held up your wrist so he could read it. Steve’s eyes went wide and he stared at the three words written neatly on your skin in his own handwriting.

Steven Grant Rogers.

“You’re my…” He looked at you for a long time, his eyes wide. He hastily undid the cuff around his wrist and held it out to you, your own name written there. He ran a finger across the letters, as if to prove they were really there.

“I’m your soulmate.” You said certainly.

It hit you like a truck, then. The weird look on your Steve’s face, the way he was so certain that everything would work out. It was because he had already lived through this. And that meant that in all the time he’d known you, he’d been hiding his mark not because his soulmate had died, but instead because you were his soulmate and you didn’t know it yet.

Your entire year of friendship, of memories, of roadtrips and missions and movie marathons…he had known the whole time. And that look in his eyes wasn’t just his protective side coming out. It was love. It had been love the whole time.

Oh.

Steve exhaled a long, shaking breath, really taking you in. Once again, he had a million stars in his eyes. He let out a whispered, “Wow,” as tears began to form.

You came back down to earth. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, sniffling as a tear ran down his cheek. “I’ve just, I’ve got a lot of…health problems, so I wasn’t sure if I’d ever…meet you. And you’re here and you’re great and I just…I’m sorry.”

That brought tears to your eyes. “Oh, Steve…” You pulled him into your arms and he didn’t hesitate to surrender to your embrace, his arms wrapping tight around you and holding you close, head nestled into the crook of your neck. “Just breathe. It’s okay. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Always.

He took your advice, doing his best to avoid an asthma attack on what was shaping up to be the best day of his life. Once he finally caught his breath, he pulled away to look at your face again. “I have to ask…How did you know?”

“I don’t know if you can tell from these clothes,” you motioned down to the t-shirt and sweatpants you were wearing, “but I’m not from around here, exactly.”

“I kind of thought so, but I didn’t want to be rude.” He smiled softly. “Um, where are you from, then?”

“I’m from the future. Like…a while from now. It’s hard to explain why or how, and I’m not really sure how I got here, to be honest, but I’m glad I am.” You sighed, thumb grazing his cheek, wiping away his tears. He crooned at your touch. “I don’t know how long we have before I have to go back.”

“Am I there? Where you’re from?”

“You are. It’s complicated. We’re really good friends and…when I get back, I’m sure we’ll probably be even more than that.” You smiled, shaking your head. “I can’t believe I didn’t put the pieces together sooner.”

“(Y/N)?” Steve asked, trying out your name for the first time.

“Yeah?”

“Let me take you out today, show you a good time here before you have to go back.” He took your hand and carefully laced his fingers through your own, testing the weight of it, the feel of it.

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Not to eavesdrop, lovebirds — congratulations, by the way — but if you’re going to take her out, we’re going to need to find her some clothes that aren’t so…‘not from around here.’” Bucky leaned in the doorway.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call one of my girls and we’ll get her squared away. Sit tight.”

“Thanks, Bucky.” You said, chuckling when his eyes widened after you addressed him by name. “I know you, too. From the, uh, future.”

“Weird…” Bucky decided.

“Long story?” Steve asked, studying the look on your face.

“Very.” You agreed. After staring at him for another long moment, you pulled him back into your arms again, exhaling a long breath before whispering, “Steve, I’m so glad it’s you…”

***

“Wow.” You stared at yourself in the mirror, studying the way Bucky’s, ahem, lady friend, had curled your hair, done your makeup. You did a little twirl and relished in the way the skirt of your dress twirled. It was navy blue, short ruffled sleeves with a flared skirt and buttons down the front. “I think it suits me.”

“I agree. Blue is a good color on you.” Steve was sitting in a chair at the edge of the room, absolutely enamored as he watched you. “Although, I’m sure they’re all good colors on you, doll.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. “Thanks.”

“I mean it.” He stood up and walked to you, slipping one of his hands into each of yours and staring into your eyes, looking at the way you looked standing next to him in his reflection. His soulmate. The kind of girl people write poems about. “You look great.”

“I don’t look out of place?”

“No one is gonna think you’re a time traveler. Well, unless you tell them.” Bucky said. “Maybe don’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning on it.” You chuckled and gave Steve’s hands a squeeze. “Where to first, soulmate?”

His cheeks reddened as soon as you said the word. “Well, I was thinking we could go to my favorite little diner down the street to grab something for lunch, and then maybe we could take a walk through the park, catch a movie, and then go out for drinks tonight?”

“What, you aren’t gonna take her dancing?” Bucky teased, ruffling Steve’s hair under a large hand. “Show the girl a good time?”

“I would if I didn’t have two left feet.” Steve chuckled, a sheepish smile on his face. He looked at you, waiting for some kind of response. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a great time, Steve.”

He smiled. “Good.”

The two of you left the apartment not long after that, and walked side by side towards the diner. Your hands were swinging in the space between you and your hand brushed Steve’s once, twice, a third time, and then you slipped your hand into his, intertwining your fingers.

You caught him smile out of the corner of your eye. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, of course it’s okay.” He grinned and chuckled to himself. “You can hold my hand as much as you want, doll.”

When the two of you finally got to the diner, a little bell rang over your heads and you got seated at a booth by the window. The two of you ordered drinks and you skimmed the menu while you waited.

“So, tell me about yourself.” You said, resting your chin against your fist and looking over at Steve. You studied the way his blue, blue eyes flicked up to your own and the blush that covered his cheeks shortly thereafter.

“You probably know a lot of it already.” He chuckled. “Unless we don’t talk a lot?”

“We talk quite a bit, but I still want to know about this you. Here and now.”

“I like art. Drawing and painting and stuff.” He said. “I haven’t had time to do much lately, but I’d like to get back into it.”

“See, that I didn’t know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know you were into art.”

“I could, uh, show you sometime.” He offered.

“I’d like that.” You smiled. “What else?”

“I like to read. I like going to Dodgers games with Bucky. One time he took me to Coney Island. I don’t like rollercoasters, but I liked playing the games. He wasted three whole dollars trying to win a teddy bear for a redhead named Dot.”

“Three whole dollars…” You chuckled. “Well you don’t have to worry about the rollercoasters too much, I can’t go upside down without throwing up.”

“That makes two of us. Enough about me, tell me about you.” Steve nudged, his hand slowly moving towards yours. “How do we know each other? When did we meet?”

“We’re…coworkers, I guess you could say. We met about a year back and now we live in the same building? I’m sorry for being so vague, I just—”

“Don’t want to give it away, yeah, I get it.” He nodded, understandingly.

“You took me under your wing as soon as I moved in and really made me feel welcome. You’re the one that brought me onto the team, actually.” You took a sip of your drink. “We’ve been through a lot together already, and I’m sure it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Mmm…” Steve nodded. “I know I just met you, but I’m really glad you and I are close. Well, will be close.” He paused before chuckling and shaking his head. “There’s still some little voice in the back of my head telling me all of this is just some amazing dream.”

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” You chuckled, tucking a piece of curled hair back behind your ear. “I’ve…I’ve had a crush on you forever, Steve. I can’t believe this is happening.”

He stared at you, almost dumbfounded. “O-on me?”

“Yeah.” You agreed. You’d forgotten, you supposed, that Steve had had this phase, the self-depreciation, the insecurity. Your Steve, when complimented, was shy, sure, but you knew he understood what people were talking about. This Steve didn’t see it that way. Not yet. But it would be your job to use your one day with him to change that, to make your soulmate see that he was worthy of love, even self-love. “Yeah, of course on you, Steve. I can’t believe I get to have you.”

His cheeks reddened and he finally took the leap, taking your hand across the table, thumb grazing your knuckles with care. His blue eyes sparkled. “Funny. I was gonna say the same thing about you.”

***

Once the two of you were finished up at the diner, you took a walk through the park. It was gorgeous out, a bright, sunny, warm summer afternoon. Several couples were strolling down the paths, hand in hand, and you were one of them, your hand held tight in Steve’s, his thumb gently stroking the back of yours.

You went to the theater and caught a movie together. Luckily enough, they were showing the Wizard of Oz. Your current situation had you feeling like Dorothy in more ways than one. The movie had only come out four years earlier, which was definitely strange. Not to mention the fact that the tickets were only twenty-five cents, the popcorn a mere ten cents.

And then, once the movie was over and the sun was setting, you went to a bar, where Steve ordered each of you a drink. You took a sip of yours, something sweet, and smiled at him across the table.

“So, how’s your day been, birthday boy?” You asked coyly.

“The best I’ve had so far,” he replied, his eyes sparkling. The sparkle faded, however, when his expression grew somber. He hesitated, but then asked, “Okay, I have to know…How long do I have to wait to see you again?”

You exhaled a long sigh, biting your lip. If you told him the truth, he might ask questions you couldn’t tell him the answers to. And besides, the real answer would require some math. You didn’t know the specifics.

“I’ll be honest, Steve, it’s…it’s a pretty long time.” You thought for a long moment before continuing, “I…I can’t really tell you why. It’s all really complicated, and if I tell you too much, it might not happen the way it’s supposed to.”

“Oh…” Steve nodded and took a sip of his drink. Once he set down the glass, he reached across the table and took your hand. “Well, however long it is,” he looked straight into your eyes and a chill ran down your spine, “It’ll be worth it. Every second. I promise.”

You could have cried. “I hope so.”

“There you two are! I was wondering which bar you’d wandered into!” Bucky was, apparently, already slightly intoxicated as he approached you and Steve with a date of his own. “How was your day on the town, lovebirds?”

“Spectacular.” You replied. “I wish there was more time to soak it in.”

“New York sure is something, huh?” Bucky’s date asked, giggling innocently. If only she knew the half of it.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You laughed and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You guys wanna sit with us?” Steve asked.

“If you don’t mind too much, punk.” Bucky grinned.

Steve got up and switched sides of the booth so he was sitting next to you instead of across from you. You slid your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. He smiled, chuckling softly to himself as he gave your hand a squeeze.

“Did you give the lady her dance, Rogers?” Bucky asked, smirking.

“Not yet.” Steve chuckled. “We’ll see. The asthma makes it a bit difficult sometimes.”

“Never seems to stop you from getting into fights.” Bucky muttered, causing Steve’s cheeks to flush.

“Just wait until the band plays something slow,” Bucky’s date pointed out.

“There you go!” Bucky raised his glass to his lips. “Great idea, Maggie.”

“Glad to be of service.”

And so, the four of you chatted until the band started to play something sweet and slow. Steve looked at you for approval and you nodded. He led you out onto the floor with the other couples.

Steve blushed, flustered, and he looked at you before saying, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“It’s easy.” You promised, guiding one of his hands to your waist and holding the other. “That’s it. And then we just move to the music. You can twirl me around if you feel so inclined.”

“Alright.” He chuckled, swaying in time with you. “Hey, uh, (Y/N), I need you to know…I had a really, really great time today. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a soulmate and I’m so excited to spend the rest of my life with you someday, however far away that someday is.”

“I’m glad I met your expectations.” You smiled, tugging him a bit closer.

“No, you exceeded them. You’re better than anything I could have imagined. I’m so lucky.” He paused, and his expression fell a little. “I know I’m a lot. I have a lot of problems and they might complicate things sometimes, but…”

“Steve, you’re perfect.” You shook your head and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “The universe gave you to me for a reason and I’m so, so glad it did. You’re amazing. I can’t think of anyone better to spend the rest of my life with.”

He was quiet for a moment before whispering, “Can I please kiss you, doll?”

You leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, the music swelling around you as you guided his hands to your waist, cupping his cheeks to hold him close to you. When the moment had passed, you rested your nose against his, meeting his eyes and inhaling his scent, committing this version of him to memory before he was reduced to just that, a memory.

“Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.”

You spent the rest of the night together. Twirling across the dancefloor, talking, soaking each other in. But when you reached the front porch of the townhouse, Steve looked back down the steps to find you’d disappeared, leaving him with nothing but the memory of your lips, your laugh, your smile.

“You gonna be alright?” Bucky asked, a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know.” He replied, words swallowed up by the sounds of the night. “Just give me a minute, pal.”

Bucky nodded, solemn. “Take all the time you need.”

The Beginning

Steve remembered the day you’d met—for the second time, though he didn’t realize it right away—like it was tattooed on his brain. It was a few years after he’d come out of the ice and he had taken Tony’s advice to get out more, which had led him to the local mall.

It had been an uneventful day. He strolled around the perimeter, taking in the storefronts, studying the fashion, browsing the menu of a pretzel place, reading the posters on the exterior of the movie theater, the things that were coming out in the coming months. Nothing interested him in particular. He didn’t really care for war movies.

After a few quiet hours, his peaceful walk was interrupted by screams, people running away at top speed, which, of course, caused him to spring into action, assessing the situation. He ran towards the source of the chaos, scanning, scanning, until his eyes landed on the attacker, a guy with a flamethrower, aimed at a teenage theater employee. Steve hurdled over a trash can, moving people out of the way, directing them to safety and trying to put himself between himself and the mallgoers, but before he could, you did, hands out in front of you and what seemed to be an invisible shield poised there, redirecting the flames and protecting the movie theater employee that had nearly been caught in the crossfire.

A quick flick of your wrist knocked the attacker’s gun out of his hands and it slid across the floor to Steve’s feet. He chucked it into the fountain without a second thought, where it fizzled pathetically. The guy lunged at you with heavy metal gauntlets, and you dodged the first swing but caught the second in the face, falling backwards. When you landed, however ungracefully, you sent a blast of energy at the guy, knocking him over a plant and sprawling onto the tile floor.

While the guy was on the ground, Steve tackled him, wrenching the gauntlets off of his hands and chucking them away, too. Soon, the police arrived, apprehending the guy while mall security comforted the distressed mall patrons, ushering them to safety and medical attention.

You sat on a bench after, breathing heavy, a cut on your forehead. Steve walked over, interested in this superpowered rescuer, someone who wasn’t yet on the Avengers’ radar, but would most definitely be on the news the next day if the sheer amount of phone footage recorded was any indication.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just glad everyone is okay.” You told him, meeting his eyes.

He finally got a good look at you and froze, looking bewildered. A deer in headlights. “You’re…”

There you are, doll. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.

It was you. Of course it was you. Since the moment he’d been unfrozen, he’d been looking for you. His soulmate. The girl from the future that popped in on his twenty-fifth birthday, turned his whole life on its head, and then left without warning, hours after their first kiss. Back when he was five-foot-nothing with asthma and more medical conditions than he could even remember.

Back before he was anything.

And you’d loved him anyway. You’d given him the day of a lifetime and hope for not only a future, but for love. That someone could love him for him despite it all.

“I know.” You knew? “I…I don’t know what it is or…why I can do it. I’ve been like this since college.”

Your powers, you meant. You thought he was talking about your powers and not your name, which was burning a hole into his wrist beneath the thick leather band keeping it hidden.

“Right. Well, it’s…” He sighed, gathering his words, hiding the elation and pain behind a warm smile. “It’s a good thing you were here. I don’t have my shield on me.”

“Mine is built in.” You chuckled.

“You, uh…have a cut. On your forehead.”

“Oh, do I?” You reached up and found it with your fingers and they came away a bit bloody. “Shit.”

“Come on.” He offered you his hand and you took it, letting him lead you over to the counter of the theater. “Hi, do you have a first aid kit we could borrow?”

“Yeah, of course.” The girl at the counter said, rushing to grab it.

Steve patched you up with gentle hands, off in a corner on your own, in the room the theater used for birthday parties. Staring up at him, you finally realized the obvious. This was Captain America. And he was using a careful finger to spread a triple antibiotic ointment on your cut.

Play it cool, (Y/N).

“Do you do this often? The hero thing?” Steve asked, trying to sound somewhat indifferent. He couldn’t be, though. Not entirely. Not when it came to you.

“No.” You shrugged. “Haven’t had much opportunity, thankfully. I mean…I’d like to, I just didn’t know how to…get into it, I guess. Any email I sent to Stark or S.H.I.E.L.D. or whatever would end up on a slush pile.”

“Well, I’ve got some connections. If you’re seriously considering it. I can’t say I recommend it, but…Obviously you’ve got that protective instinct and you seem to work well under pressure.”

“I don’t know about that. My heart is about to leap out of my chest.” You admitted, laughing as he carefully laid a Bandaid over the cut, closing the kit.

“That makes two of us.”

“Well, if you think I’m really cut out for it…I’d love to help.”

***

It was three days later that Nick Fury got in touch with you. You thought it was a scam call at first, but no one else would possibly have the info about you that he did. That was S.H.I.E.L.D. for you, you supposed.

You packed up your apartment, your boxes of books, your old journals, your clothes and makeup, your life, and hopped in the jet that was waiting for you at the meeting place. Inside was a pilot with flaming red hair, Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. It was hard not to get a little starstruck.

She helped you load your things into the jet, let you settle into the copilot seat, and then you took off, soaring away from your old life and towards your new one, the mysterious, magnificent facility tucked into upstate New York, that iconic A emblazoned on the front of the building.

“Steve said you’re telekinetic. That’s cool.” She complimented with a smirk.

“Yeah, I’ve got force-field stuff. I don’t know what else, exactly.”

“Oh, we’ll figure all that out. Banner already has a list of tests he wants to run. Nothing too intense. I made him promise not to give you the lab rat treatment too soon.”

“Reassuring.” You chuckled.

“Wanda’s been decorating your room all day. It’s not often we get new blood.”

“I appreciate it. I can’t wait to meet everyone.”

“They can’t wait to meet you.”

The jet landed a little under an hour later and Natasha helped you haul boxes towards the front door, where Steve was waiting. It was like time slowed, that look in his eyes, glistening little stars.

“Come on, Rogers, these boxes aren’t going to move themselves.” Nat waved him over, snapping both of you out of your trance.

“Right, right.” He jogged over. “Is there anything heavy?”

“That one.” You pointed. “It’s got my candles in it.”

“On it.”

You grabbed a few tote bags, slinging your computer bag over your shoulder. A few others came out to help, Clint and Wanda namely, the latter of whom used her shimmering red powers to speed the process along. Were you any more confident in your own powers, you would do the same, but you hadn’t had much opportunity to use them yet, and you didn’t want to drop anything fragile on your first day.

You started unpacking the essentials, your smart speaker, your laptop, some books and your favorite candle. You put some clothes in the dresser, hung some up in the large sliding closet in the wall. Upon further examination, you had your own bathroom, too, which was nice. There was a wall tapestry with sunflowers on it, and several little knickknacks. Wanda’s loving touch.

Someone cleared their throat and you turned to find Steve there, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.

“Hi there, um, just checking in. Figured you might want a tour when you got settled in. No rush, of course.”

“I would love a tour. I can already tell I’m gonna get lost in this place.”

He grinned. “Not on my watch. Come on. I’ll show you around.”

Steve walked with you through the office spaces, the computer labs, Bruce’s lab, Tony’s. Tony was in the city, but Bruce was home and introduced himself with a dad joke about the Hulk and a warm handshake. You saw the training facility, a giant room with floor to ceiling windows, a wall of mirrors, practice dummies, landing mats, and plenty of sparring weapons. There was, separately, a fully furnished gym, and then the basics, a large, modern kitchen, living areas and lounges, study spaces, a library, a party room with a bar, and a very fancy coffee machine.

You could see yourself making a home here.

Steve walked you back to the hallway where all the bedrooms were. “If you need anything or have any questions, my room is just down the hall on the left. Wanda is next door. Dinner is at six.”

“Six o’clock it is. Thank you, Cap.”

“You can call me Steve.”

“Steve.” You nodded, slowly accepting the fact that you were now on a first name basis with Captain America. “And you can call me (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N).” He said, some twinge of nostalgia at the end of his words. You turned back into your room to get some more unpacking done and Steve walked back down the hall, taking a deep breath and looking up at the ceiling, doing his best to hold in his tears.

…Ready For It?

You spent the first few days in your room for the most part, unpacking but also hiding, if you were honest. You met Vision. He seemed nice. He also had the ability to phase through walls, apparently. Still no sign of Thor, but you weren’t holding your breath. You were sure he was a busy guy.

Sam Wilson introduced himself with the same offer everyone else had so far, to let them know if you needed anything. You appreciated it.

And then, finally, there was Tony, whose dry humor came across immediately. He sized you up, drilling questions about where you went to college, what you majored in, what your top three movies from the 1980s were. You were pretty sure he liked you, but you didn’t think he trusted you. And that was okay. You knew that was something you’d have to earn around there.

“No soulmark yet, kid?” He asked, eyeing up your bare wrist.

“Not yet.” You confirmed.

“That makes you what, twenty-three? Twenty-four?”

“Twenty-four. As of last month, actually.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Well that’s exciting. I’m sure you’re counting down the days.”

“More or less.” You chuckled, catching Steve watching you out of the corner of your eye. He did that a lot, you noticed.

Before Tony could come up with some witty comeback, the lights flashed red, accompanied by a loud siren.

“Vis? What’s going on?” Tony asked as Vision walked into the room, his sophisticated sweater melting into the uniform you’d seen on the news, red and green with a golden cape.

“There seems to be a stir at the local fairgrounds. Tremors and gunshots. Hostages.”

“Alright, let’s go pay them a visit then.” Tony pressed a button on his watch and transformed into Iron Man in front of your very eyes. “You can stay here or come with us. Up to you. But suit up fast. We’re out in five.”

You stood there for a moment, waiting for the shock to wear off, but the sirens definitely weren’t helping.

“Stick with me.” Steve instructed, voice calm, confident.

“Okay.” You nodded, following after him, towards the hangar where they kept the jets.

Natasha was standing at a locker, pulling her catsuit on with impressive speed, Clint beside her, loading a quiver with arrows, checking his bow.

“Nat, can you get her ready?”

“Baby’s first mission?” She asked, impressed.

You nodded, waiting for orders.

“Well, it should be an easy one, from the sound of it. Here, put this on. We’ll get you your own gear in the next few weeks.”

She chucked you an extra suit and you did your best to shimmy into it. Surprisingly, you could actually move in it. There were holsters, but you weren’t gun trained, so you figured it was best to leave that to the professionals. Instead, you followed the others onto the jet, hoping your forcefields and blossoming battle instincts would be enough to protect you out there.

***

The fair had devolved quickly into madness. There was fire, screaming, running, and gunshots. You flinched at the onslaught of it, but followed the others out anyway, listening to the voice in your earpiece, Steve’s voice, as he issued orders. You were put on civilian evacuation with Sam while the others engaged with the attackers. Six of them.

You did your job diligently, ushering people to a safe distance while law enforcement arrived. Until one of the attackers engaged with you, however, mistaking you for a civilian. Something snapped. In an instant your flight instinct vanished, replaced with the need to fight. He punched at you and you countered, sweeping a leg under him and then using a forcefield to knock him into the cornfield.

One of them launched a bazooka at Tony while he wasn’t looking, and without a thought, you trapped the explosive in a bubble, forcing it into the air where it exploded harmlessly, away from everyone.

And when the dust settled, the rest of the team turned to look at you, sharing looks with each other.

“Thanks for the save, kid. I owe you one.” Tony complimented, clapping you on the back on his way into the jet. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Your heart raced with the adrenaline of battle, the feeling of a job well done. Steve gave you a thumbs-up, a proud grin. His risk had paid off. You weren’t a total failure.

“You doin’ okay?” He asked, slinging his shield onto his back.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You replied, letting the energy fizzle back into your palms.

He watched with interest at the faint crackles of blue that made up your powers. “You did good out there.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Thanks, I—"

“Alright new girl, were are we stopping for food?” Natasha asked, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“I get to pick?” You asked with a laugh.

“And don’t be afraid to pick something fancy. It’s Tony’s treat.” Clint added, walking with the rest of you onto the jet. You strapped in while the others tried their darndest to influence your pick, bickering like siblings. Like your family.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

Waypoint

Your training started shortly after that first mission. Bruce took all your vitals, measured them before, during, and after use of your powers. He recorded said powers with every device known to man until he had your ability down to a science. He had a hunch they were of cosmic origin, but you had no idea when you could have possible come in contact with something like that.

Next came a uniform. At the moment, it was a dark indigo color, something similar to navy blue, but leaning a bit more purple. The chest area was left blank, Tony claiming he’d add a symbol once his graphic design team came up with something. He did add some accents up the arms and down the legs, thin, light blue lines that matched the color of your powers.

Natasha and Clint gave you a few crash courses on weapons and your aim left a bit to be desired, but your hand-eye coordination wasn’t bad. Sam put you on a modified military workout regimen to get in shape, get your stamina up with the rest of the team.

You practiced making forcefields, seeing how big you could make them, how small, how much force they could endure before they broke. Natasha shot some bullets at them, and your fields caught them, allowing you to kill their momentum and drop them harmlessly to the ground. They could withstand some electricity, but not Wanda’s powers. And they held against Steve’s superstrength, but not for long. Still, a few hits from a supersoldier was more than most could endure, so it would buy you some time in the field.

Eventually, you moved on from just forcefields and started learning to move objects. It turned out, you were not limited to bubbles. You could create platforms underneath things. This evolved into creating platforms underneath people, that they could jump on, or ride on top of while you moved them.

You practiced using them for transport too, but it was harder standing on them while controlling them, especially if you tried to jump from platform to platform. It was a bit like patting your head and rubbing your tummy, and it would take a lot of practice.

There weren’t many missions, and the ones that popped up, you didn’t get sent on. They were high level things, and while your powers were improving, and very quickly, Bruce was always quick to reassure you, you weren’t ready for covert ops yet, especially ones that had been months in the making.

Every time Steve got sent off, he left with that sad little half-smile of his, the one where he pressed his lips together, eyes glittering like a lake under moonlight. He’d give you some words of comfort, usually dealing with how short the mission was supposed to be. It didn’t often make you feel better.

Bruce stayed behind with you, most times. More like all of the times. Code Greens, as they were called, were seldom necessary, and besides, as they had learned with Wanda back during the Ultron days, Bruce could be a liability if someone else got in his head. But it was nice not being completely alone in the big empty facility.

“He always looks so sad when he leaves.” You noted, sipping from a mug of warm tea. Steve had left only moments before, the last member of the team that was shipping out.

Bruce thought about it for a moment. “Does he?”

“Oh. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t know him that well.” You shrugged, the sounds of Animal Crossing resonating from the TV.

“You know, he has, lately. He didn’t used to.” Bruce noted.

“Weird.”

“Uh-huh.” He replied absentmindedly. “So explain to me this game?”

“Okay, so you move to this island and have to spend all your money paying off debt to this raccoon…”

It was in another training session that there was a malfunction. A shock grenade went off dangerously close to Sam. Before you could even process what you were doing, your hand shot out, a bright, pulsating star crackling in front of him, another, second star on the other side of the room. Steve assessed the situation and used the shield to knock Sam into the star, neutralizing the grenade right after. There was a bright flash and Sam appeared on the other side of the room, tumbling out of the second star.

You froze, curling your fingers and closing both of them. There was a slight pinch in your shoulder, near the base of your neck. The others all stared.

“Wait, what was that?” Bruce asked over the intercom.

“You did that?” Steve asked, motioning to Sam as he walked over.

“I think so.”

“What was that?”

Natasha asked, looking you up and down. Sam stared at you like you’d sprouted a third eye.

“I don’t know.”

“Do it again.” Bruce insisted. “Hang on, I’m coming in there.”

The door from the observation room opened and Bruce joined the rest of you in the circle that was steadily forming, all of them watching you, waiting.

“I don’t know, it was just like…” You focused on that feeling again, the desperation to get Sam the hell away from that grenade, and as though you were punching a hole through reality, it opened in the center of the circle, an eight-pointed star, bobbing and ebbing and flowing, made of the light blue energy you were so familiar with.

Carefully, you opened another one, ten feet in the air above the first. Clint shrugged and chucked a tennis ball into it. Sure enough, it popped up to the second one, before falling down through the first one again. This continued until eventually you closed the bottom one, letting the tennis ball bounce harmlessly across the floor.

“Well shit.”

“Waypoints.” Bruce said, deep in thought. “Teleportation. This…this opens up a lot of doors.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Steve murmured.

“Hey, that’s kind of cool. Waypoint.” Clint said, drawing attention to it. “What do you think?”

“What, like as a codename?” You asked, weighing it as an option.

“I like it.” Sam grinned. “Waypoint.”

“Waypoint.” You repeated, trying it out. Hi, I’m Waypoint. I’m an Avenger.

It sounded silly, but it was getting more official by the day. There was, of course, only one way to make it official official, and that was with one of Tony Stark’s famed parties…

Wonderstruck

You let out a sigh, staring at your reflection in the mirror. It was the night of the big party. Your first, as an Avenger, and the official induction of what Tony was deeming the second class of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, Sam: the Falcon, Wanda: the Scarlet Witch, Vision, and You: Waypoint.

He’d gotten you a dress to wear, one that matched your uniform. It was long, sleek, that navy blue/indigo color. It glittered like stars and moved like a dream. And in the middle of it, poised at the base of the sweetheart neckline, was the eight-pointed star that Tony had turned into your symbol.

Your hair and makeup were done, and all that was left was the zipper.

Someone knocked on the door.

“It’s open!” You called, expecting Natasha or Wanda. Instead, it was Steve, who, when he saw you were unzipped, pulled the door almost all the way closed and shielded his eyes with his hand.

“Sorry! I’ll leave—”

“Wait, actually, could you help me zip this up? I can’t reach.”

Steve nodded, slowly lowering his hand and entering the room. He closed the door behind him to give you some privacy. He was dressed in a sharp black suit with a blue tie. His lapel pin looked like a tiny version of his shield.

“Wow…” He murmured, taking you in. “You look great, (Y/N).”

“You think so? I’m not sure blue is really my color…”

He scoffed. “It most certainly is.” He swept the hair off of your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the reflection in the mirror as he gently pulled the zipper higher until it was secure in place. “In more ways than one.”

“Yeah, guess so.” You agreed, nervous energy crackling around your fingers, blue as ever. You dispelled it, snapping out of it.

Steve looked at the two of you in the mirror for a long time before turning towards the door again. Halfway there, though, he turned back around, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a flat velvet box. “This is, um…for you.”

“Oh! Thank you.” You reached for it, heart racing. Inside was a necklace, its pendant a silver star with eight points. In the center, an aquamarine gem. You gasped, looking at it. It was beautiful, delicate. “Steve, this is beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I could do.” He said, offering his hand. “May I?”

“Please.” You said, handing him the necklace and moving your hair out of the way. He did the clasp behind your neck. It settled between your collarbones.

“There. Now it’s official.” He whispered.

“Almost.”

“Almost.” Steve agreed, offering you his elbow. “Right this way.”

You looped your arm through his, letting him lead you out into the initial murmurs of the party. What Natasha dubbed the “extended family” had shown up. Rhodey, Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Happy Hogan, Pepper Potts, and, of course, Thor.

He was a sight, that was for sure. He towered over everyone else at 6’5”, arms the size of tree trunks. It was a bit intimidating to say the very least.

“Rogers!” Thor bellowed.

“Thor! I didn’t think you were coming.”

He grinned. “I never miss a feast.” His eyes fell on you. “And you must be this new team member Banner spoke of.”

“I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“The honor is mine.”

“Here.” Natasha handed you a champagne flute. She eyed up your necklace. “That’s cute.”

“Steve gave it to me.”

She quirked an eyebrow and looked up at the supersoldier, who still had your arm. “Steve has good taste.”

“Steve had help.” He admitted, smiling sheepishly.

“I’d get you one too, Rogers, but Thor has the strong stuff.” Natasha said, patting his other arm while you took a sip of the champagne. It was sweet, tangy. “God’s favorite boy scout has trouble getting drunk.”

“My tolerance is too good.”

“I think we just need to get you a Four Loko. Or two.”

“A what?” Steve asked.

“It’s like four drinks in one can. They’re insane. I tried in college, but tapped out halfway through.”

He considered it for a moment, letting out a laugh. “See, that just might work.”

Tony wandered around the lounge, greeting everyone. He looked you up and down. “You look beautiful, Portal Girl.”

You internally chuckled. The others had advised you not to feed his ego when he used his nicknames. “Thank you, Tony.”

“And you’re also here, Rogers.”

“Tony.” Steve nodded.

“You her date tonight?” He asked, motioning to your joint arms.

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose I am.” Steve agreed, not budging. Neither were you.

“Well, I hope you’ve taken some dance lessons since last time, Rogers. I’m sure (Y/N) wouldn’t want to have her feet walked all over.”

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes as Tony moved onto his next targets. Sam emerged, looking very sharp in a red suit. Even Vision had dressed up for the occasion, Wanda beside him wearing an elegant red dress. The two of them talked and laughed on the other side of the room and you smiled. You could tell when you moved in that he cared about her.

You wondered if robots could have soulmates, too. If any android had a soul, surely it was Vision. Maybe you’d ask him about it sometime.

Once all of the expected guests were accounted for, Tony did the briefest ceremony in the history of ceremonies, introducing you all to the few members of the press he had allowed to come. You spent the beginning of the evening shaking hands, networking, and then once the strangers left, the real party started.

Nat switched you to something a lot stronger to champagne, and she was running the bar, so it was easy to get refills. Clint and Thor were arm wrestling on one of the tables which was…hilarious, admittedly.

Steve found you after a few hours apart. “Hey, will you be my partner?”

“Sure, for what?”

He laughed, loosening up quite a bit with Thor’s Asgardian mead in his system. “Sam and Bruce are trying to teach me how to play Beer Ball or something.”

“Beer Pong?”

“That one, yeah.” He nodded. “Winners play Clint and Nat.”

“That checks out.” You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m game. I haven’t played since college, though.”

“I haven’t played ever so I’m sure you’re a step ahead of me anyway.”

“We’ll see about that. Your physics skills are pretty good, what with the shield and all.” You complimented, earning that charming smile of his. “We might just give them a run for their money.”

“Enough flirting, kids, get over here.” Bruce grinned as he finished lining up the cups.

“You know how to play Beer Pong?” You asked, plucking a ping pong ball off of the table and fiddling with it.

“Kid, I have seven PhDs. I have played my share of Beer Pong.” Bruce admitted.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. It was nice to see the Avengers loosen up like this, have a good time together, really truly bond.

You gave Steve the basic rundown of the rules: no elbows past the edge of the table, balls back, stoplight, island, and that if you let Sam and Bruce get too many cups, you and Steve would get “schwaisted” as the kids said, or, at the very least, you would. Steve would probably be fine.

“Ladies first.” Sam said, giving you the second ping pong ball, one of which, you handed to Steve.

“You’re gonna regret that.” You said, rubbing the ball between your hands before perfectly bouncing it into the cup at the front of the pyramid. “Your turn, Steve.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He said, sinking the ball into the same cup. “I believe that’s three cups, gentlemen.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. He shared a look with Bruce. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“You’re telling me.” Bruce chuckled, retrieving the ping pong ball and rolling it back. He started drinking the contents of the first cup, leaving the other two to Sam. “Alright, do your worst.”

Needless to say, you wiped the floor with the other two. Barely even gave them a chance. Which is why it was only fair that Clint and Natasha kicked the absolute shit out of the two of you.

You struggled to down your third cup, which is why when you reached for the fourth, Steve shook his head and took it from you, only offering a wink when you opened your mouth to protest.

“Hey! Steve, it’s supposed to be five each.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, she already finished hers.” Steve shrugged, chugging another like it was water. “Right, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah absolutely. What he said.” You shrugged.

You helped clean up the mess a bit after the game was over, rounding up empty cups, wiping down the table, and then washing your hands as Tony switched the music to something upbeat, dancing music.

“Come on, let’s dance.” Steve urged, clearly toeing the line between tipsy and drunk. He reached out for your hand and you couldn’t resist. You didn’t even try.

You let him lead you out to the middle of the room, where Wanda and Vision were already dancing together and looking adorable doing it.

“I thought you couldn’t dance.” You laughed as he spun you around to the music.

“I’m a quick learner.” He whispered, mouth against your ear.

You swore your entire body flushed red, but you let your feet lead you through the dance. Steve took both of your hands, swinging you out and then back in, spinning you around. You blamed the alcohol on what happened next. Your heel caught on the fabric of your dress and you fell over the back of one of the couches, tugging Steve down with you.

He laughed, using an arm to push himself off of you, hovering, eyes soft. “Sorry.”

“It’s my fault. You’ve got me falling for you, Rogers.” You murmured, gazing up at him through your eyelashes.

You said it as a joke, a quip, but there was some truth in it. More than some. It had been a magical, magical night. And if it weren’t for the leather cuff on his wrist, you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him.

Steve closed his eyes, smiling and sitting up, helping you upright again. “I’ll go get us some water.”

You sighed and sat back against the couch, heart hammering in your chest.

Natasha perched on the armrest, looking down at you. “What was that?”

“Not sure. I think I fumbled the bag. If…if there even was a bag I guess.” You chuckled, shrugging.

“No, there is something there. I can see it.” Natasha said, thinking as she nursed a glass of wine. “Hmmm…”

Steve stood in the kitchen, getting two glasses of filtered water from the fridge. He exhaled a deep sigh, leaning against it. He replayed the moment in his head over and over. The look in your eyes, the way your necklace glimmered in the light, the sound of your voice, the flush of your cheeks. You were catching feelings for him, that much was clear. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.

Maybe it was a good thing, he reasoned, thinking back on his first night with you all those years ago. But you still couldn’t know why. Not yet.

It was going to kill him to keep it a secret for ten more months.

Timeless

Sherbert rays of the sunrise lit the training room, filling it with a warm orange glow. You were sitting on the floor, stretching your legs while you listened to music. That was another thing on the growing list of skills that had improved during your stint as an Avenger: your flexibility.

Suddenly, Steve was standing over you, saying something you couldn’t hear due to the noise cancelling headphones over your ears.

You slid one off, looking up at him. “Good morning.”

“Morning. You’re here early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You shrugged, reaching for your other leg.

“Sorry to hear that. Wanna talk about it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I think I drank too much caffeine before bed last night. Learned my lesson. No caffeine after six.”

“That’s a good rule. Mind if I stretch with you?” He asked.

“I don’t mind.” You tossed your headphones onto your workout bag and connected your phone to the Bluetooth speakers, putting on some music you could both listen to.

“I recognize her. This girl’s voice.”

“Taylor Swift.”

“Ah. Yes, her. I keep hearing about her.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” You laughed. “Have you liked any of her songs so far?”

“I don’t know if I could name one for you, to be honest.” He listened to the song that was playing. “This one’s not bad, though.”

“I’ll send you some recommendations. There are some I think you’d really vibe with.”

He smiled. “I’d really like that.”

The others came in not long after, did their warm-ups, and then Steve briefed everyone on the plan for their training session, one in which everyone would swap weapons, practice using each other’s things in case they ever had to in battle if one of their teammates got disarmed.

You started with Clint. He showed you the absolute basics of archery, how to pull back the bow, how to notch an arrow, how to aim, taking into account distance. You fired a few arrows into a target and did okay, you supposed, but you would need some practice if you wanted to actually get good at it. Years of it, realistically.

Natasha showed you how to use her electric batons, which were fun, but did intimidate you a little. You definitely did not want to end up on the wrong end of those things.

And then, inevitably, you were standing in front of Steve. He offered you his shield, which on its own seemed daunting. You held it for a second, assessing the weight of it. It was noticeably lighter than you thought it would be.

“Woah.”

“Yeah. People always expect it to be heavier.” He said, a hand resting on his hip as he watched you hold it. It looked so right in your hands, he decided. “It’s good for a lot of things, but first…” Carefully, he helped you put your arm through the straps on the back of it, holding it in front of your body in its primary and most famous purpose.

You let out a sigh, shaking your head. “This is so crazy.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, you have no idea.” You chuckled, waving it around a bit.

“You keep looking at it like it’s Thor’s hammer or something.” He teased.

“Feels like it.”

“Well the good news is, this thing is not password protected by some Asgardian magic words. The bad news is, that means the bad guys can pick it up, too.” Steve said, gently positioning your body in an offensive stance, nudging a foot with his own, switching your arms around. “You can use it to bash somebody head on, or you can angle it a bit to get a more direct blow. It will take the force of most things. I…I actually kind of don’t know the limits. Hasn’t failed me yet. The paint does come off from time to time, though, so don’t worry about that.”

“Okay, wow.” You nodded. “Good to know.”

“I trust you with it.” He said, eyes meeting yours.

You smiled, heart racing. “I’m honored.”

He showed you a few other tricks, and then training wrapped up for the day, everyone grabbing some water, taking a shower, or making plans for lunch. Once you walked off with Wanda, Nat cornered Steve.

“What was that?” She asked, that catlike grin on her face.

“What was what?”

“I saw it, you know, the way you looked at her. I think you’ve got a soft spot.”

“Yeah, well, I did rope her into all this. Can’t say I don’t feel responsible for her.” He dodged expertly, weaving through Natasha’s mental gymnastics with skill and precision, or so he thought.

“Uh-huh sure. Well, she, Wanda, and I are going antiquing this afternoon. You should come. After all, you know quite a bit about vintage valuables.”

He laughed. “Hey!”

She walked off, smiling to herself. Steve thought about it for all of four seconds before he decided he would tag along. He hadn’t been to an antique shop in this century, so he couldn’t imagine the kinds of things they had there now. He might even learn a thing or two.

***

After a quick lunch, Steve did decide to tag along. It wound up being him, Vision, and the girls, which he certainly didn’t mind.

You and Wanda were buzzing with excitement, Natasha looking on and following behind with Steve. Vision lingered, studying everything, picking things up to get a closer look. He had projected a human disguise over himself, something Steve didn’t know he could even do, but it seemed to work. No one had batted an eye at him since they stepped foot in the shop.

“This place is…huge.” Steve said, glancing down the hall of the seemingly endless store.

“Biggest one in the state.” You chimed. “It’s the whole city block.”

“There’s a basement, too. And a second floor.” Natasha informed him, patting his arm. “This is gonna be an all day kinda thing.”

“Oh undoubtedly.” He said, setting down the teacup in his hands, a petite, floral thing.

You sifted through a box of records, picking up the soundtrack of the Muppets Movie.

“Is that a frog?”

“This is Kermit thee Frog, show some respect.” You laughed, putting the record in your basket.

“Kermit?” Steve asked again, seeming genuine.

“Oh I forgot you missed the Muppets, oh my god.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound familiar.”

“We need to fix that as soon as possible.” You told him. “Can’t have you missing out on cultural icons like Gonzo and Miss Piggy.”

“Okay now you’re making things up.” He chuckled, shuffling through the records as well. You showed him a few good ones and he added them to his basket, saying something about how he’s been meaning to use his new record player.

Wanda browsed some vintage rings, picking out a few, and Natasha rifled through a rack of vintage dresses, most of them from the forties and fifties from the look of it. Nat held up a navy blue one, silky, with short ruffled sleeves and buttons down the front. Steve froze, looking at it. For a moment, it looked just a little too familiar. Like the dress you had worn that night.

Eventually Nat put the dress back. You hadn’t seen it. You were distracted by a shelf of VHS tapes, looking for the old Barbie movies, whatever those were. Wanda was with you, on the next shelf over, calling out movie names when she found something cool.

Steve wandered off on his own, looking around at the different trinkets and toys, old letterman jackets and jewelry, dishes that may or may not contain lead. Finally, he came upon a little room full of art, paintings and photographs, handmade pottery.

Time stood still.

He stared at the large painting on the wall, oil on canvas. Two star-crossed lovers dancing in a bar in Brooklyn, a little guy with a dream, dancing with the most beautiful girl in the world, twirling in her dark blue dress. His heart raced. He never thought he’d see this painting again.

It had been his last painting before leaving for Camp Lehigh, the last painting he did before his life and body changed forever. He’d used the last of his paints to make it, every color mixed with care to get the exact color of your hair, your eyes, your lips, all from memory.

And it was here in front of him. When he had been presumed dead, it must have been sold off. He didn’t really have anyone left it could go to.

In that moment, he wasn’t Captain America. Standing in his shoes was that little guy from Brooklyn.

“Woah.” You murmured, suddenly right next to him. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it…it is.” He agreed, looking away from it. He didn’t want you to get too close of a look at it. However, that didn’t stop you from walking forward to inspect it closer.

“‘Soulmates.’ Artist unknown.” You read from the plaque. “Oh, it’s from the 40s. 1943. Does it look familiar?”

“Yeah, actually. Bucky liked that bar.” Steve said, pointing to the details of the interior. “It’s a little place in Brooklyn, called Val’s. Well, it was I guess. I don’t know if it’s still open anymore.”

Your eyes lingered on the woman’s face, on the man’s. You didn’t say anything about how they looked, about the uncanny resemblance to yourself and Steve. Instead, you sighed. “Someday, I want to be that in love with someone.”

He just about cried. But instead, he gathered his words, put a hand on your shoulder, and told you with confidence, “You will be.”

***

Hours later, when you were all shopped out and you’d checked out with your things, Steve stayed at the counter while the rest of you went to the car.

“Hey, um, that painting in the art room. The soulmates in the bar. I’m interested in buying it. Would it be possible to have it held here for a while, though?”

“Oh I’m sure we could arrange something,” said the old man at the counter with a smile and a nod. He started writing out the purchase form.

Steve glanced back towards where it was, that fragment of his soul he didn’t think he’d ever see again. He knew the fact that he’d stumbled upon it was nothing short of fate.

Wildest Dreams

It had been Tony’s idea. Of course it had. It always was, wasn’t it? He’d insisted that all the members of the team who hadn’t yet been exposed to Wanda’s mind manipulation should be, just in case there was a misfire during combat and one of you got caught in the crossfire. It would be important to see how each of you reacted, the kinds of things you saw so you’d be able to snap out of it.

Theoretically, of course.

This left Natasha, Steve, Thor, Bruce, and Tony out, as they’d already had their fun with Wanda’s magic. The rest of you, however, were waiting for your turn.

Wanda felt conflicted about it. She didn’t want to hurt her friends on accident, let alone on purpose, but Tony was insistent, and he had some of the others on his side. Namely, Rhodey, who had been hanging out more and more, and Clint, who’d had his experience with a different kind of mind control shortly before the Battle of New York.

It was part of why he’d volunteered to go first. Once he came to, he gave you a thumbs-up, shaking it off and walking over to Natasha.

“You sure you’re good?” She checked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No big deal. Who’s next?”

Sam looked at you and the despondent look on your face before volunteering himself to go next. Rhodey went in solidarity, despite being too busy with his government responsibilities to be a full-time member of the team. And then it was your turn. You stood next to Wanda. She offered an apologetic smile before red crackled around her fingertips and it hit you.

For the first few seconds, you were fine. You felt tingly. You blinked a few times and your eyes felt weird. No doubt, your eyes were red, like the others’ turned when they were under the influence of Wanda’s powers.

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, voice urgent.

“Think so.” You replied, mouth full of cotton. It felt like that time in college someone had given you an edible that was too strong. The first and last time you’d ever gotten high. Like you were sinking and melting. Your legs buckled and Steve surged forward, catching you before you hit the floor, gently lowering you into a comfortable position. “Hey, you’re pretty strong…” You murmured, head lolling onto his shoulder.

The others all looked at each other. Clint dragged over a bean bag and Steve gently lowered you onto it, adjusting it so you’d be comfortable.

“She’ll be okay, Steve.” Natasha reassured him, the guilt in his eyes palpable, yet still not explained. Not entirely. She had a sneaking suspicion whatever it was had something to do with the name written on his wrist, the name he wouldn’t show anyone. Not her, not Nick Fury, not even Sam.

“Yeah, I know.” He nodded, slowly taking a step back. His eyes didn’t leave you. He had to force himself to look away. “I, um…I have to go…There’s a…” Steve motioned towards the door before leaving the room, while you sat there, catatonic, off in your own little world.

***

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, his voice close. “That was a long nap. Forget to set your alarm?”

You opened your eyes and you were laying down on the couch. Steve was standing at the island in the kitchen, cooking something. It smelled good. Really good. He was wearing a button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, still wearing his slacks from work. He had music playing from the record player, your vast collection of hits from decades of music, and he was still hooked on 40s jazz. You supposed you couldn’t blame him.

“You cooking?”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded. “Come over here and get a taste.”

You followed, out to the kitchen. He set down his wooden spoon and swiftly intercepted you, pulling you up onto the countertop, kissing you deeply, a hand running through your hair. Your hand came up to frame his cheek. He was growing a bit of a beard these days. You liked it, thought it suited him.

You sighed against his lips and then pulled away to look at him. He grabbed your wrist, pressing a long kiss to your soulmark. Three simple words. Steven Grant Rogers.

“I love you, doll.” His words cut through you, eyes tender and sincere. “Always have.”

But this wasn’t your Steve. And it wasn’t your reality, given away by the slightest tinge of red in his irises.

It wasn’t real. And neither was the glimmering wedding ring around your finger.

***

You blinked awake, the power dispersing from your head, leaving you shockingly sober. And hungry. That familiar sting was back, right between your neck and shoulder. You wondered how long it’d been.

Clint was in the room with you. So was Sam. Natasha was gone. Wanda too, surprisingly. As was Steve.

You got chills even thinking about him, the phantom of the wedding ring still clinging to your finger.

“You alright?” Sam asked, making eye contact with you first.

“Yeah, I’m good. How long…?”

“Three minutes. New record.” Clint said with a grin.

“Oh.” No wonder it had felt so short. Part of you wanted it to last longer.

“We’re sending Rhodey to get some food, if you’re hungry.” Sam said.

“Where from?”

“The golden arches.”

“I could go for some nuggies.” You admitted. “A McFlurry, perchance.”

Clint laughed. “How did I know you would say that?”

In the kitchen, Steve stood, hands on the counter, mug of coffee steaming in front of him, untouched. He stared at the cupboard door.

“That must be one interesting cupboard. You’ve been standing there for like five whole minutes.”

“It’s only been three.” Steve said, glancing at the clock.

“And the fact that you know down to the exact minute is why I’m so intrigued.” Natasha chimed, tilting her head. “What is going on with her? I have never seen you look at anyone like that in the entire time I’ve known you. Is she…what, the kid of an old friend? Grandkid?”

“It’s nothing, Natasha. She’s the newest member of the team, I’m just worried—”

“Steve.” She said, cutting him off, that look in her eye. “If you want to get all defensive about it, fine. Keep your secrets.” She sighed. “But if you need someone, I’m here. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Steve let out a long sigh, weighing his options. It was something to the tune of eight months until your birthday. That was still a long time. A lot of time for that secret to slip through the cracks and, potentially, break the timeline. The Butterfly Effect was something he had researched extensively. Your future together was something he wasn’t willing to risk.

No, it was too important that you stay in the dark, even if that meant keeping his friends in the dark, too.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. But I’m fine, really. It’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded unconvinced. “Well, she’s out of it. Clint just texted. She wants twenty chicken nuggets and an Oreo McFlurry.”

The relief was immediate. You were okay. He could only wonder what you had seen in there, and why it had been so quick. The others had been under for upwards of ten minutes. You’d only been down three. “Well good. I’ll let Rhodey know.”

Invisible String

It was late. A few weeks after your tussle with the Scarlet Witch, if you could even call it that. You could tell Wanda felt guilty about the whole thing, but it wasn’t her fault. If anything it was Tony’s. Sure, the exercise had prepared you for a worst case scenario, but it had also dug a very awkward gap between you and Steve. You could barely even look at him without wanting to burst into tears.

He had his soulmate, whoever they were. You really needed to let it go.

You walked down to the kitchen to get a cold drink, but there was already someone sitting at the table. Steve, sitting there, hand resting on his chin, papers spread out in front of him. There was a picture you recognized as Bucky Barnes.

You’d heard whispers of him around the Compound from time to time. Steve’s best friend turned Hydra assassin, brainwashed for decades and now, rogue, out there somewhere. Sam always seemed to be looking for the guy. Natasha and Clint, too. And there had never been any sign of him. Well, until now, it seemed.

On the TV, Star Wars was playing. Empire Strikes Back. Steve looked up at it every so often.

“Star Wars?” You asked.

He chuckled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Your first time?”

“No. They were the first things I watched when I was out of the ice. I like them a lot. The hope, the Force, the Jedi stuff, the music.” He shrugged. “They’re good.”

“Who’s your favorite?”

Steve smiled, sheepish. “Han Solo.”

“And here I thought you’d say Luke Skywalker.”

“He’s great, too. You like Star Wars?”

“Yeah, I used to be obsessed with them in high school. Haven’t seen them in a while, though. I’m something of a Leia girl myself.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Does it?”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “You’ve got that spark.”

“What order did you watch them in?”

“Nat made me watch the originals first.” He confessed. “I like the prequels, though. Well, two of the prequels. Phantom Menace is…”

“Oh yeah. You’re not alone in that.” You laughed softly. “You know, I never really pegged you as a sci-fi nerd.”

“Yeah, well, someone I really care about seemed to like them a whole lot, so I knew I had to check them out.” He shrugged. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Getting a drink. What are you doing up so late?”

He looked down at the papers and then back up at you. “Oh. Yeah, this is just…Trying to get some stuff figured out.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You offered.

He thought about it for a long moment, letting out a little sigh before nodding. That was the only reassurance you needed before grabbing a can of soda from the fridge and plopping down into the seat next to him.

“They found him. Clint and Natasha. They think he’s hiding out in Kentucky somewhere.” Steve said. He shook his head. “He saved my life a few years ago. After all the brainwashing, he still pulled me out of the water. I don’t know how much of him is still him, but…”

“But it’s worth a try.” You reasoned. “Obviously he’s been through a lot, but he must be pretty strong to have made it through everything.”

“I don’t know when I’m going. They haven’t narrowed it down all the way. And Tony doesn’t want me to even go at all.”

“Tony is full of shit.”

He laughed. “Yeah…”

“If you want to go, you should go. And if you need me, I’m there. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

He met your eyes with a sobering gaze. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed. “When, uh, when I was in the eighth grade, my class took a trip down to DC. There’s a Captain America exhibit in the Air and Space Museum, it had just opened. We learned about you and Bucky. How close you were, what happened. There are videos of me just crying uncontrollably there, learning about it. They had to take me outside, get me some water. I couldn’t go back in. I don’t even know why. Something about it…”

“About me?” Steve whispered.

“That’s embarrassing. I shouldn’t have told you that.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s sweet.” Steve said, reaching for your hand on the table. You let him take it, fingers curling.

“So when you found me that day, I guess I always knew it would lead to something like this. A stroke of fate, or something.” You admitted. “Some part of me knew that you would mean something to me someday. I guess I never thought we would be friends.”

“How old were you?”

“God, this would have been like ten years ago at this point. I was like fourteen or something. I was twenty-one when they found you in the ice. It was all over the news my sophomore year of college, kind of right when I was figuring my powers out, actually. And then everything was all over the news and I…went into hiding more or less, hoping it wouldn’t be me on the TV next.”

“Until the mall?”

“Yeah. But I couldn’t just…let it happen, you know? It was like some part of me knew that I had these powers for a reason, and that if I didn’t stop it, who would? I didn’t know you were there, obviously, but, I think even if I had, I still would have jumped in.”

He smiled softly, eyes earnest. He gave your hand a squeeze. “Well I’m really glad you did, for the record. I think we’re all a little better off because of it.”

There was a moment of quiet. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“How old are you?”

“Oh, um…I’m ninety-eight.”

You chuckled. “No, like how old are you really?”

Steve took a breath. No one ever asked him that. No one really cared about that. No one except you, it seemed. “I’m not sure. I’d have to do some math. I think I’m twenty-eight maybe. Twenty-nine.”

“Thought so.” You smiled. “Well, Steve, whenever you get it figured out, say the word and I’ll suit up. We’ll bring him home.”

Out of the Woods

The next mission you were sent on wasn’t to bring back Bucky. Not yet. Instead, you were on the team that got deployed into a rainforest to break up a rogue Hydra base. It was warm, almost too warm for your uniform, but you were grateful for the coverage, especially when they started shooting.

You ran down the makeshift path, evading enemies and throwing up forcefields to stop them in their tracks. Thor was in town, so he was zipping around through the trees with his hammer, the force of it bringing some down every once in a while.

“On your six.” Steve reported through the comms. You dodged out of the way and sure enough, a Hydra agent tumbled ahead, tripped by a small field you cast at his feet. A few of Natasha’s bullets took care of that.

“Thanks.” You replied.

“Don’t mention it. I could actually use some backup. I’m in the building. There’s more of them than I thought there would be.”

“I’m on my way.” You reported, changing directions and sprinting towards the building housing the Hydra base. What they were doing here, you had no clue, but Bruce theorized it had something to do with a meteor that had landed out that way a few months prior. They were probably harvesting whatever materials had been inside it.

You kicked down the door. Steve had six guys on him, two of which he disposed of quickly. You made a portal beneath one guy, sending him falling down a flight of stairs with the second portal you opened.

The other three guys went down quickly enough, only for a guy in a giant mech armor to come crashing through the interior wall. He shot and Steve jumped in front of you, taking a hit to the neck. A tiny syringe filled with shimmering purple liquid.

“Fuck! Steve!” You ran to him, but that didn’t take care of the large problem looming behind you. Seeing red, you made another portal at the feet of the robot, opened it in the ceiling, and cut it off as it was halfway through, destroying it in a flash of sparks and shredded metal. It shut down, giving you time to get to Steve.

He was sitting against the wall, head slumped to the side. You took the syringe out of his neck, tucking it into a pouch on your belt for testing. If this thing was poison, you’d need Bruce to start whipping up an antidote as soon as possible.

“Steve, hey, stay with me.” You touched his face, trying to wake him.

At your touch, he blinked a few times, drowsy. He gave you a crooked smile. “Heyyy, there you are.”

“Come on, we’ve gotta get you back to the jet.” You told him, pulling him to his feet, but he slumped in your arms like dead weight. You had been working out since you’d been recruited, but he was still heavy. “You’ve gotta work with me, big guy.”

“They used to call me little guy.” He murmured, sounding drunk. “Back in Brooklyn.”

“I’m sure they did.” You slung his arm around your shoulders and started hauling ass out of the building. A few agents shot at you, trying to hit you while you were distracted with carrying Steve to safety, but they forgot you were the one Avenger whose specialty was defense.

You lit a forcefield in your left hand, using its faint blue light to guide the two of you through the dim hallways. It slowed all the bullets to a stop, causing them to drop to the floor harmlessly. There was something kind of poetic about it, you supposed. Steve was so famous for that shield of his, but now you were the shield, protecting him.

“Did you guys find anything in there?” Clint asked.

“The good news is, we cleared most of it out. Bad news is, Steve got shot with something. I’m bringing him back to the ship now. I don’t know what it was but he’s acting really drunk.”

“Tranq darts seem to have that effect on him, yeah.” Bruce explained. “Bring him back here and I’ll make sure it wasn’t laced with something else.”

“On it.”

You lugged Steve along, stopping to rest and readjust against a wall for a second.

“Thank you for takin’ care of me even when I don’t feel so good.” He said, leaning his full weight against you.

“Of course, Steve. I’ve got ya.” You pulled his arm around your shoulders again. “You would do the same for any of us.”

He smiled, face impossibly close to yours. “Oh, I’d do anything for you, (Y/N).”

You knew it was probably just the drugs talking but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t do something to you when he said it anyway.

Once you were outside, you opened a waypoint in front of the two of you, the second portal in front of the jet, and then stepped through, closing it behind you. Bruce opened the door and helped you haul Steve inside, onto the cot of the makeshift mobile infirmary.

You handed Bruce the empty vial.

“Thank you for remembering. Thor always breaks these and then I have to do bloodwork to figure out what was in them.” He chuckled.

“He’s very smash first, ask questions later.”

“No wonder he and Hulk get along so well.” Bruce joked. “Alright, get back out there. I’ll make sure he’s alright.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful out there.” Steve advised, eyes half-lidded. “They have guns.”

“I’ll be extra careful, alright? I promise.” You met his eyes and he smiled immediately. Once you were sure he was okay, you stepped out of the jet again, getting back to help the others.

***

When you got back, you were nursing a bullet wound. They’d gotten you in the arm. It wasn’t too bad, though, the bleeding had almost stopped. Natasha went straight for the med kit when you two stepped foot on the jet, motioning you over to the stool.

Steve was there, still on the cot. He stared as Nat started cleaning your wound. “Wait, you got hurt?”

“I’m okay. It’s not that bad.”

He nodded and reached for your hand. “I’m really glad you’re alright, doll. Had me worried sick.”

Doll. You replayed the word in your mind. Steve had called you a lot of things in the past few months, but never once had he used that somewhat outdated term of endearment. You liked it, though.

You met Natasha’s eyes and she smirked while the supersoldier held your hand.

Sam walked in next, eyeing up the scene unfolding in front of him. “Woah, what’d I miss? Feels like I missed several chapters.”

“Steve is drunk.” Clint explained, counting his remaining arrows.

“Tranq dart. He’s fine. Just needs to ride it out for a few hours. He should be back to normal by the time we get home.” Bruce explained as he put away his tablet.

“You feeling alright, buddy?” Sam walked over and put a hand on Steve’s other arm. “You’re holding (Y/N)’s hand kinda tight there.”

“Huh?” Steve asked, directing his eyes to your joint hands. He let go. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Steve.” You reassured him.

The others trickled in slowly until everyone was accounted for, the base destroyed, the Hydra operatives in SHIELD custody for questioning. Fury and his team would handle it from there. You couldn’t help but play the mission over and over in your head.

Never had you used a waypoint to split something in half. But something had clicked in you when Steve was hurt. You’d never felt like that before, like part of your soul itself was being ripped out. He meant more to you than you cared to admit, especially when your fate was tied elsewhere.

Still, your new ability needed training. It was a dangerous skill to have, and if you didn’t hone it properly, you could end up doing some serious damage on accident.

Come Find Me in the Future

It was the night before you and a select group of the team were heading out to find and recover Bucky. Clint had finally gotten a hit on him. But if he had, that meant others could be after him, too. People that wanted him back. Badly.

You were nervous about it for that reason. You weren’t sure why the rest of you hadn’t already left, to be honest. You didn’t want to race with Hydra. It wasn’t one you were sure you’d win.

To stave off the feeling of dread, you had commandeered the living room TV and popped in Howl’s Moving Castle. You were nursing a mug of chamomile tea in your hands, playing games on your Switch.

You were near the end of the movie, at the part where Sophie was whisked to the past, when Steve walked into the room, in his pajamas, a tank top and a pair of plaid pants.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hey. You’re up late. Big mission tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’s almost over.” You told him. “Drinking my sleepy tea as we speak.”

“Sleepy tea?”

“Chamomile mint. It’s good. There’s some over by the Keurig if you want any.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, walking over. “What’s this?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle. One of my favorites.” You told him.

“What’s it about?”

“That is a complicated question.” You laughed. “I’d have to start it over, I think.”

“Another time, maybe.” He chuckled, crossing his arms.

Steve watched as Sophie got sucked back through the wormhole to the present.

She called out “I know how to help you now! Find me in the future!”

He perked up. “Wait, she…there’s time travel?”

“Yeah, she gets pulled into the past for a bit and tells him to find her and then years later, the first words he says to her are ‘There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ It’s really sweet.”

“They’re soulmates?”

“They are.” You nodded.

“Does that happen? Often?” Steve asked, hung up on it. “In real life?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of that happening before.” You shook your head. “I don’t think anyone would believe it, even if it did. Happens a lot in fiction, though.”

“Oh. Cool.” Steve nodded. He met your eyes and then looked down at his lap, tongue flitting across his pink lips. “I, uh, wanted to apologize.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “For what?”

“The mission last week. I, uh…I said some things and, uh…I just, I’d hate to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I did.”

“You didn’t.” You assured him. “No apology necessary. You were drugged. I probably would have said worse, to be honest.”

He smiled. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. And thank you for agreeing to come tomorrow. We could really use the help.”

“Of course. I’ve got your back, always.” You told him, earning another one of those earnest, lovesick smiles. “Anywho, I finished that playlist for you. The Taylor Swift one. I can make you a more general one with different songs, but…figured that was a decent starting place.”

“Great, yeah, thank you.” He nodded, looking at his phone as it pinged with the notification you had sent it to him. “I’ll give it a listen.”

“Let me know what you think.”

“Oh I will.” He chuckled to himself. “Really, thank you. I appreciate it. And um, have a good night. See you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early.” You saluted.

He nodded before repeating, “Bright and early.”

Bygones

Bright and early was an understatement. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when your alarm went off. You groaned, rolled over and silenced your screaming phone, forcing yourself to sit up so you didn’t drift back off.

Today was too important for that.

Instead, you got up, brushed your hair, and went out to the kitchen, where Vision had whipped up a full breakfast for everyone going out. It was you, Steve, Nat, Wanda, and Sam. A small team, but enough firepower to bring him back without overwhelming and/or scaring him off.

“Morning.” Steve said, eyes landing on you the moment you walked into the room.

“Morning.”

“Coffee?” He offered, pushing a cup of your favorite iced coffee over to you. You couldn’t lie, you were impressed.

“Thanks.” You grinned, taking a long sip to kickstart your morning. You loaded a plate up with eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast, plus a little side of hashbrowns, thanking Vision thoroughly.

“It is my pleasure, (Y/N). As someone who does not require sleep, it would be rude of me to let you all starve so early in the day.”

“(Y/N), you got him listening to Taylor Swift?” Sam asked, eyes drilling into you.

You laughed. “Uh, yeah. What about it? She’s a cultural icon, do you want him left out of the loop?”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.” Steve shrugged, sipping on his coffee.

“Of course you’re not.” Natasha chuckled, words warbled by her own cup. You noticed the way her lips pursed. If you weren’t mistaken, you’d say she was nervous. About what, you couldn’t tell. She seldom got nervous. Or at least, she seldom let it show. But it was definitely there.

Wanda was the last into the kitchen, already fully put together. She gave the chef her thanks with a warm smile and sparkling eyes. You couldn’t help but smile. Those two, beyond a shadow of a doubt, were absolutely made for each other. You wondered what her wrist would have to say about it when the time came.

Once everyone had eaten, those who weren’t suited up got ready, locked and loaded for a tense mission. You’d have Clint on the coms here, doing recon from a drone. The rest of you loaded up onto the jet, strapping in.

Nat and Sam hopped into the cockpit. Wanda sat next to you, Steve across the aisle, his eyes meeting yours every so often.

“It’ll be alright.” You said, trying to dispel his nerves.

He nodded, but didn’t reply, just giving a short nod and staring at the holographic map on the wall as you approached closer and closer. You could see that little guy from Brooklyn peeking through the eyes of the supersoldier sitting across from you, nervous about his best friend.

You unbuckled just before you landed, walking across the jet to strap on your weapons. The others did the same, arming themselves. Nat was going to keep the jet warm for a speedy exit, the look in her eyes still unreadable. The rest of you got ready for war.

It was an abandoned warehouse, large garage door, broken windows, slanted roof with a hole in it. Definitely not the most secure of places. According to Clint’s drone, Bucky was in the back room.

“Waypoint, I need you out here ready to get us a quick escape.”

“Got it.” You nodded, positioning yourself within eyeshot of the warehouse and the jet so you could make a portal either way.

“Wanda, Sam, you’re with me.” Steve instructed, taking a minute to breathe, to think. “He’s gonna be ready to run. We have to talk him out of it.”

“Uh, Cap. Might wanna work a little faster. There’s another plane incoming. About three minutes out.”

“Alright.” Steve nodded, taking off his helmet and slinging his shield onto his back. He led the other two into the building.

For a heartwrenching two minutes, you didn’t hear anything. And then you heard a plane. And then gunshots.

“(Y/N), now!” Steve instructed.

You did as you were told, opening the waypoint in the warehouse, another just outside. Nat had picked the jet up off of the ground, firing at the one Hydra had brought. She took another shot, damaging the wing and causing it to go down.

“Shit, wait—!”

There was a flash of light and you expected it to be Steve that came through first. Maybe Bucky, even. Instead, it was a grenade. And a split second later, it exploded, knocking you unconscious.

***

Steve stood over you, horrified. Thanks to your suit, the damage didn’t seem too bad. But you had blood and soot caked on your face, the ends of your hair singed.

It was his fault. He had told you to open the Waypoint, only for a Hydra agent to toss a grenade right through it.

He all but collapsed to his knees, collecting you in his arms. Bucky was on the jet already, Sam, too. Only he and Wanda were outside with you.

“(Y/N), come on. Open those eyes for me.” He pleaded, voice soft, eyes aching with tears. “Hey, come on. Please…”

“We should get her back to the jet.” Wanda goaded softly, a hand on Steve’s arm.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. He scooped you off of the ground, an arm beneath your legs, the other around your back. Your arms hung down, limp. Your head rested heavily against his shoulder, eyes closed.

By the time Steve walked up the ramp, Nat already had the infirmary cot down, ready to go. Bucky watched, eyes intense. He looked up when Steve approached, eyes falling on you. They widened when he got a look at you.

“Woah, is that…?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “It is.”

Natasha helped him get you situated in the cot, wrapping the cuff around your arm that would measure your vitals. With everyone accounted for, Sam closed the door, lifting the jet into the air.

“I’ve got Banner on the line.” Natasha told him.

“Good.” Steve’s eyes didn’t leave you for a second, watching as the breaths entered and left your lungs. “Tell him to get the infirmary ready for her.”

“Already on it, Cap. She’ll be okay. Her vitals look…well they look good, all things considered.” Bruce relayed. “Just get back here as fast as you can.”

***

As soon as the jet landed, Steve unhooked you from the vitals monitor and collected you in his arms, carrying you to the gurney Bruce had ready, walking with him as he wheeled you towards the infirmary. Bruce insisted he needed some time and sent Steve away, taking a piece of his heart with him.

Vision checked over Bucky, giving him the okay almost immediately before going to help Bruce in the infirmary.

Steve sat at the table, Bucky sitting down to join him. The others gave them a minute alone.

“Hey, pal.” Steve exhaled, trying to force a smile. “Glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” He agreed. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Of course.” Steve nodded. “I’m with you—”

“Til the end of the line.” Bucky smiled, eyes soft. His irises flicked towards the infirmary and back. “You wanna talk about it?”

Steve let out a sigh, the wall finally coming down and more tears slipping down his cheeks. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. She’s—”

“She’s gonna be fine. I promise you.” Bucky’s hand grabbed onto Steve’s wrist, the covered one. The one with her name etched onto it. “She has to be. Has she…does she know yet?”

“No one does. Just me. And you.” Steve confessed. He wiped his thumb under his eye. “So you’re right. She has to pull through.”

Steve held onto that spark of hope for the coming hours. He showed Bucky to the room that had been prepared for him, but Sam offered to give him a tour of the place, knowing their friend was in a fragile mental state.

Eventually, Vision found him and told him he could enter the infirmary. Bruce had finished treating you. When Steve walked in and saw you, still unconscious, laying on that bed, he choked on more sobs. The bruising on your face was pretty severe. You were hooked up to several monitors, an IV. Supposedly, your injuries were not too extreme, but you had a cracked rib and would need time to heal before you could do any missions or training.

Hours later, Nat found Steve in there, wringing his hands, tears in his eyes. He fiddled with the cuff around his wrist. The playlist you’d made for him played softly from a speaker in the corner of the room. Timeless. As if he wasn’t already crying enough.

“She’s gonna be okay, Steve. Bruce thinks she might wake up soon.” Nat comforted, sitting in the chair next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder, confused by her friend’s sudden mood. Members of the team had been injured before and sure, he checked on them, but he never reacted like this.

“I know, I just…” He shook his head. “I’m worried about her is all. It’s…kinda my fault this happened.”

Nat pressed her lips together, tilting her head. “This seems like a little more than that. You wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

He wanted to hold onto his secret. He did. But he was feeling fragile, vulnerable. It couldn’t hurt to have just one more person on his side. “I can, just…not here.” Steve nodded, leading her out of the room, out of your earshot, if you could even hear him while you were out, but still in sight thanks to the soundproof windows.

Nat’s hands settled on her hips, waiting for an answer. Instead, Steve took the cuff off of his wrist and held it out to her, letting her read the letters that had been etched there for the better part of a century.

Her jaw dropped. She stammered, arms crossing. She met his eyes and when she saw the sadness there, the guilt and longing, her expression softened.

“I should have told her. A long time ago, I should have told her but I can’t. In six months, on her twenty-fifth, she’s going back in time to 1943 to meet me on mine. And it…didn’t seem like she knew until she was already there.”

“So you’ve just been holding it in this whole time?” Natasha asked. “You’ve been in love with her…”

“Since the forties, yeah.” Steve nodded. “My great lost love, as Tony likes to call her when he rags on the band I wear.”

“Does he know?”

“No. Just you. And Bucky.” Steve amended. “He was there when she…”

“Right. Weird.” Natasha let out a long sigh, looking through the window. Her fingers reached for her own cuff. She hesitated, but pulled it off, holding her soulmark out to him. “Fair is fair.”

Steve stared at the letters for a long time, realization slowly filling his eyes. The name on her wrist was none other than James Buchannan Barnes. “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you until all the dust settled, but it just settled, so…” She shrugged, putting the cuff back on. “I’ll figure out how to tell him, too, if he doesn’t know already.”

“Buck’s mark was grayed out back then. We thought…well, we didn’t know what it meant.” Steve said, shaking his head. It was the reason Bucky had dated around so much back then. He’d figured if he just found someone else, his mark would change and he wouldn’t have to be alone. Never could he have guessed what it actually meant, that his soulmate wouldn’t be born for another forty or so years. “And then he lost his arm…”

“Yeah, that part I did know.” She smirked. “Well, I’ll keep an eye on her. Let you know if she says anything you need to hear.”

“She probably thinks my soulmate is dead, too. Everyone else does.”

“Ironic.”

“No kidding.” Steve sighed, gazing longingly through the window.

“We’ll get you through it, Steve. You’ve waited seventy years. Six months is nothing.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna sit with her for a while. I don’t want her to wake up alone.”

He slinked back into the infirmary and sat in the chair beside your bed, watching your steady breaths and listening to the beeping of the heart monitor. Natasha watched him through the window, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. Nevertheless, she was glad they had talked. At least now, they could be there for each other.

Vol. 2 Here

Tags: @cap-lu20

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers soulmate au #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #marvel #mcu #avengers

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dxndjxrin · 9 months

Text

Seventeen, Performance Unit: how they’d eat you out

Hello I’m back with another set for this little :) been a minute, but I’m getting back in my writing groove. If you enjoyed, pls check out my AO3 linked in my masterlist, and the other versions of this series <3

Vocal unit ver.

NSFW under the cut. 18+ only!!

Hoshi: buckle in and get ready for the ride of your life. Soonyoung IS gonna worship the ground you walk on, therefore he IS worshiping your pussy. He’s not stopping if you just cum once (unless you want to ofc), but it’s a whole ordeal and he loves it like that. When he can have some uninterrupted time with you, he wants to really focus on you because he just loves you so fucking much (and is also obsessed with seeing you cum). Honestly sometimes you have to check in on him to see if he’s still down to earth, man gets lost in the sauce but he lives for it.

Jun: y’all see that clip from his drama where he’s like “I’m hungry, but I don’t want breakfast, I want to eat.” That’s what he’s gonna do. Man is a pussy eating fiend. It’s messy, he has to hold your hips down to keep you from writhing everywhere, and he just gets into this trance of you. Your scent and taste, the noises you make. Jun’s obsessed w/eating u out, one of his favorite things to do. At this point he can sense when you want it too. He sees you get antsy, touchy with him, squeezing your thighs together and he’ll just put a gentle hand on your thigh to part them and say “oh baby, all u have to do is ask.”

Minghao: bro is elegant, majestic, and somehow he eats pussy like it too? He likes to warm you up for it though. Starts just by touching and touching and kissing, and finally when you have your clothes off and you think he’s gonna just dive in, no. He’s got patience too, he’ll go as slow as he damn pleases to just watch you lose your mind over him. He knows you like his hands too, so they’ll wander; his fingers will play with your clit a little if he takes a second to talk to you, they’ll grab at your chest, waist, hips, anywhere, which just increases the stimulation and the way he’s got you drowning in him.

Dino: Dear Channie is so eager to please. The first few times he’s not all that experienced, and although you assure him that you still enjoyed it, he is DETERMINED to get better and make you lose your mind. He gets competitive with himself kinda; he listens to all of your queues and anything you verbally tell him as well. He even asks Soonyoung (a little embarrassingly) for any tips but his hyung is MORE than happy to provide his wealth of knowledge. Once he puts that to practice, and you react oh so well, he gets confident. When he gets confident, he starts to get mouthy with you. “Oh, you liked that didn’t you? There you go sweet baby.” Like DAMN.

Divider by @cafekitsune

#dxndjxrin original <3 #seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt performance unit #hoshi #hoshi smut #jun #jun smut #minghao #the8 #Minghao smut #the8 smut #dino #dino smut #my post

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leonsleftbicep · 5 days

Text

Bake Me Back To Eden

Chapter: I

Ao3 Version

Word Count: 1,375

tags: Bakery AU, Modern Setting AU, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Vessel/II/III are dating, IV doesn't know them… yet!, Trans II, Nonbinary Vessel, Genderfluid III, They/Them Pronouns for III, It/Its and They/Them Pronouns for Vessel, Vessel and III are very creature they deserve creature pronouns

Summary: IV runs a bakery called Ivy Sprigs Bakery & Records, The Echo's work along with him. II, III, and Vessel are customers that don't yet know IV. yet! -- this is being cross posted on here and Ao3. alt names that are more "human" are used at times for the vessels, but i try my hardest to keep up with the numerical names for parts that are not being spoken verbally. The echo's or the esparas have made up names as well for i do not know their actual names and don't really want to use their actual names.

the alt names i will be using for each vessel and espara is listed below. please keep in mind that these names are fake and not anyone's actual names.

Vessel: Verna II: lii III: Thea IV: Ivy Espera/Echo 1: Evaline Espera/Echo 2: Erie Espera/Echo 3: Elanor

---

Ivy Sprig Bakery and Records. A newer place that opened up just a walk away from Vessel’s house. It was II’s idea to check out the bakery, after the couple of times he bought coffee there on his way to work. He thought it was time to show them this cute little hobbit hole of a bakery.

III was apprehensive about all of this, not knowing if they would like anything. Vessel was just nervous in general. Vess hates going out in public, everyone stares at them because of its height. II might be the only one not nervous, for the main reason that he knew there was a certain person he had a feeling that would change their minds.

The three of them walking through an alleyway while II led the way. “ii are you gonna kill us or something, this is shady.” III says unnerved by this as they hold Vessel's hand. “where almost there, you know i'm not a big fan of main roads for numerous reasons” II smiles as he walks, taking a turn that leads to the front of Ivy Sprigs. “Here we are” II exclaimed as the two taller beings look at this lovely little bakery, with a dark cottage core almost witchy vibe to it. “I call dibs on the records!” III calls out before they run into the cafe. Both II and Vessel giggle as they hold hands and walk into the bakery.

they find III already scouring the records for old albums from a band they enjoy. III does squeak and bounce around when they find a limited edition color variant of a record.

“I'll go get coffee, while you watch him” II speaks softly to Vessel as he gets up on his tippy toes just to kiss Vessel's cheek. Which makes the taller blush and hum in agreement.

II making his way to the cafe/bakery section of the shop, he knew III and Vess would be on their way soon after III found their records. II gets in line and soon feels the presence of his two tall lovers, which calms his paranoia.

III’s jaw drops to the floor all of a sudden. II just chuckles when he feels Vessel also fluster, just by the way they are clutching onto II’s shoulder. “I told you guys I would change your minds” II say with a grin as he also checks out the person they are collectively looking at.

The person in question is a lovely brunette with grays at his temples and widows peak, thin wire oval glasses low on his nose as he smiles and talks to customers. ‘Ivy’ was the name on his apron, which if they all thought right he was the owner. II had met the man a couple of times, though never really had a super meaningful conversation with him.

“How can i help you lads today?” IV asks as he looks between all three of them. Smiling when he sees II “oh it you Lii!” IV expels like he was surprised. “Its II, i just say Lii for simplicity” II nods, knowing a lot of people find his name odd.

Ivy types out something on his ordering tablet, “i'm guessing the usual black eye” ivy smiles. II hums in confirmation, “and anything those two would like?” IV asks as he gestures to III and Vessel. “They are your partners, right? you mentioned a Vessel or Verna? And some one you called Red?” Ivy asks as he pulls out cups and starts to write down II’s name on it.

“Black coffee, please” Vessel says with a slight shake to its voice before they just whisper to II what they want. “And a blueberry scone” II adds on, wanting to make sure vessel got all it wanted. “And what's your name sweetheart” IV ask’s vessel so he can write down the name on their cup. Vessel at first flusters at the pet name being used so smoothly. “Vess- no, put down Verna” Vessel says with a soft smile, which makes II squeeze its arm gently in congratulations.

III smiles when IV turns to ask what they want, “what do you recommend..” III looks at IV’s name tag “..Ivy?” they finish with a smirk. IV just smiles “i fear I- it might be too sweet for you” he tries to flirt back.

II kicks III in the ankle “OW!”. this sight makes IV laugh and snort, which amazes all of them. “goodness. okay, too answer your question Red” IV say with a big grin “my favorites the cafe miel, coffee wise. but tea wise, i usually go with a london fog” IV responds as he plays with his pen “your pick though”.

III leans against the counter as they think, “I'll try the cafe miel” they say “as long as it's, as sweet as you” III purrs. “oh jesus christ” Vessel whispers “this is the same thing they did to me when we first met” Vessel tells II.

IV just snorts and writes it down “what's your name?” he asks with a soft expression “unless you just want me to write down Red?”. III shakes their head “put down Thea, but you can call me III.. or whatever you want” III chuckles. “III you are horrible at being subtle” II groans and crosses his arms as Vessel rests its chin on his head.

IV gets pulled away from the cashregister by evaline so she can discuss something with him. III just watches that and then giggles and turns to II and Vessel “i'm not trying to be subtle, i'm trying to get closer” III admits.

II’s eyes widen “you just met him, Thea!” II yelps. “I feel like that's what you said to yourself when you met me, Lii” III counters, being a smart ass.

Vessel takes a deep breath “ok my loves, can we not get into a tift at the moment. Both of you need coffee, and some food” Vessel says as it takes their partners hands. Both III and II take a deep breath.

“I'm going to finish ordering, you take III to look at the records. Try and find me something please” II mutters as he pulls away so he can finish the order with Elanor as vessel and III walk off to cool down.

After coffee and some food II and III hold hands as they feel normal now. “Sorry that i was rude” III apologizes. “I accept your apology. But you aren't wrong, there was a reason that Vessel was the one to start dating you first before I did. And it was because I felt it was too soon” II explains, even if this might be odd to discuss in the middle of a bakery.

IV walks over after finishing up what he needed to with evaline. “Sorry I had to walk away, evidently someone wants an ambrosia salad style cake for their wedding.” IV laughs as he takes off his apron and pulls up his sleeves to expose his forearms. Which the three men gawk at, seeing the ivy tattoos wrap around his wrists and up.

“So can I get you three anything before you head out?” IV asks with a soft expression that makes his eyes look more blue then they were before.

“Some ivycakes” III blurts out as their face reddens. “I've never heard of that, we do have angel food cake though!” IV responds obviously.

II clears his throat and chimes in, “we are good, we are just about to go purchase those records Thea picked out and then head off home.” II excuses.

“Well, come back soon. it was great to finally meet your partners, they are very sweet” Ivy says as he makes eye contact with III. which II notices, and so does Vessel by the way it grabs II’s waist and squeezes gently.

After they pay for the records and walk out the bakery, Vessel finally speaks about its experience. “I like Ivy, he has pretty eyes. I wonder if he's single” Vessel smiles as all three of them walk together.

“The ivycakes thing was about his ass… i asked for a slice of his ass” III explains.

Both II and Vessel look over at III in surprise.

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itsgrimeytime · 7 months

Text

Magnolia in May (Part Sixteen) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @belaballs @curlycarley @queenie32 @mgparker

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: drama, crying, blood, injury, death mention, dueling mention, gun violence mention, unconscious mention, head injury, and marriage mention.

[[A/N: This gif has been under my radar for a while girlies. Epitome of this Rick Grimes on god. Y'all wanted some of Rick's thoughts, I present to you this creatively framed chapter. Love this so much, ly guys <333. Thanks for reading!!! ]]

Because -if you were to believe your eyes- Mr. Grimes held to his chest a deadly still, what you assumed to be, Mr. Walsh.

"Oh my god," you spoke, rather displaced -voice shaking and hands just the same, "-Mr. Grimes."

He startled, blue eyes flickering to you -unexpected, frantically tracing your features in the candlelight, "Ms. Greene? What are you-"

"Oh my lord," your Father interrupted, gathered by your side -voice rather serious, "-Richard, is he...?"

"No," he pulled his eyes from you, following your father as he was ushered inside, "-no. He's just unconscious. I... I knocked 'im unconscious."

"Okay, okay," Father spoke rather seriously, directing him, "-place him on the couch, I need to check him over. Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"Tend to Mr. Grimes's wounds, will ya?" he continued, "-I believe I taught you such things, yes?"

"You have," you answered -confident, "-well."

"Good," Father responded, before turning to the man, who now stood awkwardly by the couch -blue eyes kept dashing to him, "-Mr. Grimes, sit in the loveseat and allow her to care for you, please. I'm afraid I cannot tend to you both."

"'Course," he hummed -slowly, leaning into the chair, "-I trust her with my life, sir."

Lord, you were going to kill him.

"Do not speak of such things lightly," you criticized, leaning into his space -you scanned over his face, lit by your own candle now. (One of the ones scattered along the room for the evening.)

Just as you saw before he had a rather surface cut along his cheekbone -light but still enough to clean up, he seemed to breathe out a moment before responding.

"I apologize," he spoke -tired and perhaps a little off, "-I know not to treat such things as inconsequential to you."

"Good," you raised an eyebrow, slightly confused -this cut was not what you had expected, "-these. These wounds are not that of a gun. Did you not... Did you not duel?"

"It was intended," he spoke, rather breathlessly -eyes only portraying guilt, like he was asking for forgiveness, "-but I would not raise my gun."

"What? At a duel?"

He laughed, sort of airy -your eyes drifted to the wound on his head you tended to, "I found it to be ungentlemanly."

"That's ridiculous," you responded, quick with frustration, with anger "-what if he was to shoot you? What if he was to kill you with a shot?"

"He didn't," he spoke -almost as if he was reassuring you, "-I'm rather fortunate to know the man well enough that he wouldn't shoot me instantly."

"Instantly?" you countered, leaning back to match his eyes, "-Was he...?"

"Eventually, he held the gun up," Mr. Grimes recalled -eyes pulled from you and a sort of gloom held over the blue, "-I suppose I should've been scared, but I was close enough to move such a weapon to my advantage."

"You... You knocked him unconscious."

"Yes," he responded, eyes back on your own, reverent, "-I... Ever since you visited my estate, I couldn't... I couldn't think straight, I couldn't allow such a tiny thing to lose you."

Oh, you realized, such a heavy look -heavy with emotion, was for you. For you. He viewed you as divine as if you were the only being in his world.

"Mr. Grimes..."

"And upon arriving all I could think about was you and the children... I-" he seemed to center himself, before setting his gaze resolutely on yours, "-I could not do it. I could not... I couldn't lose you all. You must understand-"

"Mr. Grimes-"

"I did it for you," he continued, "-I took your word as a guide. You must know what such affections mean."

"Mr. Grimes, please," you breathed out, a slow cautious breath -betrayed by the tears in your eyes and the smile that ran across your lips, "-we will discuss such things later, yes? When you aren't bleeding?"

"Why?" he hummed, teasingly, "-Is such a settin' not romantic?"

"Mr. Grimes-" you retorted with a smile pulling at your lips -anxiety silenced for a mere second. It didn't last long.

"Alright," your Father interrupted, standing to his feet (from where he kneeled by the couch), "-I thoroughly believe Mr. Walsh to be stable. Such a wound will surely not be easy to deal with, but not impossible."

"So," you stood to attention at your Father's tone, "-he is to be alright?"

"For tonight," he addressed the room really, "-in the morning I shall bring him to the clinic. Early enough that maybe gossip won't arise, hopefully."

"Thank you, Dr. Greene," Mr. Grimes responded, a deep sorrow of noise of genuine emotion.

"My dear," your Father suddenly turned to you -pointedly, "-would you head to bed? I shall tend to his wounds myself from here."

You couldn't help yourself, "And he's alright then? He's not going to-"

"Ms. Greene," he soothed, "-I'm alright. Please, on my part, get some rest."

You merely shifted for a moment, eyes darting between the pair rather quickly. You weren't sure if you should believe them, but something tugged at your eyes -exhaustion, and you knew your father to be a terrific doctor. If there were any hands you'd trust to care for him, it would be his.

"Okay," you breathed out, "-okay, just. If something were to happen-"

"I would wake you up," Father spoke, thoughtfully, "-I know my track record is not one of good prospects, but I wish you to know I would tell you if things didn't stand well."

"Alright," you echoed out, slow and careful, "-thank you, Father. And Mr. Grimes-"

"Stay alive," he interrupted, eyes still heavy on your frame, "-I know, I will. I await the morning anxiously."

Something in you relaxed at his words, your shoulders slumping and your eyes rather heavy. Nightgown flowing in the space, you wiped at your eyes -much like a toddler would. You supposed suddenly you looked rather improper, perhaps maybe even childish. He had seen you in your nightgown-

"Goodnight," you spoke, rather rushed, and gathered yourself up the stairs -quick movements to hide the crimson rushing up your cheeks.

You suppose you hadn't really thought about just what they would talk about. And just how much it involved you.

"Dr. Greene," Mr. Grimes's voice echoed through the halls -you startled in your step, "-if you don't mind, there's something I'd like to discuss."

Father laughed, a sort of chuckle, despite the heavy sort of tension in your room, "Eager, are you not?"

"The most I believe I've ever been," Mr. Grimes spoke, earnestly.

You sunk to your feet against the wall -almost on instinct, and your heart bloomed in your chest. With a range of emotions bubbling, you felt suddenly rather speechless; you knew you should go to bed. It was rather rude to eavesdrop, you could practically hear the Headmistress now.

As if on cue, a door scraped open. You stilled as if the movement would showcase your improper behavior; instead, you realized it to be your room. Well, you and your sisters' room, you should clarify. On instinct, your hand flew to your mouth -shushing the figure cloaked in a rather eerie darkness.

Beth, you realized, as her figure was revealed in the swipe of a candle, blonde curls rather untamed but still even upon waking she remained beautiful. You could hardly speak for yourself.

She understood quickly, slinking to the wall beside you -her body warmth welcome in the rather thin nightgown you wore in the night. Beth gathered close to your side, whispering light and airy -barely a hiss along her lips.

"What's hap-"

Another voice interrupted her, one from downstairs: your Father.

"My apologies, Mr. Grimes," he spoke, "-such wounds will not be kind to clean. But, I await such a conversation eagerly."

"Your daughter," he responded, a sort of breathless tone, "-you must be well aware of my intentions. Despite... Despite everything."

"What of Mrs. Lori?" Father echoed, tone drawn rather seriously, "-You are technically married, are you not?"

Beth stilled by your side, bright blue eyes widening with a sort of shock you hadn't seen in some time, "Should you be listening to such a conversation?"

"I already am," you responded pointedly -you were sure she understood such a dilemma, "-and I'm not leaving now."

"Not..." Mr. Grimes echoed, "-Not technically. Upon her first departure, I fully intended to send her such paperwork. She merely didn't sign it. Until..."

"Until?"

"The day of her return, she..." he continued, rather in disbelief, "-she spoke to Ms. Greene, and asked me of my intentions with herself. She seemed as though if I had any, she was going to convince me otherwise."

Father seemed to pause for a moment, digesting, "She signed them then, after... after meeting her."

"'She loves you, you know,'" Mr. Grimes seemed to quote, before laughing in a sort of disbelief, "-and she told me of their conversation. And I... I was suddenly confronted with a life without her."

Your breath halted in your chest, tears gathering behind your eyes. Beth noticed, and in the dark, she intertwined her fingers with yours -leaning her head upon your shoulder.

"I..." Father sighed, "-I apologize for the confusion, it was a call I should've disputed. I just, it seemed the best for the time."

"I understand, Dr. Greene," he echoed, tone rather a happy sort of infliction, "-it's all much forgiven. I could 'ave no such problem with her family, and if Judith... if she was in such a situation, I'm not sure I'd act any different."

"So," your Father sighed, heavily as if a burden was lifted, "-you truly love her."

"Beyond comprehension," Mr. Grimes said -wistfully.

You wiped at your eyes, as Beth carefully squeezed your hand -despite that you heard such a sniffle on her part. She stood strong for you.

"And you wish to, what?" Father echoed, it was a tone you only heard when he spoke of work -serious and direct, "-Court her? Ask for her hand?"

Your breath slinked through your teeth, held in your chest like a balloon ready to pop. A sort of tension slinking over yourself, a wonderous sort of emotion bubbling in your throat, but you held it back -remaining silent.

"Both, eventually," he responded, "-but I find my courting has been entirely lacking as it stands, so I'd like to start there. If you wish me to."

Father was silent, and your heartbeats felt so loud that your ribcage shook -so loud that it felt that such a noise would give you away. Beth stilled herself, her head laid upon your shoulder entirely static, and her breaths suddenly regarded as indefinite.

"You must speak to the Headmistress in the morning, but-" Father tilted, a sort of mixed tone shaking with his words -bittersweet, "-I believe your intentions are pure, and I'd be happy to support my daughter's happiness... Which you so obviously are a part of."

"Dr. Greene-"

Your heartbeat was so frequent in your chest then, as a sob slipped from your lips, covered with your hand and lips upturned into a smile. Beth was in the same sort of boat, grabbing your hand tightly, blue eyes matching yours with a sort of spark that made your heart leap in a way of excitement.

"He wishes to marry me, truly," you echoed -light.

"Mr. Grimes, you have my permission," he reiterated, a little choked up, "-fully. I know fully well you're capable of giving her the happiness she so desires."

"He wants to marry me," you repeated, as a giggle slipped through your lips, "-to court me and wed me."

"You must promise, though," Father continued, "-such issues should be solved promptly now. I wish no longer to see her cry, especially at your own hand."

"I promise," Mr. Grimes responded, so devoted it was as if he was reciting a prayer, "-I promise."

Hands over your heart, you let out a long breath -flushed cheeks and heart beating out of your chest. Beth matched your composure, her blue eyes watery, and mouth covered by her hand.

Within the next few seconds, she wrapped you into a hug -warm and soft, just as she was, "Congratulations, sister."

Congratulations, indeed.

Even the scream of Headmistress, early the next morning upon seeing Mr. Grimes lying on her couch without explanation, couldn't bring your brain from the high it had reached.

#rick grimes #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #twd #twd rick #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes oneshot #magnolia in may

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tksfandomhellhole · 2 months

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Apparently the outer wilds fandom is somewhat popping on tumblr, so I figured I'd offer something of actual substance to you all: A Pre-Canon OWV Founders fic, with heavy inspirations from Elwensa's designs on their dynamics.

Summary: In which everything that could go wrong during a routine trip into space does, and it takes all of them to fix it.

Characters: Feldspar, Hornfels, Gossan, Slate

Tags/Warnings: POV Third Person/POV Alternating, Near Death Experiences, and of course plenty of crashes and explosions

[AO3 Version Here]

Hornfels and Gossan sat idly in the makeshift ground control room that currently doubled as Outer Wilds Ventures' Observatory.

"Observatory" was a bit of a stretch, as it was mostly just the cobbled together bits and bobs that made up the ground control room plus a telescope Hornfels had just managed to upgrade. The program was still in it's pilot phase–Gossan rolled their eyes whenever anyone said that, which is why Feldspar made it a point to bring it up whenever they could–but in due time, they knew the program would only grow.

They'd already managed to land successfully on the Attlerock and a few of the other planets even, and had planned to start work on some sort of space outpost once Slate was finished with the latest ship.

Whenever Slate was questioned on the progress of said ship however, they'd bark that "It'd help if someone didn't waste so much of my time with constant repairs on their ship."

Today was a routine space trip to Brittle Hollow, and they were waiting for Feldspar to report back that they'd made it back to their ship and they were heading back home.

"Feldspar to ground control, do you copy?"

"We copy, Feldspar!" Hornfels chirped cheerily, happy to hear back from them so soon.

"About to take this death trap Slate calls a ship off this death trap of a planet we call Brittle Hollow, I've gotten all I need from it today. ETA five minutes."

Gossan sighs, inaudible in the background, and Hornfels has to stifle a chuckle. "Sure thing, Feldspar, did you want me to pass your comments onto Slate when we tell them to clear the launchpad?"

Feldspar clears their throat nervously, "Uhh, that won't be necessary ground control, I might need to stay in their good graces today..." they trailed off, and Hornfels exchanges a knowing smirk with Gossan, the telltale sign that Feldspar had managed to break something critical again.

"Uh-huhhh," Hornfels draws out, "And you're sure you can make it back to Timber Hearth in one piece?"

Feldspar scoffs "What me? I could fly this thing in my sleep. You think I can't make it back without the nav systems?... and the lights... and the landing gear..." Their voice trails off uncertainly. "Please don't tell Slate before I get there." They whisper, as if afraid rattling off the damages done had already summoned them.

Hornfels and Gossan laugh heartily at their friend's expense, Hornfels wiping an imaginary tear from their eye before responding, "Well, just do your best not to break off anything else on your way back, and you might be able to escape Slate's wrath."

"Aye-aye ground control, liftoff has already been achieved. There won't be a single other scratch on the ship if I can h–Oh crap-!"

The sound of Feldspar's panicked shout is quickly overtaken by a horrible crashing noise, as metal, wood, and glass splinters and shatters over the line.

For a heartstopping moment Gossan and Hornfels are frozen, eyes wide in fear.

"Feldspar?! Feldspar come in!" Hornfels shrieks into the radio, already frantically trying to orient the telescope towards their last known location. They wait with bated breath for Feldspar's response, to no avail.

A sharp intake of breath from Hornfels draws Gossan's attention, "Hornfels, what do you see, where are they?!"

"Th-They're hurtling away from Brittle Hollow into space!" Hornfels says, looking up from the telescope to check the readings from the pilot monitor, "Vitals are low–Feldspar might not be conscious!"

Gossan grips their arm so tightly it'll bruise later. "How many minutes of oxygen did they have left?!"

"S-Seven I-I think, but they might've punctured their suit and could be losing oxygen at a faster rate!"

"Stars above–" Gossan is already tripping over their own feet as they run out the observatory door. "SLATE! SLAAATE!"

Slate jolts from where they're at, hitting their head on the underside of the ship they were working on. Rubbing their head, they lift the welding helmet from their face. "Gossan? What's the big–"

Gossan yanks Slate out from under the ship, shoving them unceremoniously to the side as they hop in. "I need to get to Feldspar," they shout, "They're running out of oxygen!" Gossan is already slamming the hatch closed and their helmet on, sliding into the suit faster than they've ever managed, even in a race against Feldspar.

Slate is up now, and has stumbled a few feet away from the launchpad, but there's an unmistakeable frenzy to their movements, as they wave their arms desperately for Gossan's attention, trying their hardest to yell over the din of the engines already firing up.

"Gossan, wait! That ship isn't space-ready yet! It won't last past the–"

Gossan gives a quick two-fingered salute, uncaring of Slate's panic, and launches into the sky.

Slate books it into the observatory just as Gossan clears the atmosphere, "Hornfels, what the hell just happened?!"

Hornfels doesn't look up from where they're frantically readjusting the telescope. "It's Feldspar, their ship collided with one of the meteors from Hollow's Lantern, and it looks like they just barely managed to eject, but now they're drifting out into space, completely unresponsive!"

Slate is already gripping both sides of their head, tugging painfully at their ears, "Hornfels we need visual on Gossan! That ship they took isn't going to last much longer!"

"I'm trying, I'm trying!" Hornfels responds, voice shrill.

Gossan was well aware the structural integrity of the ship was deteoriating fast. It seemed that trip through the atmosphere had already put more force than it could handle on the poor unreinforced parts, and the ship groaned and creaked as Gossan coaxed every last bit of power out of it. They were still too far away from Feldspar, their best friend still just a blip on the horizon. Just a little more!

The lights in the cockpit start flashing a headache inducing red just as several ear-piercing alarms went off in tandem, and Gossan clicks their tongue in frustration. So much for the hope that they could retrieve Feldspar in the ship.

They double check their EVA suit and oxygen, making sure everything is tightly sealed, and grab their jetpack and repair tools. They couldnt fit the medkit, so they'd have to worry about injuries after they landed safely.

...If they made it back safely.

They're just about to open the emergency hatch and go careening into space themself, before they notice the console.

Slate had added an updated graphic to the newer models it seems, to indicate what parts were broken.

Gossan hated to admit it, but Slate could be a genius sometimes, not that they had time now to really appreciate the usefulness of their pal's latest experimental feature.

Because right now they were just putting it together that the shrill piercing alarm was indicative of a reactor failure.

Gossan is pretty sure Slate said that one's bad–well they were all bad, but Slate had said that one in particular meant "start praying and be prepared to get your ass kicked when you get back"–so they could only panic as the invisible timer continued to count down.

"I have visual!" Hornfels declared, triumphantly, before they were shoved out of the way by Slate.

That was definitely the reactor alarm flashing.

Gossan wasn't going to make it out of the blast radius in time unless–

Slate flipped the frequency switch to Gossan's suit radio so fast it almost snapped off.

"GOSSAN, USE THE AUTOPILOT!"

At the sound of Slate's voice screeching in their ears, Gossan was spurred into action, just managing to find the autopilot controls.

They lock onto the furthest celestial body, and smash the button, jumping out the hatch and engaging their jetpack with a speed they hadn't known possible, watching as the autopilot took the ticking time bomb of a ship further away from them until–

The ship explodes, several pieces flying off into space in all different directions, and Gossan raises their arm instinctively to shield their face from any straggling parts. Thankfully none seem to pelt them as they reorient themself towards where they'd last saw Feldspar.

"Gossan, do you copy?!" Hornfels seemed to have wrestled control of the mic back from Slate, and had taken over again on ground control.

"I copy, Hornfels! Approaching on Feldspar's position now!"

"Good, they still haven't stirred, so you might have to do all the heavylifting on this one!" Hornfels tries to joke, nervously. They were already doing the calculations in their head, and they didn't want to admit that there was a high chance the fuel and oxygen Gossan had on hand wouldn't last the distance between them and Timber Hearth.

Gossan smiles a little despite themself, "Me picking up Feldspar's slack? What's new, Hornfels?"

They fall back into a tense silence as they approach on Feldspar's limp form, hooking an arm around them and trying to stabilize both of theirs velocity.

"I made it to Feldspar, Hornfels!" Gossan reports, giving Feldspar a visual inspection. The side of their face was bleeding sluggishly, and they looked pained even in their unconsciousness. But it looked like their ship had managed to take the brunt of the damage, as their helmet was still intact, and they could only find minor suit tears along Feldspar's frame, where glass and wood had embedded themselves.

Gossan breathes a sigh of relief, "Somehow their visor stayed intact, but they're definitely out cold and I think I'll need to repair some suit punctures!" They inform, grabbing the suit repair tape from their pockets.

"Thank stars, Gossan that's great! Could you get a look at the oxygen tank on their back when you're done, what's it say?"

Gossan finishes removing some glass and wrapping the tape around some punctures along Feldspar's leg, and orbits around their friend, making one last inspection, before turning to the tank on their friend's back. They frown at the display. "Only four minutes, Hornfels..."

There's an audible intake of air on the otherside. Four minutes of air between there and Timber Hearth would run an incredible risk of running out before they even made it into its orbit.

Gossan looks at Feldspar's face, pained and lifeless, and makes an executive decision they know Feldspar is never going to let them hear the end of.

"Hornfels, I'm gonna swap our oxygen supplies, I can't risk Feldspar running out of oxygen before we make it back!"

"But, Gossan...!" Hornfels swallows the rest of their protest, knowing exactly why Gossan is making that choice.

Feldspar was a foolhardy explorer, an incredible astronaut–and just about the sickest hatchling as a child. Their lungs were weaker than everyone else's, and they'd spent so much time in their youth bedridden from their lungs' refusal to work properly.

But that same sick little hatchling had always dreamed of going to the stars, and well, who were they to stop them?

"...Okay. Be careful, Gossan!"

There's a breathless moment as Gossan detaches the hose from their suit and oxygen supply first, swapping it out for the one connected to Feldspar's suit, before scrambling to take Feldspar's oxygen tank off their back and attaching their hose to it instead.

There's a gasp as air fills their lungs again, and Gossan gives a shaky, "I'm g-good," in response to Hornfels query of "Is everything alright?"

Hornfels and Gossan let out twin sighs of relief as Gossan hooks an arm under Feldspar's shoulder and around their waist.

"Alright I'm heading towards the Attlerock, I'm going to try to re-enter Timber Hearth's orbit from there!"

"Ok, but hurry back, Gossan. I think even Slate was holding their breath back there for a moment."

There's an indignant "Hey!" in the background, and Gossan smiles a little once more, "Things must look pretty dire if even Slate's worried, huh?" They remark.

"As if! The only thing I'm worried about is that I won't be able to properly chew the two of you out for this when you get back if Feldspar's not awake!"

Gossan smirks, as the body of the Attlerock slowly approaches, "Well, maybe if you made the jetpacks easier to maneuver with only one free hand you'd have a better chance, Slate."

"Hey, you were the one who wanted 8 axes of movement rather than four! How do you think I managed to implement the other four? But... your suggestion is noted." And Gossan can almost see the abashed look on Slate's face, as they realize they're basically admitting they're worried.

Hornfels continues to track the pair's flight with worry, the timer in their head ticking down far too fast in comparison to their slowed speed. Feldspar was slowing Gossan down too much...!

"Slate, I don't think they're going to make it in time, they're not moving fast enough!" Hornfels whispered urgently, and if Gossan heard it they didn't comment.

Slate's eyes widen at this, voice caught in their throat as they search for a response. What could they even say? What could they even do? The two of them weren't pilots and Slate didn't have any other tech to help them, not after Gossan flew off in their only remaining protot–

Wait, maybe not their only remaining prototype...

Sure they could go get it from their workshop but-!

Slate is NOT a pilot. Their domain was rocket science-ing, not rocket piloting.

"Gossan only has two minutes of oxygen left, they're not gonna make it to the Attlerock before that runs out, Slate!" Hornfels' grip on the telescope was so tight the metal was beginning to creak.

Ohh, Slate was so killing those two when they got back!

"Keep talking to them! We need to keep Gossan focused!" Slate directs, startling Hornfels when they grab a helmet off the table.

"Slate, where are you–?!" What did Slate need with the improved pilot helmet they had both been working on?

"Keep talking!" Slate reiterates as they run out, putting the helmet on their head.

Gossan heard the one minute warning on their oxygen go off, and swallowed anxiously. The Attlerock was still a ways away, and no matter how they shifted Feldspar they couldn't seem to make this thing go any faster.

The air was already starting to feel thinner, their vision starting to darken around the edges.

"Gossan, stay focused! You're almost there!" Hornfels pleaded, but it was beginning to sound so distant.

They had been moving with such urgency, but now they floated gently as they approached the Attlerock, getting too lightheaded to keep their facts straight.

They finally manage to enter the orbit of the Attlerock, and land none too gracefully on the barren surface.

They need to stand up, need to drag their friend to- to...

Where were they going?

They couldn't remember, but they needed to. They needed to keep moving, needed to remember what they were doing before they...

Before what?

And actually why did they need to keep moving? They'd already made it to solid ground. That had been the goal, hadn't it?

They could relax now, surely, they think, sitting down heavily, pulling their friend onto their lap.

A nap couldn't hurt.

Their eyes slip closed, arm locked around their companion and they start to drift off.

But there's this annoying buzzing sound, like a fly zipping around their ears, and they blearily blink them back open in annoyance. Why were there flies in space?

Well if they focused, it sounded more like a crackling, like a fire or a radio maybe.

They get the vague sense that that might be important, so they try to make out the sounds better. It's slow going, but they can definitely recognize someone shouting now. Kinda strange though, it almost sounded like–

"–GOSSAN, SO HELP ME STARS, IF YOU TOOK MY LATEST PROTOTYPE AND BLEW IT UP IN SPACE JUST TO DIE ON THE ATTLEROCK I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!"

With no small amount of effort, Gossan stands, dragging Feldspar up with them, barely managing to loop an arm around their waist. The world is spinning, and they can hardly keep their eyes open.

With one final jump they press down on the accelerator just managing to clear the Attlerock's orbit, Feldspar in tow.

They feel more than they see that they're floating inbetween the Attlerock and Timber Hearth's orbits, and using their last moments of lucidity, they angle themself and Feldspar towards Timber Hearth, before pressing on the control stick one last time, curling Feldspar closer into them.

They don't even see if they made it into orbit before the world fades away below them.

With a burst of water, Slate's feet leave the ground just as Hornfels screams that they're both going to crash and die on impact.

Slate isn't a pilot–and they pray their feet never have to leave the ground again after this–but with nothing but a helmet and their prototype jetpack on they use the initial burst from the geyser to launch towards the rapidly descending streak across the sky.

They jerk and veer all over the place, as the handling is much much looser on their prototype, and Slate thinks that they're either going to be flattened into a fishcake by the end of this or save their friends, and quite possibly both, as they bear down on them, but there's no time to think about it only do–!

Slate spreads their arms wide and braces for impact, intercepting the pair just moments before they'd have connected with the ground.

All three of them go sailing another 40 feet as they crash, eventually tumbling to a halt just at the edge of a patch of forest.

It takes a few minutes for Slate to open their eyes against the ringing in their ears, and everything hurts, but they're intact and back on solid ground in one piece, which hopefully means–

They stand up so fast they get dizzy, stumbling to where Gossan and Feldspar lay a few feet away.

"...SSAN, FELDSPAR, SLATE DOES ANYONE COPY?! ARE YOU GUYS STILL ALIVE?!" Slate winces at the sound of Hornfels shouting over the comms in utter hysteria, rubbing at their head before they respond.

"Hornfels, it's me, I'm with Gossan and Feldspar, we crash landed some...some direction I can't really tell right now from the village... I haven't checked on them yet, they might need medical attention!"

"Slate?! Ohh... Oh.. Thank stars...THANK YOU STARS!" And Slate thinks they hear sobbing on the other end before Hornfels finishes, "I-I'll start heading your way with assistance!"

With that sorted, Slate switches the helmet off, dropping onto their knees next to Feldspar and Gossan's prone forms.

Slate snatches their helmets off, listening as the suits depressurize, shaking them both vigorously by the shoulders. "Feldspar, Gossan, wake up!"

Surprisingly, it's Feldspar who stirs first, groaning loudly, eyes blinking opening slowly one pair at a time. Pupils are different sizes, Slate notes, so yep that's definitely a concussion, but–

"Feldspar, you're alive!" Slate launches into a hug just as they sit up, before Feldspar can even make sense of what's what or who's who.

"Whu...haah?" Feldspar mumbles incoherently, but Slate just hugs them tighter, like they might disappear if they let go.

Eventually Slate thinks better of it, removing themself from Feldspar and clearing their throat, just as the sounds of Gossan stirring reaches their ears.

"Gossan!" Slate turns back to them now, shaking them a little, "Y-you did it! Wake up!"

Gossan makes a noise of protest against the movements, but eventually they blink their eyes open, sitting up straight, rubbing at their face. "Slate?" Gossan asks, confused, before they remember–

"FELDSPAR?!" they shout, and upon seeing their friend sitting up, launches into a hug of their own.

Feldspar grunts at the impact, but manages to brace themself this time, looking a little more alert now even as they fumble their words. "'M sorry, Gossan..."

Gossan doesn't respond, sniffling loudly into their shoulder, and Feldspar knows they're going to be in worse trouble than they thought after this.

"Oh gee, we're so sorry, Slate for getting your only remaining ships wrecked, including your super cool new experimental ship, and also thank you for saving us from our own stupid deaths, can you ever find it in your heart to forgive us?" Slate snarks, when they've decided the pair has had enough time together.

"Slate?" Feldspar asks, as if only noticing them for the first time now, "What's with the get-up?"

Feldspar and Gossan both seem to notice it at the same time, gasping in shock.

Slate removes the helmet, striding over to them and bending down to angrily push an accusatory finger in their chest, "Well after you wrecked your ship again, Gossan went and took MY, as in I-haven't-even-finished-building-this-one-yet-so-it-was-still-mine, ship into space to save you from becoming a floating corpse! But oh wait, that's kind of hard to do when YOU BOTH NO LONGER HAVE A SHIP, so of course I had to do the one thing I never EVER want to have to do again, to keep you guys from becoming fish paste!"

"Slate, did you–"

"YOU FLEW?!"

Slate slips the prototype jetpack off their shoulders, legs trembling as the adrenaline leaks out, before their legs drop out from under them entirely, Gossan just barely managing to catch them by the shoulders. Slate leans heavily into the touch now, too tired to put up a facade. "And if you ever make me do it again, I'm grounding you for life." They mumble into Gossan's shoulder.

Gossan yelps as Slate suddenly goes limp against them, exchanging an incredulous glance with Feldspar.

"Poor guy must've crashed," Feldspar says, "You know how much they hate space flight."

There's a beat of silence, before Feldspar and Gossan burst out into laughter at the absurdity of it all.

They'd actually survived...

Feldspar's laughter tapers off with a sharp inhale, "Stars, I'm actually getting lightheaded again." They say, hand rising to clutch the side of their head that wasn't sticky with blood with a grimace.

"Let's just wait for Hornfels to show up." Gossan agrees, patting the grass next to them as they shift Slate to be draped more comfortably across their lap.

Feldspar slots into place at their side, laying down in the grass.

Seems no one would be flying for awhile... they'd really have to make it up to Slate for this one. Hell, Gossan and Hornfels too.

But as Gossan's hand wraps around theirs, giving it a comforting squeeze, Feldspar thinks maybe it's okay they'll all be grounded for a little while.

#outer wilds #outer wilds ventures #fanfic #my writing #feldspar #gossan #slate #hornfels

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trying414 · 2 months

Text

Opening Line Patterns

I was tagged by @hamsteriffic who knows I can't back out of this shit and takes advantage of it 🤣

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (or however many you have) posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

Disclaimer: I am only doing 10. I have like...over 50 on ao3, if I remember correctly. Might be 54?

Update: Just checked. It's 55.

Starting with most recent and working backwards.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54263350

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54122218

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54120739

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53962846

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53857636

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53727919

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53684290

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53408350

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53045695

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51707740

(If those don't line up right, blame tumblr for not wanting to accept my formatting on a post when I can do it on a page with no issue 🙄)

(It also gave me a 10 image limit on mobile so good thing my laptop was open for the last one🤣)

(Oh, and the pictures should link to the fics the quotes are from 🥰)

Update: they do link, just not on mobile. Only the desktop version 🙄 I'll add them in as text later

Update 2: DONE

What a pain in the ass 🙄🙄🙄 (I'm still on mobile, if that explains anything)

(OH, ALSO PLEASE IGNORE THE CREEPYASS FUCKING EMOJI. IT'S SAMSUNG ONEUI6'S FAULT)

Tagging (with no pressure) @queenkaiju @writer-rider-dirty-thirties @boldlyanxious @izanae @littlemourningstar and anyone else who wants to participate!

#tag games #trying414 #trying414writes #trying414 writes #trying414's writing #trying414fanfics

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wynnyfryd · 6 months

Note

re: the ask where another anon said they felt the fandom dying

hi! i watched the entire show for the first time about 2 weeks ago (at the ripe age of 19, sue me) and ohhhhhh my god. oh my GOD. im obsessed and this is the first fandom ive ever been interested that wasnt totally dead and im SO glad there are authors and artists active and making things!! im probably abt to binge read all of your stuff after reading the trailer park au (which i adore btw. please tell me there will be more.) idk what the fandom was like before, but i just started writing my first steddie fic and im so happy theres a community that seems nice and fairly active <33

YOU PRECIOUS LITTLE BEAN THIS IS SO CHARMING I’M SO CHARMED.

ahem.

if you’ll allow me to be one of those annoying old people having a crisis about the passage of time for a hot second, this message just got me thinking about the 14yo version of me who was first discovering fandom and fanfic on ff.net, and what a fucking revelation that was to a lonely bookish young dweeb. to realize that you could just… add? whatever you want?? any story you love, you can just take it and make it your own personal barbie doll and no one can tell you what not to do??? incredible. absolutely delightful. and you’re so much closer to that girl than i am now on the timeline and i’m- i’m—! 😭😭

i’m being so aggressively 30 about this lmao i’m sorry. local woman is spoken to by a youth and has an all lowercase meltdown about it. more at 9.

anyway, welcome. there’s definitely a thriving group of clever, passionate, and talented creators in this fandom; honestly there are too many writers and artists i admire on this site to even begin to name them all, but here’s a couple you can check out to start (my blog is also full of art and fic recs, and you can find some fantastic writers through the @steddiemicrofic challenge): @aidaronan @thefreakandthehair @palmviolet @eddywoww @maikaartwork @inklessletter @cranberrymoons @bpillustrated

(to answer your question, yes, there will be more of the trailer park au. current plan is to write a new part each day until i have enough for a chapter, then publish the chapter on ao3; rinse and repeat through the end of nanowrimo and see where that gets me. so far i’m finding it a lot easier to stay focused on a single continuous story when i write in little daily snack bites like this, but we’ll see how the rest of the experiment goes 🤷‍♀️ i’m having fun with the story for now, so that’s really all that matters.)

…jesus christ, i wrote you a novella my absolute bad

- wynn 🦇

#steddie #steddie recs #steddiemicrofic #steve harrington #eddie munson #lovely people being lovely #my asks

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justhere4thevibez · 8 months

Note

Ooh, for the smut prompt!

Chrissy has a sexy daydream about Eddie in study hall, not realising that he's watching her getting herself all hot and bothered.

ETA: here's an extended version I just put on ao3! Please check it out!

this was SO FUN. turned out more suggestive than true smut (also over a thousand words?! wtf), but I hope you enjoy!

She hadn’t meant to stare, honest. But study hall was boring, and she’d already finished her math homework for today, and the only interesting thing to look at was Eddie Munson.

The thing was, Eddie moved. Whether it was tapping fingers or shuffling feet or a bobbing head, some part of Eddie was constantly in motion. Which was maybe why her gaze kept falling right back to him.

Right now, he was furiously scribbling something in his notebook—something that was probably definitely not homework. She’d never seen that much passion in him for anything school-related, and (though she’d rather die than admit it out loud) she’d seen him a lot.

She wasn’t a stalker, she just… liked looking at him. She liked his frazzled curls and his calloused fingers and his deep, hypnotic brown eyes. But at this particular moment, she was most entranced by his mouth.

Eddie mumbled to himself silently, his lips moving in time with the furious strokes of his pencil, and then… oh, good lord, he put the eraser in his mouth.

Her cheeks heated, and she tried to look away, she really did. Chrissy was a good girl with a good boyfriend and a good reputation, and if anybody caught her staring at the school freak, her life would be over. But she just couldn’t help following the way he tapped the eraser against his teeth, or how he wrapped his tongue around the end of it, stuck in deep contemplation. She’d heard the rumors about what Eddie could do with his tongue, how he could make a girl scream and beg and ruin a pair of sheets without even breaking a sweat. Were those rumors true? Would she ever get the chance to find out for herself?

Chrissy squirmed in her seat a little, heat flooding her. If Jason was paying attention to her right now…

But he wasn’t, of course. He never did, not unless there was something he could gain by it. Eddie, though, he’d pay attention to her, wouldn’t he? Those kind brown eyes of his would see past her good girl façade in a moment. He’d take one look at her and know exactly what she was thinking—what she wanted.

You don’t have to be a good girl for me, he’d say in his soft, deep voice, the one he’d used that time she’d chickened out on buying drugs from him. I could make you be so bad, Chrissy.

She shifted in her chair just enough to get her foot under herself. It wouldn’t be enough, but it was something to press against. Just a little bit of relief for her aching clit.

He’d take her by the hand, maybe bend her over one of the desks, and then he’d feast on her until she was crying, until her voice gave out. Maybe he’d use his fingers, too, thrusting deep into her pussy to prepare her for his cock. Maybe his rings would hurt, a little. Maybe she’d like it.

She shifted against the heel of her shoe, just a gentle grind as she drifted in a daydream about Eddie’s cock and hands and mouth. A mouth that suddenly twisted up in a teasing, knowing smile.

Chrissy froze, only her eyes moving as she glanced up, up… and he was staring. At her. With those warm, terrifying eyes that saw everything.

She clenched her jaw, dropping her gaze to her blank notebook and praying that he hadn’t seen her filthy thoughts written all over her face. The throb in her gut was worse now, but she couldn’t do anything about it. She couldn’t risk him seeing, knowing.

She jumped as something clattered to the ground next to her, and she looked down to find Eddie’s pencil, teeth marks and all, right next to her desk. Oh no. She sucked in a breath as he crouched down next to her shoe, his movements slower than usual as he gathered his pencil.

“Do I have something on my face, Cunningham?” he murmured, so quiet only she could hear.

“No,” she whispered back.

“So, why’re you staring?”

“I’m not—I wasn’t—”

He grazed her ankle bone with one finger, the lightest ghost of a touch that sent a shiver up her spine.

“Sure you weren’t, princess,” he murmured as he stood.

He slouched back to his seat, and she kept her eyes resolutely on her desk long enough to be sure he wasn’t still watching her. But when she peeked up through her lashes, she caught his eye immediately. Slowly, deliberately, he licked his lips, and the pulse that rocketed from her clit nearly made her groan. He didn’t know. He didn’t know. He didn’t—

A note landed on her desk, making her flinch. She spent a good thirty seconds ignoring it before finally unfolding the gracelessly twisted sheet.

If you want to not-do something about all the not-staring, keep your pretty ass in that seat after class.

Her heart in her mouth, she snuck one more glance Eddie’s way. He raised an eyebrow lazily and shrugged, seeming to say, up to you now, princess.

She wouldn’t do it. She was a good girl with a good boyfriend and a good reputation, and no one, not even Eddie Munson, could make her swerve from that path.

The bell rang, jolting her out of her thoughts, and she hurriedly packed up her stuff. She should go. She had history next, and who knew if Mrs. Johnson would start off with a pop quiz. Her grades didn’t have much leeway, not with graduation just a month out and more than a few B’s dogging her steps. She should go.

But her feet wouldn’t move. Not when the other students filed by her desk talking and laughing, not when the door slammed behind the last of them. Not until a heavy, ring-laden hand settled on her desk mere millimeters from her own and she heard that low, soft voice from her daydreams that made her stomach clench and her toes curl.

“You want something, princess?”

send me smutty prompts

#vibez answers #hellcheer #eddie x chrissy #ficlet #smut #smutty ficlet

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codfanficedits · 7 months

Text

One fucking mistake - Full version - Ending one.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader - She/her pronouns being used - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!OC

Summary: Simon lost you after making a mistake on a mission.

Wordcount: 11784 | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: cussing, swearing, grieving, angst with no comfort, conversation, mentioning of memoryloss, therapist, depression (and the nasty kind), funeral.

A/N: Full version of the fic. Read this one if you don't love yourself. I made a different ending too.

I didn't proofread and English isn't my native tongue, so please let me know if there are mistakes.

AO3 Link ~ Full version ending two.

One fucking mistake.

Another sip of whiskey when he tries to drown out the memories of that mission.

Another sip of whiskey while he tries to forget his own screams when he lost you.

When he finishes his glass of whiskey he wants to raise his arm to order another one. A large hand on his arms stops him.

“You’ve had enough, Simon.”

Captain fucking Price.

Price’s hand grabs a handful of Simon’s hair. “Get a fucking grip on yourself, Simon.” His voice is a low hiss, almost intimidating. “That’s a fucking order.”

A stare off starts, Simon doesn’t want to back down, no, Simon wants someone to be punished for losing you. And Price refuses to be that person.

“I get that you’re grieving.” Price starts.

“Oh do you now?”

“Simon.” A soft sigh follows Price’s lips. ��I do, but this is not the way to deal with this.”

It is a quiet, but tense ride back to base. Neither of the men want to break the silence.

Eventually Price bites the bullet.

“We’re worried about you, Simon.” He begins. “I am worried about you.”

“I don’t need your worries or your care.” Simon spat back, all he wanted was you back.

“You need something. Something we can’t give you.”

“What are you implying?”

“Simon.” It’s a soft sigh. “Maybe it would be for the best if you took some time off, yeah?”

No. Simon had already lost the person he cared most about, he couldn’t stand losing his job too, even if it was temporarily.

“Not a chance.”

“But, Simon I thi-“

“I said not a chance.”

“You’re praying again?” Soap eventually mutters. “How raw are your knees?”

“Fuck off!” Simon snaps at him.

Soap can only shake his head. “I don’t think you’re truly mean.” He answers. “You have sad eyes.”

And with those words Simon is left alone again. His whole life smelled like you, and it would take time. Undoing you from his blood.

He crawls to his bed, on his knees, tears streaming down his face when he is once again reminded that you’re not here with him.

The feelings of guilt and grief have started to feel so familiar that is has become comforting enough to fall asleep.

“Simon.” Price starts.

“Ghost.” He corrects.

“I’m sorry.” Price clears his throat. “Ghost. We’re going back to that mission whe-“

“Why.” His voice is sharp.

“We’re going to search for a body.”

“No.” His answer was short.

“It has been three weeks.”

“I don’t care!” Simon slams his fist on the table to power up his words.

“We’re going and you can either join us or stay here.” Price gives him the choice.

But he couldn’t let the other find you. It would be a betrayal towards you, he had sworn to protect you, he had already failed at that, the least he could do was bring your body home himself.

“I’m coming.”

His teammates look up, slightly confused, all of them had expected him to stay on base.

“Are you sure?” Soap breaks the silence.

“Do I have to repeat myself, sergeant?”

“Of course not Lieutenant.”

He doesn’t even register his teammates getting up and leaving the debriefing room.

“A word.” The stern voice of his captain snaps him out of it.

“What.”

“You can’t go on like this, Simon.”

“Ghost.”

“No. I’m talking to you as Simon.” Price answers. “I’ll allow you to go on this mission, as I understand how important it is to you, but after we’re back.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m your captain and you listen to me.”

“Yes captain.”

No, no, no. Simon felt as if he deserved exactly what he was given, after all, he had been the one to drag you along on that mission.

“If you say so.”

“Now, go prepare yourself. I can imagine it is going to be tough to get back there.”

Oh it was. Just the mere idea of going back to the place where he lost you was enough for Simon to get his stomach to churn. But he needed to go, he owed it to you, he owed it to himself.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

If only he could go back in time. But he can’t, instead he has to walk to the same chopper that flew the both of you to a mission, but only brought him back.

He closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the chopper, after he has taken a seat, begging the universe to let him wake up from this horrible nightmare.

He can’t accept your fate, because it isn’t fair. It wasn’t fair and it never, ever will be fair.

Right now you’re still Missing In Action, and right now he still has the chance to have you again.

It is quiet when the chopper touches the ground, no one dares to get up first. No one wants to be the person to bring the bad news.

Price eventually decides that it is up to him. He is Simon’s captain after all, he was your captain after all. His eyes scan the area in front of him.

God, let you sit on that piece of rubble.

But you’re not, of course you’re not, and Price feel stupid for even allowing himself to have this bit of hope.

“Let’s go look for a body.” An order from his low voice.

It feels as if his legs are going to give out when he sees the area covered in rubble, dirt and pieces of the building you’d been in.

He needs to hold on to something, something to keep him steady while his body wants to shut down as his mind begins to flood again with the memories.

A flash grenade.

He remembers. He remembers. He remembers. He remembers.

“Ghost.” Price calls out from the field.

“You might want to see this.”

But Simon doesn’t want to see this, because he knows that this can’t be good news. Simon knows from the tone and voice of his captain that if they have found you, you’re not alive.

You’re not coming home with him.

They were yours.

Of course they were yours. He recognized them from afar, his vision getting blurry from the tears when he looked at the shiny metal. His mind was racing and he couldn’t think.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t think.

The leather on his gloves is strong, but not as strong as his love for you and it doesn’t take long for his blood to stain the broken pieces of building he was touching. He had to find you.

You had to come home to him, you just had to.

He can feel a hand on his shoulder but Simon ignores it. He just needs a little longer, he just needs a few more minutes.

“Simon.” The low bass in Price’s voice makes it impossible to ignore him. “We need to go back.”

“No.”

“It’s an order.”

“We have to go back.” Price usually doesn’t repeat himself, but he’ll make an exception, just his once.

Simon gets up from his knees, knowing that if he leaves now, he has to accept your fate, his fate, the fate of the relationship the two of you had.

“But.” Simon tries to protest.

“Don’t.” Price sighs. “It won’t get easier over time. Rip off the bandage, boy.”

Simon holds out his hand, wanting to hold your dog tags. The only thing he is bringing home today.

Simon, Price, Soap, Gaz, they all know this can’t go on any longer, they all know this is breaking Simon, the infamous Ghost crumbling down at the loss of his beloved.

“A word.” Price doesn’t waste any time when they’re back to base.

“I know.” Simon sounds defeated as he follows him into an empty briefing room.

“This can’t go on like this, Simon.”

“I know, just.” Simon doesn’t want to talk, but he has to. “Just let me stay on base until the funeral is over.”

An empty casket.

“Of course.” Price finally answers. “But I want you to go to therapy when you’re on leave.”

Therapy. Simon finds it a filthy word. Because therapy would mean that something is wrong with him, and the only thing wrong is your death.

“I promise.” You would’ve wanted it for him.

Price had never expected Simon to agree so quickly, but he is glad Simon doesn’t put up much of a fight, although it worries him slightly.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Price warns him.

A faint smile forms on Simons lips. “The dumbest thing I ever did was bringi-“

“Stop.” Another order from Price. “You’re beating yourself up.”

“But it is my fault!”

But his love for you is still inside of him, and he carries you wherever he goes.

Simon looks down at the paper before him, the little speech he wrote to honour you, but he can’t read it through his tears, so he has to speak the words from his heart.

“Since you happened, I’ve never been the same.” Off to a great start.

A sob interrupts his speech.

“I don’t know what to say to you, except that it tore the heart out of my body saying goodbye to you.”

Someone hugs him, but he is too far gone to even register it. Those same arms, same hands guide him to his seat, and his mind is empty when he listens to the rest of the wake.

71 days, and your voice is a mere memory, it sounds different on the video’s he has from you, and he is ashamed that he can’t remember the real sound anymore.

A waste of space, a waste of oxygen, a waste of everything. A pathetic excuse of a human being.

“Simon.” The voice of his therapist snaps him out of it. “Are you okay? I’ve been talking to you for minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He grumbles.

His therapist clears her throat. “Well, our time is up. Is there anything you’d like to discuss before we call it quits?”

“No.”

“Alright, see you again next week then, same time.”

With a scoff he gets up from the chair, ready to go home to embrace the darkness of his bed again.

The days are starting to look the same, they melt together in a blur of grief.

He frowns when he gets called in by someone else than his usual therapist, but he goes in anyway.

“Where is she?” He asks bluntly as he goes to sit down in the same comfortable chair he always sit in.

“Who?”

“My usual therapist.”

The woman in front of him frowns. “She didn’t feel as if she was booking process with you, so she asked me to take over. Didn’t she tell you?”

Simon can only shrug, truth be told, he never paid enough attention to even remember anything from those sessions. “Could be.”

Her lips press together until they are a faint line and Simon can tell he doesn’t like her one bit.

“Let me introduce myself.” She continues. “My name is Sarah, and I’m…” He zones out within seconds, pushing her voice to the background.

“Simon!” She has a fucking sharp voice.

“What.”

“I’m talking to you.”

Simon raises an eyebrow, this is the first time a therapist has been this direct to him. “Right.” He mumbles. “Continue.”

“Did you get anything I just said?” Sarah asks him.

“Well, your name is Sarah, and..” His voice dies out. “That’s all.” He adds with a sheepish tone.

“Why are you here, Simon?” She asks him, as she holds the clipboard to her chest.

Because my captain asked me to.

But he stays silent, just shrugging as she asks him that question.

“Do you even want to be here?”

Simon frowns at the second question, of course he doesn’t want to be here. “No.”

“Then why bother coming anyway?”

“Because..” His voice his hoarse.

Because, because, because.

God not here, not now.

But Sarah doesn’t react, she doesn’t try to talk him out of it, instead she just lets it happen, observing how he handles it.

His hands pressing against his temples. He doesn’t want to think about you, about leaving you, he doesn’t want to be confronted by his mistake.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

He loves you, so why is he forgetting it? Why is your face becoming a blur. Why is your voice different in every memory.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

The panic dies out after a few deep breaths, guilt popping up like the mushrooms do around autumn.

“Why are you here, Simon?” Sarah repeats the question.

“Because I can’t live like this anymore.”

“Like what?”

“Why can’t you be bothered to actually live, Simon?”

For fuck sakes, he hates how many questions she is asking, he hates how it forces him to think about things he doesn’t want to think about, things he has crammed away in the shadows of his mind.

“Because I don’t deserve it!” His voice is louder than he wanted it to be, but part of him hopes it scares her off, that it makes her stop asking questions.

But it doesn’t, Sarah doesn’t bat an eye.

“Why do you feel as if you don’t deserve to live?”

Because you didn’t get to live.

Sarah stays silent, and the silence causes his words to float in the air.

“She said yes herself, right?” Sarah eventually says. “Why are you holding yourself accountable for that?”

“Because she said no the first time. And I bribed her with doing the dishes.” He spat out.

God he hated how Sarah would let his answers linger in the air, it meant he had to think, think about what happened, think about his answers, think about how actions, how it affected everything.

How he would never give himself peace.

“Because I know that she would’ve been alive if it wasn’t for me.” A tiny voice for a big soldier.

“You can’t change what happened, Simon.”

Of course he can’t! Fuck, it annoys him. “I know.” He grits his teeth.

“Do you think she would want you to live like this?”

Fuck, a cold sensation running over him, his stomach feels as if it is doing summersaults.

That same feeling in his chest again, he presses his eyes shut.

The image of that fucking flash grenade sticking out of the debris again. Haunting him, taunting him.

As the tightness in his chest gets worse, he can’t stop the hot tears falling down.

Fucking weak.

“Simon.”

“Simon?”

“Simon!”

Sarah’s voice brings him back to reality, but not just enough, flashbacks running through his mind while he tries to feel the fabric of the chair under his fingertips.

“Tell me what is happening, Simon.”

Short, quick breaths, the tightening in his chest becoming worse, and worse.

“Simon? Tell me what you’re seeing, right now.”

“The mission.” He mutters.

Silence again. He hates how Sarah lets him struggle with his emotions, his feelings, and he wants his old therapist back, whatshername, who would fill up the silence so he wouldn’t have to.

“I keep replaying the mission in my head.” Simon adds.

“Tell me.” Sarah commands. “Walk me through what is happening.”

“It always starts the same.” He begins. “Always.”

“How does it start?”

“Stop.” Sarah says. “Put the film on hold, and tell me what you see.”

“I see her, the sun high on the sky, a smile on her face, not a worry in her eyes. And then I spot the flash grenade. And I want to warn her, but it’s too late.” Simons starts.

“Okay.” No it’s not okay.

“Can you put yourself in the image?”

“What?”

“Put yourself in the situation, standing alongside yourself and her.”

Silence again.

“Can you do it, Simon?”

“Yeah.” He mutters, feeling awkward, but he can, standing next to himself and next to you.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to her?”

His heart starts to race again. Yes, yes, yes! There are so many things he would like to say to you, so many things that he wants you to hear, but that will never reach you.

“I. I. I want to tell that I’m so, so sorry.” He begins. “I want to say that I should’ve listened to her, that if I could do it all over again, I would do it differently.”

He holds back a sob.

“Can you hug her?”

Simon finally opens his eyes again. “God.” He breathes.

“How does that feel?” Sarah asks.

“Better.” He admits.

“Good.” Is that a smile on her lips?

“Are you going to be able to handle being alone?” Sarah breaks the silence.

He wants to live again.

243 days.

He treats life as if he had died and had begged God for a second chance, taking in every detail of the beauty of life.

Simon even went back to work, not to his full extend yet, that is a little too much, just yet. But he is getting there, and he hopes that you’re proud of him.

The grieving has become easier over time, and with it came a little bit of guilt, for the longest time it felt like he was forgetting you.

A smile breaks out on his face when he spots here, a little wave following quick.

“There you are!” Happiness in his voice.

“Yeah, sorry I’m late.” You were never late.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad you’re here.” She kisses him on his cheek after those words.

His eyes soften when he smiles at her, it was like a tug at his heart strings that he had long ago thought were cut.

“Going back to the taskforce.” Simon eventually says.

That piques her interest. “For long?”

“Nah, it’s for a birthday party.” Simon shrugs.

“So,” Simon clears his throat. “It’s Soap’s birthday, and we’re celebrating tomorrow evening.”

“And I know we haven’t been dating for long, but maybe, maybe you’d like to come?”

A deep breath. No reaction.

“Yes.” Sophie smiles while she talks. “Yes, I would like that. I’ve heard a lot about them, can’t wait to finally meet them.”

A smile tugs around his lips. “Good, good.”

“So, I’ll pick you up around 7ish, and I’ll drive us to base. Just wear something casual, they’re soldiers, so don’t expect anything too fancy.”

Even after 243 days he can’t help but feeling like a traitor, inviting another woman to the base the two of you used to serve at.

Sophie smiles at him, her worries melting away at his relaxed demeanour.

“8ish.” She repeats. “I’ll make sure to be casually dressed.” She presses a kiss on his cheek again. “I have to get back to my work, but it was nice to see you in my lunchbreak.”

Simon lets out a sigh when he is all alone in the coffeeshop again. Oh how life went different than he had hoped, but he was content. His eyes take in the scenery once more.

You would have loved it here.

She kissed him when she entered his car. It was endearing to him, all feelings of guilt being pushed to the side when his lips touched hers.

“It can be quite rowdy on base.” Simon warned her.

“That’s okay.” She said with a faint smile.

“Good, good.” He muttered.

A soft squeeze on his knee, and a smile formed on his lips.

He shouldn’t. But he was.

A deep breath emerged from his lips when he parked the car on the base, taking in the atmosphere.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Ready.” She nodded.

When he exited the car, he took in his base, the memories of you flooding in again. Sophies hand in his shook him out of it, and he smiled at her.

He let in the commotion, the rowdy, loud cheering happening all around.

“Simon!” Price calling out over the parking lot. “We have something you should see.”

244 days.

And you fell for it. How could you not? After all, he promised you he’d do the dishes, and you hated doing the dishes.

A gasp. “I’ll let you even wash the food dish of the cat.”

“Lovie, we don’t have a cat.” His voice sounds amused.

“Nuh uh, I’ve been feeding the strays that live just outside the base.” You protest.

“Fine, fine, fine.” It isn’t even a real protest, Simon would do anything to make you happy.

“AND.” Your voice sounds happy, as if you just got the best idea ever known to man. “You have to wear an apron.”

“An apron?”

“Yeah, I still have a pink one.”

“Fine.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, but I’m wearing nothing underneath it.” Simon snickers.

“Deal!”

“And, you can only look but you can’t touch.” He adds.

“But that’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, lovie.”

Life indeed wasn’t fair.

Another loud noise, and you realise that a grenade must’ve gone off when you’re getting covered by debris.

Who are you? And why are you here?

What is a life worth if you can’t remember it?

With every little dot you could connect to your former, came an explanation to the people around you, with a lot of gestures, and some drawing, you could get your point across.

But you just remember his voice, and not his name.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

Fuck.

Simon.

Oh you finally remember.

And never had you imagined how easy it would be to go back to your old life. You’d learn that you would be considered missing and killed in action for more than eight months now.

Eight months. You had missed 244 days of Simon’s life, and he had missed those days in yours.

Just like you can feel the dread seep into your bones when you see him, holding another woman’s hand.

Simon is perplexed when he sees you, letting go off Sophie’s hand the moment his mind registers it’s you.

Fuck, it’s you. Memories flooding over him while he takes a step towards you, the people around him becoming a blur when he can only focus on you. His hands reach for your face, trying to imprint your face with his fingertips, trying to feel if you’re actually real and not a figment of his imagination. And you can’t help but look up at him in awe, his large warm hands on your face, his fingertips caressing every little detail of your face, the warmth you have been craving ever since remember. Your body filling with this warmth, the love you feel for him washing over you, your eyes locking with his.

But his eyes are different.

They used to be so full of love whenever he looked at you, and now? Now they’re empty, and you don’t understand why. He looks over his shoulder, looking at the girl that was holding his hands just moments ago, and you can see that love, but it fades whenever his gaze lands on you again. And it hurts, it hurts more than any injury could’ve hurt you, it hurts more than anything you’ve ever experienced and right now, it feels as if nothing will hurt like this.

And Simon feels it too. He feels that empty feeling when he looks at you. You are different than he remembers, and truth be told, he liked the version in his memory than the version of you standing in front of him, and Simon doesn’t understand why, he doesn’t understand why he has been mourning you when he feels nothing when he looks at you again.

The silence between the two of you is starting to get awkward, and you can feel it, the girl behind him feels it, everyone around the two of you feels it.

“You’re back.” You’ve heard him be more enthusiastic over a goddamn McDonalds order.

“I am.” Stating the obvious here.

Your eyes shift to the woman behind him, and you can see why he likes her, although she is clearly uncomfortable, she looks nice, sweet, kind. She seems too polished to be a soldier, and you do not recognize her at all, and you’re worried you’re still missing parts of your memory. Simon can see you dig while he stare at Sophie and he clears his throat.

“This.” He sighs. “This is Sophie.”

Sophie.

“Oh.” It stays quiet again. And while you were used to being quiet -after all, there was nothing more that warmed your heart than sitting on the couch with Simon, not needing to say a word- but this was different. This wasn’t the type of silence to pop up whenever you were content, this was the type of silence because your stomach is filled with a knot and his chest is being pressed together by a variety of emotions, while you both dance around the elephant in the room.

“She is my girlfriend.”

Those words alone are enough to make you feel like you are about to vomit. His girlfriend. His fucking girlfriend. Your eyes shift to her again, and while you do feel bad for her, Sophie never asked for any of this, you can’t help but feel the inner whirlwind of emotions, you can’t help but feel betrayed by the man who was supposed to love till the end of times.

“Your girlfriend?” You repeat after him.

“Yes.” His tone turns cold when he sees the different emotions flash over his face. Just as cold when the two of you first met.

“But.. we..” You struggle to get your words out, you struggle to find the words you want to say to him. Worried you might’ve lost a memory where the two of you broke up, but no matter how deep you dig, you can’t seem to find it.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Dead?”

“Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.” Simon can’t help but feel some hostility towards you, feeling ashamed that he mourned so hard over you, while he feels nothing when he looks at you right now. You weren’t like he remembered you, and he doesn’t know who to blame.

“I moved on.” He finally sighs. And those words hurt you, part of you wants to get angry, angry at him for moving on, angry at yourself for not allowing him to move on, angry at the universe for playing this cruel trick on you.

“I see.”

“Don’t go playing the victim here.” His tongue is sharp. “You always said you wanted me to move on.” And he was right, in the beginning of your relationship the both of you were very aware that one of you could leave this earth during a mission, and the both of you agreed that they wanted to other to move on. But now that it had happened, you could help but hate those words, to hate that promise.

“I’m sorry.” He takes a step back when he mutters those words.

And he doesn’t even know if he is sorry or not. You were a closed chapter in his life, he had grieved over you, mourned you, and then he could finally move on. The pain isn’t raw anymore, instead the wound is fully healed, and now that the bandage is ripped off, it became clear that you didn’t even leave a scar on him.

“I’m sorry too.”

Simon gives you a quick nod before he looks at Sophie again, you can see his gaze soften, you can see the little lines around his eyes when he holds back a smile when he looks at her. And she returns that look, the love in her eyes is clear as day whenever their eyes meet, and you realise this is how he used to look at you, but there is something more to it. While his love for you had always been enough, his love for her is more. She had been there when he had mourned, when he had grieved and she had been there when he had grown so much as a person.

You know the best thing to do is to let him go, there is no use in trying to mend what doesn’t belong to you anymore, but by God does it hurt.

Simon knows it too, he knows that whatever was written in the stars, wasn’t meant for the two of you. He gives you a quick nod again. “I hope life will treat you well.” A soft whisper before he turns to Sophie again, holding out his hand for her to take. “Let’s go.”

Simon turns to look at Soap, who has been watching this all unfold. “Happy birthday man.”

And you can do nothing as you watch the man who once loved you so dearly, walk away as if you meant nothing to him anymore, and you can’t help but wish that you didn’t remember.

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