“I don’t drink beer, Gavin. If you had paid attention, you would have known that. Just as you would have known that your name – “
“Shut up, Sherlock!”
“Why is he so agitated, John?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Sherlock. Maybe because you can’t remember his name.”
“He is the one who – “
“Fine. Whatever. Let’s just pretend we never had this conversation, shall we?”
“Impossible, John.”
“Why?”
“I never delete any conversation you are partaking in.”
“Now, you’re just taking the piss, Sherlock.”
“Am not.”
“Fine, then. Tell me what I asked you this morning before I left for work.”
“You asked me to buy milk and eggs.”
“Oh, my God!”
“What? You did.”
“I am aware, Sherlock!”
“So?”
“So, why did I come home to a fridge utterly void of milk and eggs?”
“Because I never went out. If memory serves, I did not acquiesce to procure these items.”
“Christ. Hurry up with my pint, Greg, before I strangle this one!”
“You are so morbid, John.”
“Yeah, wonder where that comes from.”
“Certainly not from fraternising with Giles.”
***
“Why do you have a problem with Greg’s name, love?”
“Who?”
“Sherlock!”
“What is it, John?”
“God, I can’t believe this. You are the most stubborn and mad person I have ever met.”
“Nothing new about that statement, John.”
“Okay. Honest question: Can you delete information completely?”
“Of course, I can.”
“And what criteria is required for deletion to be possible?”
“Oh, it depends, but mostly it has to do with dull and unimportant things that take up precious space in my Mind Palace. It is not an infinite storage room, mind you. I have explained this to you earlier.”
“Alright. But you said that you never delete any conversation I participate in.”
“True. The relevance being?”
“Well, how flattering that may be, my darling, I don’t believe that each of those conversations are worth preserving.”
“Bite your tongue, John!”
“You are adorable when you get affronted on my behalf, you know.”
“I’m warning you, John!”
***
“Can you just say my name like a normal person, Sherlock?”
“Since when do you consider me normal, George?”
“God Almighty, you are hopeless!”
“Yes, you have mention that. For the seventy-eighth time, in fact.”
“You keep count?”
“Of course.”
“But learning my name is too difficult for you? I thought you were a genius.”
“I am. Hence why you call me so often.”
“Right. Well, at least you know my surname. I guess that will have to suffice.”
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[#FFF364 Say My Name]
This prompt has been brought to you by someone who wishes to remain anonymous; thank you very much! Names are such a big part of our self, our identity. It's not a coincidence that they hold so much power in many magical realms! Tell us about what it means to your character if someone says their name. Is it validating? Revealing? Binding? Is the name spoken with love or hatred? Fear or happiness? Whatever a name means to you, we want to know all about it, so go and get writing NOW!
A/n: This is my entry for @flashfictionfridayofficial weekly entry. This week the prompt is Say My Name. Divider by @firefly-graphics . I took a break from my fluffy Bucky series I'm writing to hurt him a little 😥
Warnings: Descriptions of nightmares and subsequently PTSD, death mentioned, general angst, tiniest bit of fluff if you squint really hard, like one bad word.
Bucky wasn't a stranger to violence, it had been woven into his DNA; the parts of him deactivated mocked by that which would never leave.
During the day he could manage, mostly, Steve giving him a true north to point his compass. Nighttime was different, sleep a magnetic pole force that sent him spinning through the depths of himself.
The streetlights teased him, casting warm shadows in a way that seemed to allude to what lay before him. Sleep meant a journey, to the innermost corners of his mind, monsters locked up in the daylight set free to roam places so dark even shadows refused to show themselves.
He called it Karma, to himself mostly. He told Steve once, a heavily redacted version of the truth. Steve, in an attempt to reassure him, promised it wasn’t his fault, just residual trauma. But Bucky knew this wasn’t something that could be fixed, something that had blame placed elsewhere. It was his, personally curated over the course of decades. One doesn’t get to just hang it up and walk away.
He tries his best not to sleep, refuses to if Steve isn’t home. Once, he went eight days without sleep when a mission went bad and Steve got stuck in Europe. One day longer and he was going to catch a flight, the ticket window opened on his phone when Steve called and said he was coming home.
They were never the same when they called, the nightmares. For you see that would create routine, routine allowing preparation. He had the pleasure of being dropped, unannounced, into the very depths of hell without so much as a hint.
They were always bad.
Tonight was worse.
Cold. Snow crunching on his boots as he steadies himself, attempts to stand. It’s loud, echoing in his ears against the otherworldly silence.
He attempts to gain his bearings, the only light is in the distance, something smouldering, embers scattered across what seems to be a clearing.
Was he in the forest?
There were no trees he could see, only black above him, white below, the red embers snaking their way across what he assumes is the horizon.
Were they moving?
A blink, another, and it confirms that the embers were indeed moving, racing in fact towards him with a supernatural speed. The snow remains untouched in their wake, unexplainably virgin white.
He moves to run, but finds himself stuck, unable to as much as turn to look behind him.
There’s no need, too focused on what lies ahead. He stills, a low hum now seems to accompany the glow.
It grows upon approach, still at a good distance, but he gets chills at the recognition, understanding filling him with white hot dread.
It wasn’t a hum.
It’s screams.
Another attempt to flee does nothing, condemned yet again to await his fate.
The embers have turned to flames now, blue violet in intensity, lapping at the ground, racing towards him with a hunger like they hadn’t been fed in ages.
Heat licks at his neck, the screams growing with the flames, deafening him as they approach.
Instinctively he moves to cover his ears, but they're glued to his sides.
His ability to blink goes next, and he’s left to face the full version of fury.
Finally encompassed, the flames refuse to take him, set him free to what awaits, instead holding him there for their next play of hand.
The once constant drone of scream becomes distinguishable, transgression laid out one by one.
He recognizes every single voice.
“Please, I have a daughter!”
“He killed my family!”
“He’s not worth saving.”
“I don’t want to die.”
It’s hours, or years, seconds or decades, but Bucky’s voice is hoarse, raspy and broken from repenting.
The fire still refuses to burn, penance denied.
“I’m sorry it wasn’t me, I never had a choice! It wasn’t me… It wasn’t meeeee”
Release.
A gasp, a swing, two arms holding him against a warm chest.
“It wasn't me…” he murmurs still, unwilling to open his eyes, afraid it’s a cruel trick.
“Baby, you’re safe, you’re in bed, I’m here.”
“I… it, fire, fuck.”
Steve runs his hands through damp hair before placing a gentle kiss on the top of his head.
“You’re home now, look at me, come back to me.”
A shake comes, face still buried, afraid to tempt the fates.
“It’s ok, I’ve got you. Where are you?
“Home.” It’s weak, a tremble threatens to end him.
“That’s right, and who am I?”
Bucky shifts, just enough to look up and meet the familiar eyes awaiting him.
“Say my name.”
“Steve.”
It’s said like a man who’s drowning, the name a lifeline, a rescue. He manages to sit up, a weak smile on his face at the worried look Steve wears.
Special thanks to @homeagainrose for asking about FFF and lighting the spark that got this written!
He wasn’t quite sure when he noticed that she only said his name when she was referring to him in conversation with other people. She once had told Raiko (something like), “You’re thinking of Mako. He’s one of my best officers.”
After dinner one night, he heard her teasing Asami and Korra. “Mako is a good cook. Since neither of you kept him long enough to learn, maybe you can pay him for lessons.”
He was just returning to the hospital room when he heard her say, “Mako will be a great uncle. He did a fine job with you, Bolin.”
The day he had sworn his oath to uphold the law, she had referred to him as ‘officer’ more times than he could count. She just had never used his name.
She had given orders with his name on them. She had assigned him to task forces, work crews, and even sparring partners using his name.
But when she looked at and spoke to him, somehow she never used his name.
So he took that under advisement, and maintained his emotional distance. He only used ‘Beifong’ for her when speaking to others. He would only call her “Chief” to her face.
Even after he resigned his position to work for the pro-bending league, she stayed “Chief.” None of the coaches (other than Bolin) gave it much thought, since he was the liaison for police security. They figured he was just being respectful.
But once he started working with Wing and Wei on their Flying Disk Leagues, things got decidedly weird. The twins came to town routinely to play a few rounds in both the power disk and the flying disk divisions and to hang out with their sister and the baby.
Which meant they were also around their aunt rather frequently.
And since he was also an uncle to baby Yuting, he was around her mother’s aunt rather frequently.
Mako arrived for the family pre-game dinner at the beginning of the championships, Yuting’s bag over his shoulder, and his little neice’s hand in his own. She was babbling about all the animals they had seen at the zoo, pulling his hand to go faster so she could see more uncles.
They opened up the family’s suite in the arena, but it was nearly empty.
Yuting gasped dramatically and shouted, “Aunty Lin!” before dropping his hand and charging over to the only person in the room. It took a bit of whining before the requested pick-up was accomplished.
Once the child was secure, the aunt turned to the uncle, nodded, and just said “Hello.”
Gritting his teeth just a little, he replied, “Chief.”
What she had once taught him about observing a suspect in custody came through for him when he noticed her pinch her forehead oh, so briefly. He turned and deposited the child’s bag and returned to speak to them again.
He clapped his hands and took his niece, setting her on her feet. From a crouched position, he said,“Yuting, how about you go find your dad? I think he’s -” He pointed to one set of doors that led into an office space at the back of the suite.
Helpfully, she charged away, yelling for her parents.
He brushed his hands over his knees, and stood up.
“You’re just as good with her as I thought you would be,” came her voice from just behind him.
He looked over his shoulder to see her smiling up at him. He let himself smile just a little, and decided to try something.
“Thank you, Lin.”
Her eyes met his, and her smile… deepened. It was an odd thought, but it was the only word that made sense. It wasn’t brighter, or wider, or lighter. But it was more profound, somehow.
“Thank the spirits. I was worried you’d never bring yourself to say my name.”
He scoffed in surprise. “I thought you didn’t want me to. You never say mine.”
She stepped a little closer, pulled down on his near shoulder before leaning in close to speak into his ear.
“I’ll say it any way you like, Mako.”
When Yuting returned, pulling her father’s hand, she was confused why Aunty Lin and Uncle Mako were not where she had left them.
~Disclaimer for all drabbles- none are considered 100% canon; the more recently made, the closer they are to canon, but these are mostly for fun for me to figure out the characters+plot!~
Author's note: put in the same time frame as I Own You- Lilith while Anna is Lilith's maid, though later in time than that one; also fluffier than that was, lol
Anna
"Why don’t you ever say my name?"
Anna glanced up at her from where she was scrubbing the floor. Was that a trick question?
There was no smirk on Lilith's face, though. Not even a sneer. If anything she seemed… curious? Her body was relaxed, leaning on the door-frame as she looked down at Anna.
"You only ever call me 'miss' or 'ma'am', but never my name. Why is that?"
Anna went back to scrubbing the floor. "You're my boss. I'm meant to regard you with respect, am I not?"
She heard a snort of laughter above her. "You're usually the first in line to be a pain in my ass." Lilith scoffed, though Anna felt a tingle of warmth at the fondness in her tone. "So, seriously, you don't need to be so formal. Or would it be better if I said you can't so you can be a little rebel about it?"
She just rolled her eyes and kept scrubbing. "Why does it matter?" she muttered. "You're my superior. It's just a name, anyway."
In truth, she'd already almost slipped up more than once. If Lilith hadn't noticed how much she had, especially recently, maybe that was why she was pestering her. But the idea of Deitra or him finding out… She'd rather not break that rule if she could help it.
At least Lilith didn't keep going. Anna listened to her shift away from the door-frame and into the bathroom. She kept out of the way. Then felt her face heat as the shower turned on. Did she really have no-
She yelped as she was tugged up off the floor.
"What are you- hey!"
Anna spluttered and struggled as Lilith pulled and pushed her into the shower, both of them still fully clothed. Once they were under the stream of water, Lilith pinned her against the wall.
"Say my name." Lilith said, her eyes intense on Anna's.
Her gaze dropped so she didn't have to look at Lilith while she continued to struggle. "What- no! This is so stupid, why- it doesn't even matter! You're my boss, why do you even care?" Anna felt her heart pounding. She shook as her clothing became soaked, despite the water being warm.
Lilith stepped closer to her, one hand tight on Anna's shirt, the other pushing her chin up. "Say it." she said, softer. "No one can hear you under the water."
Anna froze, her brows furrowed. Her hands stayed over Lilith's on her shirt as she'd been trying to get it off. She met her eyes, her breathing shaky.
She'd never really noticed that Lilith's eyes weren't actually black. Just a very dark brown. And she’d never seen them so soft before. So… vulnerable.
But she couldn't do it. She couldn't even speak, let alone get the word to form out of her mouth.
They stood there for some time. Both were fully soaked. Lilith's hair and make-up were beyond ruined. No doubt her own shirt had become see-through. She couldn't stop shaking, but still couldn’t tell if it was from the water or not.
After a while, disappointment flooded into Lilith's expression. Her eyes darkened, like a door beginning to shut behind them. She sighed, letting go of Anna's shirt and chin, her arms falling to her sides.
She looked so… defeated.
Just as she turned away, Anna found her voice.
"Lilith."
It was just a croak. Just a weak breath out. But she’d said it.
The woman before her froze. Then turned, her eyes still dark, but intent. "Again." she said, her gaze fixed on Anna's face.
"Lilith." It came out a bit easier now, though she couldn't stop shaking.
Her heart nearly beat its way out of her chest when Lilith smiled. Not a smirk, not a sneer, just her genuine and contented smile. And with her ruined make-up, her hair a drenched rat's nest, her sopping clothes hanging heavy on her body… she'd never looked more beautiful.
"See? Wasn't so hard, now was it?"
Then she left.
Anna felt her legs go weak and she slid down onto the shower floor, dimly aware she should probably turn off the water, but currently lacking the strength to do it.
What just happened?!
Owning Her Future taglist:
@galactic-worm, @koleopteros
Also, if possible, if anyone could support me on ko-fi, that'd be much appreciated! Only within one's means, don't go broke to help me out.
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial using the prompt #FFF364 ~ say my name. Uhm, this is a slight M so please tread carefully. No spoilers herein. Maybe in the future when Tsurumaikada gives us more food.
—
Fandom: Medalist
Characters: Tsukasa Akeuraji, Jun Yodaka
Word count : 491
—
“My life and your life, intertwining, tangling together, melting together, returning to the chaotic beginning …”
—from “Bokura: We” by Takamura Kōtarō
LOOKING at the mirror in the huge en-suite bathroom, the room’s temperature was unexpectedly pleasant due to the tilted window that let the September morning breeze circulate.
Exhaling deep breaths, Tsukasa washed his haggard face, drank water from the faucet, gargled and dressed up. The need to brush his teeth was overwhelming. He found public hair stuck between his teeth, his breath sucked. He rubbed his eyes.
The white marble sink invited him to bask in its calm surface cooling down his cheeks and forehead. He doubted his hasty decision to sleep with the medalist.
“Say my name.”
Tsukasa remembered, watching the medalist on his knees ordering him. His dick in front of Jun’s face.
“Jun, Jun…”
Tsukasa lost his mind after uttering the man’s name feeling the sweet, hot mouth engulfing him whole. His hands found Jun’s shoulders as he came, shaken, vibrating.
He was still high on endorphins when the older man told him to open his mouth. The taste of his own semen mixed with their spit was more than weird that he almost vomited.
“No, swallow it!”
After Tsukasa forced it down his throat, Jun pressed himself flush against his body and kissed him.
I am such a dog, blindly following his orders.
Seeing the chaos in the room, the least what Tsukasa could do was put the king’s bed in a passable condition and picked up Jun’s discarded clothes and threw them into the rattan hamper underneath the marble sink.
He didn’t see the owner until he passed by the balcony. A lone figure in his bathrobe stood overlooking the street, smoking and wearing his aviators.
“I am leaving,” Tsukasa called, swallowed his saliva.
Jun inhaled his cigarette smoke then slowly released it as he spoke, but still not looking at him as if he were avoiding his face.
“Already?”
“Is there any other reason I have to stay?”
Jun finally turned to him, eyed him from head to toe.
“No.” He drawled his response as he shook his head. He faced the street again outside and continued smoking his cigarette.
Tsukasa furrowed his brows. This man truly annoyed him. Most of all, he hated himself for abandoning self-restraint after he let the man reawakened his dormant teenage lust he was keeping for the medalist. There was soreness all over his body.
“I have your number when I need to see you.”
Tsukasa stopped himself from retorting faking indifference, but in his mind, the words pervaded.
There will be no more second nor third time...
What he wanted to do was to punch the medalist in the face. But at the end of the day, he only had himself to blame. This was all on him. Standing in front of the door, he hit it with his all his might.
Fuck…
Slamming the door behind him, his quick steps reached the ground floor refusing to turn his back.
A Skyward Sword 242 word fic below the cut! This fic is also on AO3 :)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
She was a goddess. The most revered, the most powerful of the deities. Gone was the illusion of the simple life of a teenage girl, not with wisdom beyond the infinite horizon of humanity.
She was also exhausted. It had taken all of her divine energy to seal herself away for the thousands of years she had to lay dormant. Anything to keep Demise at bay. Anything to buy her people more time.
Her name was Hylia; the name that punctuates prayers all across Skyloft and below, the name that commands a choice between devotion and fear.
No longer suspended in the crystal of her own volition, she stumbled on mortal feet.
Tears in his eyes, Link caught her. He was here. After everything, he’d made it. He’d made it for her. “Zelda,” he said as she was snug in his embrace, his soft voice reaching her ears alone. “It’s so good to see you.”
Zelda. She’d been that girl once, yesterday and a thousand years ago. A simple life in the clouds, surrounded by those she loved without a shred of divinity. A life of classrooms, Loftwing flights on lazy afternoons, and hearty meals at the Lumpy Pumpkin. All the things her mortal mind had come to love now behind her.
Wrapping her arms around him, at least she could pretend to be Zelda again, if only for a while.
Her voice raspy but smile genuine, “Good morning… Link…” she said.
Mycroft awakens momentarily confused, his heart beating fast, to find himself tangled in the sheets of an unfamiliar bed. Then he smiles, calm returning, at the stripes of warm sunlight that spill across the room and the luxurious sheets of the bed he finds himself in. A breeze slips in through open French doors, carrying the scent of the nearby beach.
Then his heart skips a beat for a different reason as he is reminded why he is here, in a strange room in a strange land, yet not alone: Gregory.
From the en suite, Greg strides out, scratching at his silver head absently. The same sunlight falls over him, highlighting the lines of his nude form. Seeing him awake, Greg smiles radiantly and extends his hand, stepping closer to the bed.
Mycroft also reaches out, drawing him into the soft space beside him.
"I've waited a long time. Is it too soon?" he asks.
"Too soon to what?" Greg raises a curious brow.
“Say my name,” he whispers, shy but earnest.
Now lying beside him, Greg grins with soft indulgence. Left hands with matching bands intertwine, and the room seems to brighten.
Greg tenderly speaks his full name, emphasizing the newly added hyphenation, glimmering with the truth that this is the first morning of the first day of the rest of their lives together.
