#Chapter 29 “Separation Anxiety” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

neutron-stars-collision · 4 months

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Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 4 - North Greenwich Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 3 Summary: Neil's brief disappearance does nothing to extinguish the sparks. As he returns, you make a series of discoveries about each other and grow ever so much closer. Warnings: Swearing, E-rated language, ridiculous amounts of flirting as per usual. Buckle up bc we're amping the pace a little... ;) Author's Notes: Well... that was a long break between the chapters 🙈 My apologies, turns out that having a job takes away the little joys in life like writing silly stories. Anyways, here we are, at last. With another 10.7k. And this one's packed with many good, fun things ;))) Some of those scenes had been months in the making (if not years, considering I first mentioned this AU to Shet in like 2021? I think?). So, yeah. They had it long time coming. More cameos, more nonsensical POV changes and, above all, more certified idiocy by them two kids. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

What Neil’s departure from London did not do was change the way things worked between you. Although you only had meagre information about his whereabouts (such as that he was within the same time zone but in a different country), there was no sense of a breach building in the space of that strange yet solid connection. With the anxieties surrounding the imminent ‘Don Quixote’ premiere keeping your blood pressure high daily, you more than enjoyed being able to pick up your phone and message him whenever possible.

He did not always respond immediately, but it was not a must. What mattered was that Neil eventually got back to you. Never disclosing any information about his work trip, apart from the fact that it was warm there even in mid-October, he still made the effort to keep up with your antics. In that sense, the insanity of the date you had risked changed absolutely nothing.

But it also changed everything.

It was as if your free will chose to conspire with the soul’s desires to get what they wanted. Namely – Neil. Because as soon as you had even begun considering breaching the line separating friendship from every other kind of relationship, your brain decided it was done.

Being his girlfriend was not on the list of priorities or wants, but getting in his pants definitely was. It was almost freeing to admit.

The only question left after all that soul-searching was whether Neil wanted you like that, too. Sometimes there were no doubts about that, either.

Almost a week in, with the ballet previews looming on the horizon and no chance of sleep anytime soon, you huffed an annoyed sigh and picked up the phone from your bedside table. Bleary eyes registered the hour (five past midnight) as you opened apps randomly, already giving up on the promise of sleep. It took you another few minutes to make up your mind, open the texts and stare at the conversation with Neil. It had been a few hours since the last exchange concerning the warmth of the climate wherever he was. You had been (fruitlessly) trying to make Neil send you a picture. Of himself. Not necessarily without clothes, but that was the dream. And a girl was allowed to dream, right?

Squinting at the screen, you hesitated for another millisecond before typing out the simple question:

/ 🏹, 00:15 am/ Are you missing me yet?

Neil did not make you wait for long.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ Obviously.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ I’m barely coping here, sunshine.

/ 🏹, 00:29 am/ Gee, you’re making it too easy.

/✝️, 00:30 am/ Making what too easy?

/ 🏹, 00:33 am/ Missing you.

/ 🏹, 00:34 am/ See, I thought my cheeky line would get a lukewarm response, so I was prepared to tease you further.

/ 🏹, 00:34 am/ And now I’ve no quips to offer.

/✝️, 00:39 am/ Apologies. I’ll do better next time.

/ 🏹, 00:40 am/ I’ll make sure of that.

/✝️, 00:42 am/ And what punishment do you propose?

/ 🏹, 00:43 am/ I’ve always wondered what you’d sound like if you begged.

/✝️, 00:44 am/ It could probably be arranged.

/✝️, 00:45 am/ I’ve no qualms about getting on my knees for a beautiful woman.

/✝️, 00:45 am/ But that would hardly be a punishment.

/ 🏹, 00:48 am/ Yeah, but if I let you have that and then left you… on your knees, so painfully hard with no release… How would that feel?

/✝️, 00:51 am/ You win this one.

/✝️, 00:52 am/ And yes, I’m blushing. Fiercely.

/ 🏹, 00:59 am/ Good, I was hoping you are. Goodnight, Neil.

As you hit send on the last message, your head hit the pillows with an audible ‘oof’. Your cheeks burned; the blush invisible in the dark yet still very much there. That was the problem with Neil and your chats. It was impossible to say when they would turn in that direction. When you would both lose control and follow a line of conversation that probably never should have happened. Not that you were complaining.

It was good to know what you could expect from Neil. If things happened the way you wished, they would. Admittedly, he’d look good on his knees. That was a fact.

That night you only got five hours of sleep, but who counted it anyway. What mattered was that you had some excellent dreams. Dreams that you hoped would end up prophetic.

On other days, your conversations were a little more serious. Like that early afternoon when you just finished the final in-costume run of the Cupid variation and exited the ROH to wander the streets of Soho. Whenever you felt close to losing your sanity, the walk around those familiar spots always did the trick. It was easier to breathe, to hope that you would not fuck it all up when the curtain call came. To believe that imposter syndrome was nothing more than a vile bitch.

Sighing against the thoughts muddling your brain, you took out the phone and immediately noticed the new message:

/✝️, 1:49 pm/ How’s the garden of the Dryads coming along?

/✝️, 1:50 pm/ It probably goes without saying that you’re my favourite ballerina.

/ 🏹, 2:06 pm/ Damn, that’s high praise. Especially considering that I’m the only ballerina you know.

/ 🏹, 2:06 pm/ I think the garden is coming along nicely. Not so sure about Cupid, tho.

/✝️, 2:08 pm/ I call bullshit on that.

/✝️, 2:09 pm/ I just know that you’re brilliant.

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ Doubt, she said.

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ ‘Cause like… How do you deal with the overwhelming weight of expectations?

/✝️, 2:18 pm/ I mean, I panic and lose it instantly, but generally speaking, I think you just sort of… ignore it and trust you are good enough.

/✝️, 2:19 pm/ I know that you are, Cupid. This role was made for you.

/ 🏹, 2:22 pm/ Elaborate, please. I need my ego stroked.

/✝️, 2:23 pm/ Well, she sorts of saunters onto the stage and has a minute to dazzle everyone, yeah?

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ Which is exactly what you did to me.

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ You’ve got this.

/ 🏹, 2:26 pm/ God, you’re irreconcilable. Better come back so I can force you to sit through this.

/✝️, 2:27 pm/ Working on it as we speak.

A smile painted itself on your face with an inerasable stroke of brush. Neil’s constant support and cheerleading were a welcome surprise. Sometimes, your meeting almost felt like a divine intervention. That is if you believed in such things. Because the odds of gaining both a fascinating man to pursue and a friend were quite low. And yet.

As you looped your steps back towards Covent Garden, you made the mental note to visit the box office and add a request for the guest list. It was a rare enough event to have someone you could invite to the performance. And have the right to believe they would come. You were not going to squander that sort of chance.

***

The whirring ceiling fan was starting to get on his nerves with its endless sputtering. And it was not even working, as far as Neil was concerned. The sweat still clung to his skin and trickled down his back to a point where he seriously contemplated ditching the shirt. And that rarely happened. Especially not on the job, with the whole squad confined to a medium-sized safehouse.

The bustle of the city streamed through the windows, cracked open so they could let in fresh air while still having a chance of keeping them safe from snipers and the like. Granted, one could never be fully prepared for an inverted shot, but it was worth trying not to get killed. Especially during a mission that technically was just a recon. Though Neil knew better than to believe The Protagonist when the man claimed something was perfectly safe. He meant well, sure. But despite the appearances, he did not know everything.

So, the windows cracked open three inches had to do. Neil sighed, annoyance digging deep beneath his skin to stay there for a little longer. It was another one of those boring, yet technically productive afternoons in the safehouse. Today, the task was to plan a hypothetical pincer movement. Just in case, they said. Well, Neil sure did hope the case never came to be.

He glanced at the blacked-out screen of his phone, the muscle memory betraying him as he picked up the device almost mindlessly and opened the conversation with Cupid. It had been a few hours since the last chat, which was pretty usual. They did not need to talk all the time. Neil knew that. He also knew that it was probably better they did not talk constantly. Considering that 3 out of 5 conversations always ended up dirty, up to the point where he was blushing like an idiot. And, sometimes disappeared in the bathroom to deal with some troublesome effects of those chats.

Yes, considering all that, Neil knew it was best they took some breaks. But also-

“Blondie, can you give us a hand with this?” the yell from further inside the apartment acted like a bucket of cold water tipped over his head unceremoniously.

Neil whipped his head up, glaring at the open doorway. Unfortunately, being referred to as ‘blondie’ was becoming more frequent. The petulant nature urged him to ignore it, but he knew that was hardly the last one. With another long-suffering sigh, he heaved himself out of the armchair and called back:

“I said I’m coming,” granted, that was over fifteen minutes ago, but everyone could get distracted. Right? “Would it hurt you to ask nicer?” he stalked down the corridor toward the living area with an arched eyebrow.

It was not surprising to meet a mirroring expression on the faces of Ives, Wheeler, and Jeremy sitting in a trifecta of judgment. Neil had no doubts about his place in that makeshift courtroom.

“Yes, when you’re slacking,” Wheeler dropped the disapproving glare with all the air of nonchalance and pointedly glanced at the table covered with maps and blueprints.

Neil had no choice but to sit down in the remaining chair and offer an apologetic pout to anyone willing to hear him out:

“I’m not slacking. I’m just-” whatever excuse he could whip out on a whim got interrupted prematurely.

“Otherwise occupied with your girlfriend. Yes, we know,” Wheeler raised her head once more with a dismissive wave of hand, making Neil consider the possibility that she was close to losing it right there and then.

That possibility was always worrisome, for no anger could compare to that of his friend. Especially when she was pissed off.

But that careful consideration was nothing in the face of the two realisations brought forward by that simple assumption. Firstly - Cupid was decidedly not his girlfriend. Secondly – fucking Ives.

Neil glared at the man in question, hoping his eyes would reveal the murderous intents hidden underneath as his clarifying statement broke the awkward silence:

“She’s not-” he never finished that sentence (perhaps for the better), for the harsh sound of his ringtone filled the room with cacophonic clamour. Neil scrambled to pick up the phone without as much as glancing at the screen, “Hello?” the tentative opener sounded ridiculous even to his ears.

Soon, it was clear he should have checked the caller before picking up.

“Hi, Neil,” Cupid’s silky tone caressed his ear through the device.

Neil knew she did that purposefully, solely inspired to make the idiot inside him blush and giggle like a loser. Make no mistake; Neil was certainly a loser. And an idiot.

Once he felt the shock pass enough to ensure he would not drop the phone he repeated the greeting.

“Umm, hi,” from the corner of his eye, Neil could see the accompanying trio stare at him without trying to be covert about it. Absolute assholes “You’ve never called me before” trust him to state the obvious.

For a second, Neil considered faceplanting onto the table. Equally, the idea of jumping out of the window sounded appealing. The thoughts of potential demise were interrupted by Cupid’s reply:

“I know. I just thought it might be fun to spice things up,” she was definitely enjoying this and the damage she has caused. It was audible in the lightness of her voice, the vowels curled by a cheeky smile he could hear as she asked, “How’s your day?”

No longer happy to ignore his audience, Neil turned towards them with another glare. All three stared back, with Ives going as far as shooting him a knowing smile.

“It’s fine, except for my team being desperate to berate me,” Neil directed the venom in his voice at the trio as Wheeler casually got up from the table and put the kettle on.

The light chuckle from the phone almost made him feel better about it.

“That’s rude,” her remark contrasted with the laughter he could hear in her voice. Yet it was too late to raise the alarm or prepare for what would follow, “Would it be better if I reminded you what a good boy you are?” as soon as Cupid finished the question, Neil felt the full-body reaction she wanted.

A shudder ran through his spine as his face flushed pink. On a last conscious thought, Neil leapt up from the chair and paced towards the window, hiding from the group. A half-swallowed groan broke through his mouth as he tightened his fist, hopelessly trying to forget how those two words sounded on her lips. It was pathetic.

The more tragic outcome was that now Cupid had even more blackmailing material in her arsenal.

“Jesus Christ, you’re evil,” Neil knew he still sounded wrecked.

There was no way of hiding that. Of making her forget this had just happened and the conclusions she could draw from it. Neil barely resisted the urge to smash his head into the window.

“Oh, so it would help,” as expected, Cupid sounded delighted by what had transpired. The cheeky smile he liked way too much was undoubtedly present on her face as she added, “Not so dully noted” may he rest in pieces, apparently, “When are you coming back?” the question sounded almost out of place.

Yet even in his muddled mind, Neil knew it was genuine. That she wanted to know. If that fact meant anything at all, he did not know. And he tried his hardest not to think about it too much.

“Why? You miss me?” ignoring the chorus of ‘awws’ behind his back, Neil allowed himself to ask.

Even if only for emotional validation. Because while she has hinted at it before, Neil was never tired of being reminded. The whole thing with her might have been hopeless, but it did not change how he worked. How his heart ticked and what beat it chose. Tragically, romanticism was tricky to get rid of. Neil experienced that first-hand.

“You know that I do,” Cupid did not mind humouring his whims as she offered a simple admission without a fight.

With all his predictability, Neil could not hold back the idiotic grin from making an appearance. Sure, it had no future, but that did not make him less eager to play along. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Famous last words and all. Probably.

“I should be back in a week. More or less,” that was the hope, anyway.

The few stray thoughts that had somehow escaped the web spun by Cupid, and her attention reminded him about the work still left to be done. Like the fucking pincer movement plan. With threebastards taunting him mercilessly. So much fun.

“Fab. I got you a great seat for the premiere, so… You know what to do,” the hopeful note in her voice was worth the future pain.

He had no doubts about it. The fact was that Neil was looking forward to the ballet. The hazy memories of seeing ‘Swan Lake’, aged six, hardly compared to the Royal Ballet company. It was a good enough reason to attend. The other excellent reason was Cupid herself, but that was best unsaid. And unthought. Somehow.

“Got you,” ignoring the ridiculous thoughts, Neil offered her a smile she could not see and a silent prayer cast into the heavens that he was not lying unknowingly.

“I know you do. You’re a good boy, Neil,” Cupid’s strike came with no warning.

Yet again, she dropped her tone a notch and whispered the damned two words with a breathy sigh. The metaphorical nail to the coffin this time was how she said his name, almost caressing the letters. And yes, this time it worked, too.

Neil had the mind to faceplant into the window and groan with frustration. The inescapable blush warmed up his cheeks as his body shivered. Some… particular parts of his physique also showed interest in what was happening, eternally oh so eager to betray his wish to stay unbothered.

“For fuck’s-” the choked curse got swallowed by the mightiest effort on his side as Neil took a steadying breath and asked, “Why?”

As if happy to punish him, Cupid laughed.

“Because it’s fun,” the unspoken duh made him both more annoyed and more bewitched by her, “I’ll let you work now, but…” as did the carrot dangled in front of his face like the sweetest of baits.

Always the idiot, Neil could not possibly ignore it.

“Yeah?” he could hear her take a deep breath as if steeling herself for a difficult admission.

“I’m glad we’ve met,” Cupid whispered the confession without as much as a pause between the words.

“Me too,” his reply got lost in the static as she hung up.

Letting out the breath he did not know he was holding, Neil lowered the phone onto the windowsill and stared at the city outside. Well then. The call would take a while to process; that was unquestionable.

“Aw, aren’t you two cute?” Ives’ teasing threw Neil out of that pleasantly fuzzy mind space with all the grace of an elephant.

He turned around with the glower at the ready. This time, he could not bite back the curse:

“Shut the fuck up,” on an afterthought, Neil added, “Please,” noticing the soldier open his mouth for a quip, he dropped his tone to a warning timbre. That called for a final caution, “Unless you want to start looking for a new physicist,” his glare slipped over the trio before Neil settled at the table and unfolded the blueprints without another word.

***

When that awaited text from Neil came, bearing the information that he was back in London and happy to meet you whenever you did not jump for joy. Definitely not. What you did do was grin and discuss the possible rendezvous immediately. When that Tuesday afternoon arrived, with the glory of a decent rehearsal and a good coffee in your paper cup, you happily bypassed the crowds at Green Park and skipped the steps down to the correct platform.

That twenty-minute walk to the station was a blessing, just as much as a curse. When Neil proposed the time you could meet on the train, you did not correct him about your location that day. Or that grabbing the Jubilee line would be entirely off the quickest route back home. You just accepted the time and place and ignored the voice at the back of your head reminding you that this was not how you usually behaved.

It could go fuck itself.

Once you settled on the platform, one glance at the watch told you the next train would be the right one. The strange giddiness sparked in your veins, but you blamed it on the three-week gap between the meetings. It was just that, nothing more. Obviously.

The autopilot carried you through the motions until you had boarded the carriage and came face to face with the cause of all this idiocy. Neil smiled, instantly clocking you before you had even placed both feet inside. It was impossible to keep your face neutral, returning the grin and manoeuvring around the commuters to sit next to him on the three plastic chairs facing the sliding doors.

Then, as if seized by insanity, you propelled your body forward with the arms coming up around Neil’s neck to embrace him tightly. His freeze took approximately twenty seconds to thaw as he returned the hug with equal strength. You could feel the warmth of his breath hitting the crook of your neck and making you fight back a shiver that would not do. Instead, you let yourself breathe him in, rest in the moment that was potentially a mistake. Still, you were not going to treat it like one. Not when the warmth of his hands seeped through the clothes as they rested on your waist.

When the lurch of the train reminded you of reality and all its flaws, you ruefully disentangled from Neil and met his wary gaze. His blue eyes scanned your face as if looking for clues towards the reasons for the madness you just allowed yourself. When that offered no answers, Neil broke the silence with a careful observation:

“I didn’t know that we’re doing hugs,” his impassive face offered no clues either, triggering a wave of uncertainty you had to smother.

Because what if you went too far? What if that was not what Neil wanted?

“We are now,” the confidence was missing from the statement, making you add a crucial question, “Is that okay?” you could hear the insecurity in your voice, betraying the worries.

They disappeared the moment Neil flashed you a smile, his hand lightly patting your knee as a complement to the simple reassurance:

“Sure is,” lowering his gaze to catch yours, Neil winked.

Thank fuck. It surely made life much easier. Or the plans you might or might have not made regarding him. Now that the crisis had passed, you shifted in the seat to find a more comfortable position and allowed yourself a selfish look, measuring him up as usual. The slight tan line revealed by the rolled-up sleeves confirmed what you did know about his disappearance. The minor tiredness in how he carried his body strengthened your guesses. The rest of him blinded you as always.

Especially the three buttons left undone, revealing a strip of his chest. And inspiring ungodly thoughts in your head. Ignoring that what could not be addressed. Especially not right now in a carriage full of people. You switched your attention to the other crucial topic. Everything was better than being arrested for public indecency. At least you did hope so.

“How was the trip?” you noted the shift in Neil’s posture.

How he strengthened in the seat, the mask back in place. Although his mystery had fallen into the background over the acceleration of your dynamic, it was still very much present. You had to figure him out. Had to crack the case. Even if it killed you.

For now, though, simply asking mundane questions had to be enough.

“Well… it was fine. The usual” the answer did not help much, however.

Neil looked as if he knew how enigmatic it sounded but could not do anything about it. Upon your questioning look, he only shrugged and offered no further details. This time, you could not let the moment pass without a comment. You rolled your eyes, a frustrated huff interrupting the silence with petulance:

“God, you couldn’t be any less mysterious if you tried,” although anger was not one of the present emotions, you knew Neil would understand the message as you glared at him without heat.

He winced as if admitting to the guilt you hinted at and turned to you with a more open expression on his face:

“Sorry, it’s uh… maybe one day,” Neil met your gaze meaningfully, making you keener to believe him.

You held his gaze for a beat, even if only to have an excuse to look into his eyes and see Neil without the veil of pretence. It was easy to hope one day he would tell you more. That there was one day, somewhere along the line, waiting for you. That whatever was happening would not burn to a cinder in two weeks and leave you bereft. As things like this tended to do.

“I’ll hold you to that,” before breaking the eye contact, you reached for his hand.

It was another insane reflex that was difficult to explain, even to yourself. Yet, still, Neil went willingly. His long fingers tangled with yours without resistance and allowed you to rest your joined palms between the seats, almost like a beacon to whoever was curious about your meeting. And you could see the nosy stares, the inquisitive grandmas eager to judge and label everything and everyone existing within their vicinity.

You used the warmth of your connected hands to anchor you in the present as Neil asked:

“How’s the imposter syndrome? Did it fuck off at last?” the softness in his eyes could undoubtedly be fatal.

As was the way he knew what to ask and hit the jackpot without even trying. Because, of course, the feeling of not being good enough did not disappear. Of course, you still got up every morning with the vague desire to approach the ballet director and tell her you are giving up. That you cannot do this. It almost seemed like Neil could sense your thoughts.

Which was both terrifying and appealing, if you were to be honest. It would make your job easier if he knew exactly what you were thinking. About him.

“I wish,” the suffering sigh was a cheap trick, but viable in your books, “I still think I’m going to embarrass myself, but well,” not willing to give up the comfortable weight of his hand in yours, you offered Neil a one-sided shrug “Can’t exactly capitulate now” the desperate edge to that sentence did not escape his attention.

Sure, you would not actually give up, but that did not mean you were not half-heartedly wishing it happened anyway. Ideally, in the form of someone else doing the job for you. Pathetic, innit?

Neil squeezed your hand, capturing your attention without needing to try at all. The frown was still present on your face, its force turning the corners of your mouth downwards. As always, Neil seemed to see through all that you were not saying. He met your gaze (which was a feat considering you were happy to look anywhere but at him) and spoke:

“I wouldn’t let you,” there was an edge to his voice, a steely resolve that told you the conversation was gaining another layer.

A different destination to the one you had expected at first. Although, with how your chats recently played out, it was to be anticipated. Probably.

Without giving yourself the time to overthink, you leaned closer to Neil and placed a hand on his thigh. You could see his eyes widen upon the move, the pupils blowing up in the quickest form of flattery a man could give you. Sharpening your smile to the perfectly saccharine variant, you delivered the prepared lines:

“Oh yeah?” his thigh muscles tensed underneath your hand as Neil’s mouth fell agape without him being fully in control of the reaction. It was adorable. And an ideally ripe ground to lay the final strike, “You’d force me? Have your way with me?” the sparks in his eyes were a pretty addition to the already gorgeous picture.

At that moment, you knew that you had missed this. No texting could ever replace the real thing. The back and forth with the arresting strength of his eye contact and the unpredictable suspense of what would come next. Like the sudden softening of Neil’s features and an unexpectedly tentative counter to your bold questions:

“If you’d let me,” he swallowed hard as if desperately trying to get rid of the thoughts in his head and simultaneously unable to shake them off.

As if ripping the thread connecting him to you and shortening it at an alarming rate was causing Neil physical pain. The revelation acted like a hot poker pressed against the tender skin of your palm. It was difficult to shrug it off as if it was nothing. It nagged and prodded until you could do nothing but stare dumbly at him, feeling every passing second like a wasted beat of time you would never get back.

Before you could get your shit together in any way, it was too late. Neil had already jumped to conclusions, as you worried he might. His brows furrowed as his teeth nibbled on the chapped bottom lip in a familiar nervous tic. Slowly, as if navigating a mined battlefield, he shifted in the seat, widening the space between you by a fraction. You noticed it anyway.

“You don’t mind that this sort of thing keeps happening?” the question was completed with a vague gesture, slashing the air between you awkwardly.

The inflexion offered no space for doubt. Neil concluded that you very much did mind. That somehow you were not an active and eager participant in the heavy flirting and mutual teasing. Neil was an idiot.

And you had to put that point across instantly.

“Why would I mind?” without thinking, you let your fingers repeatedly stroke his forearm as you leaned back into his orbit to confess what ought to have been obvious, “I mean every word I say to you. Including all that post-Watershed talk” it was delightful to see your favourite smile disrupt his frown.

At the same time, it was nice to have it out in the open, no longer unsaid and implied. Because you did mean it. And you did want it. Whatever Neil would offer, be it a friendship or more. The choice was his.

You could pinpoint when the weight lifted off his shoulders and let him breathe deeper. You stared as Neil absorbed and processed the information, his blue eyes showing a spectrum of emotions. Some were unreadable. Other more obvious, like the devilish sparks that always guaranteed the conversation would take a curious turn. Or the cautious hope, making him look so much younger and innocent. Your unoccupied hand itched with the desire to brush his golden locks from his forehead, so you tightened it into a fist hidden in the coat pocket.

Just like you hid everything that had no place in your life.

At the periphery of your attention, you could register the called stations. Or the fact that your stop was mercilessly getting closer. Only one question could make you forget the reality altogether:

“So, what would you do if I kissed you?” when Neil asked, you were glad you had never forced yourself to look away from him.

That hesitant hope was still there, lightening up his eyes. You let it pull you in, as there was no need to search your heart for an answer. It was fair to assume Neil knew that, too. The question was only a preliminary. But it was still admirable he asked. People rarely did.

You shrugged, highlighting the evident conclusion he hopefully had already reached. It would have been easy to close the gap and let that be the answer. Too easy. It was enough that you could hardly ever look away from him, constantly drawn and arrested by his eyes.

Forcing yourself to break the spell, you met his gaze and offered him an impassive smile. If only to keep up the façade for a little longer.

“There’s only one way to find out, Neil,” you hoped that was enough, that he would understand the ball was back in his court to do as he pleased.

You also hoped Neil came to the right solution. Sadly, that did not seem to come to be just yet. One glance outside the window alarmed you about the surroundings and that you were arriving at your station. The frown twisted your mouth downwards as you risked a glance at Neil. The disappointment in his eyes told you he already caught up.

Two choices were waiting at your disposal. You could either stay, miss your stop to find out what would happen next. Or you could choose cowardice and leave the carriage, delaying the fateful moment a little longer. Definitely not forever.

It was hard to say why you chose the second option. Why you stood up without as much as a look at Neil and feigned a cheery farewell that felt foreign on your tongue. Later, you were keen to pretend it was just the influence of the moment. A sudden spell of insanity.

“Oops, that’s me. See you soon,” it was a miracle that you did not trip in the haste to get out.

You barely registered the surroundings as you bolted towards the sliding door and stepped onto the platform, missing the gap by mere millimetres. It was pure luck that you did not walk into any poor soul as you attempted to get away from the train as fast as possible.

You did not get the time to flee. All because you did not consider one thing – Neil had a choice, too.

When you felt a hand take yours and pull you back, there was that split second of panic. Your disoriented mind rapidly flicked through at least ten different disastrous scenarios, starting at a random appearance of Liam and ending at a violent assault you were about to be subjected to. Only then, at the very end, your brain pushed forward another observation. There was something familiar about that handhold.

Before you had a second to follow that thought, the interrupter pulled at your hand, making you whirl around to face them. Your widened gaze fell upon the undone tortoiseshell shirt buttons and wandered up the neck to land on Neil’s blue eyes, patiently staring back at you. It took you another second to understand what happened. And another one to begin processing what it could mean. Why he did it.

Without being aware of the movement of your body, you stepped closer to Neil, tightening the bubble you both had created in the middle of the platform. People bypassed you as they rushed to the train with the beeping doors hastening their steps. But that hardly mattered. It was just white noise. Unimportant and ignorable.

Unlike Neil, who closed the gap between your bodies to mere millimetres, and wordlessly repeated the question from before. The answer did not change. You offered him a tiny nod, not feeling the need to speak. The surrealism of the moment could not be labelled anyhow.

From the second you had tasted Neil’s lips, you knew it would not be something you could forget. That the feel of him would burn into the cortex of your brain and stay there to haunt you for eternity. You were right.

Your eyes snapped shut as soon as he closed the distance and covered your mouth with his in a soft kiss. His gentle and pliant lips caressed yours attentively without effort, making you cling even closer to him. Your arms came around Neil’s neck as your fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. It took another second, a blissful beat of existence, to make you kiss him back. Just as carefully. Just like you never kissed anyone before.

Neil’s relief came through in a short gasp, let out into your opening mouth, and the warm weight of his palms came up to rest on your waist beneath the open coat. Following the logic you did not understand, you tilted your head and allowed his prying tongue to lick into your mouth. The liquid heat traversed your veins, warming up your skin as Neil took his time to map out the inside of your mouth. Suddenly, the instant connection you felt made sense. Things clicked into place as you breathed the taste of him and breathed out the uncertainty. It felt right. Good. Unforgettable, even.

It felt like no first kisses and endless one-night stands ever did. And that made no sense.

Soon, that first kiss evolved into another and then the next. The platform, the people and the noise faded into the background as you swapped kisses, barely interrupted by quiet groans and swallowed gasps. On its own accord, your hand ventured up to tangle in his hair, grabbing a fistful of the golden locks and tugging in time with a particularly hungry nip taken out of Neil’s bottom lip. The reward of a barely stifled moan was more than worth it.

As was how Neil held you close and returned your kisses with equal zeal. He matched your energy and pushed you further until the remaining part of your conscience worried about being arrested for public indecency.

When the burn of your lungs excelled that of your soul, you placed a palm over the centre of his chest and pushed Neil back. Just a fraction. Just to catch your breath. His answering whine felt like another spark of pride, making your eyes glow with self-satisfaction. That was better than any other form of gratification you could think of.

When you finally forced yourself to blink your eyes open and look at Neil, you were met with kiss-bruised lips and darkened blue eyes, showing nothing else but hunger. At least ten increasingly ridiculous religious metaphors battled for leadership in your mind, but you pushed them all aside. The most accurate comment went to two simple words, pushed forward by the strength of your soul’s crudeness. Fucking hell. In the best of meanings, that is.

Following deeply rooted instincts, your tongue darted out to thoroughly trace the expanse of your bottom lip. And get remains of his taste, that you had already started missing. As far as kisses had gone, this one was pretty damn spectacular.

Neil seemed frozen, his eyes fixed on your mouth as if that was the only thing he could do. Admittedly, it was adorable. Yet, still, you decided to break the spell, the only way you could think of:

“I think your train has left,” you glanced over his shoulder, noting the expectedly empty platform.

Only now, when the haze of the kiss (or rather a whole make-out session) had begun to lift, you could understand what had transpired. And that Neil was keen to delay his return home for the price of a kiss. Or for the hope of a kiss, for clearly, he did not think he would get that far. Idiot.

You could see it now, back on his face. The slight disorientation and confusion suggested Neil could barely believe that what just happened was real. He blinked twice, then again, as if forcing himself to wake up and met your gaze with wide eyes. Without thinking, you allowed the hand you had pressed flat to his chest to venture up, stopping when your fingers started grazing over his neck. That was the trigger Neil needed to return to reality. He seized your adventurous fingers in a loose hold and placed your joined hands back over his heart. You could feel it racing.

“I’ll wait for the next one,” Neil offered you a half-smile, the uncertainty shining through the tentative joy in his eyes.

It was not something you were used to. Usually, after a kiss like that (never even preceded with a question, because who the fuck still asked for kisses?), you only ever got smugness. And an attempt at a smooth transition to sex, which did or did not succeed, depending on the participating party). Never uncertainty. Never shyness. Never contentment with what happened without pushing you for more.

You didn’t know what to do with any of it.

“No regrets?” the question was also one that you never asked before.

Not after something as trivial as a first kiss. But then, nothing was the way it usually went with Neil. That much was quite clear.

“Not really. You?” as if sensing your growing uncertainty, Neil did not hesitate before answering the question.

He squeezed your fingers, still wrapped in his palm and met your gaze with something almost resembling confidence. Somehow, that was enough. You took a fortifying breath to gather courage and discard the doubts. There would be more than enough time to deal with them later. Hopefully.

For now, there were other things to do and say. Like answering Neil’s question and reclaiming the conversation from its sombre paths. Especially since no cell in your body regretted the kiss. Or any other thing you had ever said or hinted at to him. It is just that somehow, somewhere along the line, your normal confidence had been wiped off the table. And it felt like it was never to be seen again. Not like before.

You hoped to ignore that bit of revelation, too.

“Nope. I’d offer a coffee at mine, but… I think some things need a better build-up,” you hoped the chaos in your head was not easily seen as you dropped the line with an attempt at the usual smoothness and met Neil’s eyes with remaining poise.

You meant that, too. A part of you, the same that had difficulties ending the kiss, wanted to continue it wherever it may lead you. You were quite sure you knew where it was going. And you certainly wanted that. But, at the same time, rushing into it seemed… wrong. As if the fact that you also wanted to be friends with Neil needed a little more respect. A little more time.

You could tell he understood from the way Neil nodded, his eyes still blown out by the darkened pupils.

“Agreed,” he shook his head slightly as if trying to clear it before glancing at the timing screen over your heads. Whatever the impact those 7 minutes of waiting had, the next thing Neil did was to heave a sigh and set his weary eyes on you, “Actually, I might walk back home. Should probably clear my head,” a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

Without overthinking the act, you seized his hand and started for the stairs. Just because you were not yet taking him home did not mean you could not drag out the goodbye. Right?

Right.

***

Although the kiss was not forgotten and only added to the general restlessness, you never mentioned it again. It was another layer added to the sprinkled, complex mess that was your relationship. A tiered cake that had so many flavours it was impossible to label it using a concise, less than five-word description. It just did not get discussed.

That was both a blessing and a curse, considering that with mere days left till the public Don Quixote premiere you could barely handle one type of stress and uncertainty. Let alone two. The reality check deadline crept up on you without warning, catching you pacing the flat for over an hour the evening before the official pre-premiere. The event always happened at least a night before the opening soiree and was reserved for the press, Royal Ballet directory and special guests of honour. It also meant that every detail of the performance had to be up to par if one wanted to continue advancing the career in the company. Which you did want. Desperately. It was just bloody unfortunate that the usual insanity of anxiety now was interlaced with something else.

Something that made you stop the pacing and pick up the phone only to open the messages and stare at the text conversation with Neil. It had been a few hours, and considering the 9 pm on the clock, you had a fair right to believe that he might be asleep. Maybe. But that could hardly deter the part of your brain that tended to get ahead of itself. Especially fuelled by stress and anxiety.

Without letting yourself falter, you typed the question:

/ 🏹, 9:04 pm/ Are you still up?

Luckily, you only had to hold your breath for an answer (or a lack of it) for less than 5 minutes. For that, your lungs were eternally thankful.

/✝️, 9:08 pm/ Is this the moment you ask me for dick pics?

A ridiculous guffaw broke the silence of your flat, along with that necessary intake of oxygen. Conversations like those still happened daily and only increased the want you could not get rid of if you tried.

And you didn’t try. There was no point to it.

/ 🏹, 9:09 pm/ Nah. Not yet.

You were having fun, chatting the shit on the daily with someone who seemed more than eager to keep the ball going. That was partially why you reached out on a whim, desperate to get out of the flat even for a little while. After all, asking Neil offered a fifty-fifty chance of an entertaining evening. All other intentions did not have to be disclosed. Even in your mind.

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ That’s a relief.

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ How can I be of service, my lady?

/ 🏹, 9:11 pm/ You’ve no idea, babe.

/ 🏹, 9:12 pm/ I was thinking of going to the dance studio, that’s open till midnight. Do you want to come?

/ 🏹, 9:12 pm/ You’ve said you wanted to see me dance so…

After sending the third message, you put down the phone and exhaled. That nervousness residing in your bones was new. It was almost as if it mattered what Neil’s answer would be. As if you cared whether he would say yes to the tentative proposition. None of that had ever happened before.

The urge to faceplant into the pillow was derailed by the buzz of an incoming message. With embarrassing speed of reaction, you read the texts:

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ Happily.

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ When and where do we meet?

You grinned. As you copied and pasted the location pin into the message, you could already feel a different type of nervousness enter your system. It was time for Neil to see you dance. You would also see him for the first time since the kiss. It was high time someone covered this topic on wikiHow. Or, at least, you thought so.

***

Although the Royal Ballet had more than good enough facilities at the Covent Garden building, the company could also use a studio by the Southwark Underground Station whenever you felt like it. Conveniently, that alternative place was open till midnight on weeknights, offering a one-in-a-million chance to run over the choreography for a billion times more before the pre-premiere. Without an audience of your fellow ballet dancers and their critical eyes, at that.

The other perk to the external studio was that nothing stopped you from bringing someone from the outside along. Nothing except for maybe the deeply rooted fear of showing Neil what you could do. Or couldn’t do.

That fear had not left through the Uber drive from your flat, growing in force from the moment you set your eyes upon Neil waiting outside the studio with a smile on his face. You exchanged the usual niceties, bypassing the awkward tint to the interaction with an avoided hug and nonsensical commentary from your side.

The nerves seemed to reach the peak as you left Neil in the main ballet studio room, the space lit up sparsely to maintain the strangely surreal atmosphere of those late autumn nights in London when nothing seems to be tangible and real. Having left the house in a pre-planned rehearsal outfit, you only took off the unnecessary layers, leaving you in a simple bodice and a wrap mid-thigh skirt and pulled on the woollen leg warmers to keep the chill at bay.

Luckily for your racing heart, the ritual of putting on and lacing up the pointe shoes always did its magic, allowing you to centre yourself and take a couple of deep breaths. Until there was nothing left but to march out of the changing room and connect your phone to the speaker, the right track ready for you to press play.

But before you could go that far, you made the mistake of locating Neil in the room. He had settled on the floor opposite you, his back pressed to the mirror-covered walls of the studio. He stared as you entered the invisible stage and offered you an encouraging smile. A slow, gentle warm-up was a valid opportunity to falter. A necessary step you had to take while also admitting that it was convenient. Although, Neil’s attentive gaze following your every move was much less convenient.

Once you had run out of all other options, you started the music, put down the phone and took up position. Desperate to rehearse as much as possible, you chose to go through the entire dream sequence at the end of Act 2. As always, the Minkus score did its magic, helping you settle into the movement and almost forget about everything else.

You followed the steps with practised ease, hearing the dull thud of pointe shoes hitting the hardwood floors with each landing between the orchestral notes. When the cue to finish was near you were almost out of breath. The pearls of sweat clung to your temples as the sweetness of exertion burned through your muscles and tendons. When those final notes rang off in the quiet studio, you held the finishing pose and waited for the music to end. The resulting silence was deafening.

Slowly, as if pained to do it, you opened your eyes. Neil was right where you had left him; his gaze seemingly never trailed away. But the exact look on his face was different. Instead of the ease and unbothered nonchalance he tried to emit earlier, Neil was now speechless. Dazed. His mouth was still agape, and he had to remind himself to close it before swallowing hard. You tried your hardest not to let that get into your head. You failed.

“So… what do you think?” unable to keep quiet for much longer, you released the question into the ether with a permanent frown and a minimal level of conviction.

It seemed to be what Neil needed to wake up from the stupor. He shifted, pulled up his knees to his chin and eyed you with a bright gaze. The desire to look away rose with every minute, but you tried to endure it. Somehow.

“You’re brilliant. Do you know that?” the matter-of-fact tone threw you off kilter, bringing out an automatic (albeit manic) grin from its hiding back onto your face.

Neil mirrored the expression instantly, only widening your smile in the process. Feeling the need to move again, you flexed your calves, completing a set of rapid changements. Only once that was done you could attempt to answer the question.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, unwilling to stray onto that sort of honest territory just yet, “It doesn’t hurt to hear it again, though,” unable to ignore that one voice at the back of your head that had not been convinced, you asked, “Was it actually… good?” the emphasis on the word was automatic.

You could tell Neil saw right through your faux nonchalance as he smiled, a different type of fondness shining in his eyes. That, too, was best left alone for now. The observation was shelved among others of its kind in the darkest cavern of your brain. Ideally left alone for good, never to be touched or thought of again. Just in case.

Neil’s gaze never strayed from yours as he offered you an answer without a hint of exasperation:

“As far as my virgin eyes could tell, it was perfect,” the corner of his mouth rose in the makings of a familiar smirk.

It eradicated any illusions that he did not know what he was saying. Or the effect the sentence would have. You closed your eyes against the sight, hopelessly willing the inconvenient feelings to disappear.

By now, it was painfully clear that Neil could be a bastard when he wanted to. It was just another thing that you liked about him. Perhaps too much.

For a second, you debated following the easy way out he had offered. It would have been effortless to take up the tone and turn the conversation into yet another pleasant back-and-forth that could potentially lead you past the talking. Past that one kiss, that had lowkey driven you insane with the promise of potential.

But the doubts were still there. They still clouded your mind like a flock of hungry birds of prey hunting for a bite of flesh. And Neil was the only person you could talk to and know he would listen. That he would care. For some reason, it was a crucial thing to share. An important topic to raise. Here and now.

“Allow me to ignore that double entendre potential for a second,” your apologetic frown was accepted with a subtle nod and meaningful glance.

“You’re excused, Cupid,” Neil grinned, evidently taking pleasure from the nickname you became fond of.

Especially because it was him, who bestowed it on you.

“Thank you,” shaking off the sudden rush of affection, you completed the gratitude with a cheeky addition, returning Neil’s smirk, “Sir,” only once noted his answering blush, it was safe to delve into what you really wanted to tell him. You took a deep breath, completing half a pirouette to face the mirrors on the wall and asked, “Do you ever feel like you’re just constantly pretending? Like the whole ‘fake it till you make it’ deal, except you never stop faking it?” training your gaze on the hardwood floors, you stared at the tips of your pointe shoes.

The worn-out, ragged edges caught your attention for a split second. You took a mental note to break in the brand-new pair and prepare them for tomorrow’s show. On the periphery of your vision, you could see Neil’s reflection. You could feel him staring, the intense gazing boring holes in the back of your head. But not even that could make you turn and face him.

“Pretty much every day,” Neil’s reply made you look up, meeting his eyes in the reflection. That was not an answer you had expected, “I’ve found that sometimes, if you’re lucky, all that pretending can fool the brain, too,” he signed off the addition with another reassuring smile.

Still, the scepticism reigned free as an unbidden scoff tore from your throat, forcing you to swallow down the sudden desire to retreat from the conversation. Years of practice did not seem to share Neil’s thesis. Things never got easier. You doubted they ever would.

“I’d hope so. Except that, I’m not sure I am that lucky,” that was a given, an undeniable fact of life like the laws of physics or the ignorance of the Tories. Unchangeable. The familiar wave of frustration threatened to pull you down as you allowed the insecurities to speak their part,“I may appear as a fucking cool cat, confident and all, but… I’m not,” hearing the broken note in your voice, you swallowed hard, unable to look at Neil anymore. There was only one final thing to add, “And I wish I could be,”

There. The curtain has fallen, revealing the truth underneath. Now, it was clear Neil had no illusions left about you. No reason to think of you highly. Somehow, you felt lighter. Sure, still unable to meet his gaze, even in the reflection, but it was better that way. Now, when you did disappoint him somewhere along the line, for whatever reason, it would be much less surprising.

You had no doubts whether that moment of disappointment would happen. It always did.

“You have every right to be. Because you are” when Neil spoke, at first, you did not register it. His words flew right over your head before being caught by your heart, desperate to find anything to hold on to. Only then did you hear what he said. You looked up in time to see the remains of the fading blush on his cheeks, “If that even makes sense,” he shook his head slightly as if scolding himself over the awkward reassurance and stood up. The tense shoulders betrayed the lightness he still tried to emit, “Trust me when I say I feel useless and stupid every minute of every day,” the weariness in his voice clashed with the disbelief you felt when hearing what he said.

That made no sense. The turmoil made you turn around in a half-pirouette and face Neil with wide eyes and mouth agape. Your brain was experiencing severe computing issues, the smoke almost sizzling out through your open lips.

He was none of those things. You barely resisted the urge to close the miles between you and shake him by the shoulders, all the while screaming at him to stop saying such bullshit. You did not do any of those things.

“But you’re… you,” instead, you gestured vaguely towards him, armed with words that were not enough.

No words seemed to be apt to describe him. Neil was just… impossible. Ineffable in his wonderfulness. Much better than anyone you had ever known. But that was something you could not say. Not now.

“In my books, that’s not necessarily a good thing,” Neil glanced at you with tired eyes, kicking around at nothing as he slid across the parquet in his socks.

When you entered the studio, he started unlacing his shoes before you could protest. Said something about not wanting the cleaner to have more work. The comment made you smile too brightly before you excused yourself into the changing room and hid your face in the palms of your hands. That state didn’t seem to have passed.

In an effort not to do anything stupid, you backed away till you could feel the barre against your back. Only then you met his searching gaze and made sure to show Neil the extent of earnestness on your face:

“It is. I’ve never met anyone like you, Neil,” the admission was met with a surprised double-take, so you decided to soften the tone with a stupid addition, “The hottest priest in London and whatnot,” you did mean that one, too.

Neil’s huff of laughter felt like a dodged bullet.

“Funny,” the bright sparks in his eyes confirmed the praise with doubled force, making you turn back towards the mirror to avoid being blinded by the strength of his affection. That stuff could be dangerous, “You’re the hottest ballerina in London, so we’re even,” once you registered Neil’s words, the silky tone of his voice that had not been there just a second ago, you knew that trouble was coming.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him close the gap. The warmth settled in your cheeks as you felt the comfortable heat spread around your body. That pleasant anticipation ignited in your bones with every step Neil took. Somewhere, at the edges of reason and logic, you knew you still had a choice. You knew that whatever he had envisioned in his mind, could easily be stopped with one word from your side. What was the problem?

Mainly that you didn’t want him to stop. Did not want to cut short the moment slowly blooming into something crucial. You could feel it buzz beneath your skin as Neil took the final steps towards you and leaned in. His hands came to rest upon the barre, millimetres from yours. Not quite touching but enough so you could not ignore his presence. You could feel the heat from his body as Neil pressed his chest to your back and whispered into your ear:

“A cool cat,” in normal circumstances, the call-back to your rant would have made you laugh.

But those weren’t normal circumstances. Not with Neil’s proximity, his hands slowly tracing invisible lines up your arms. You could feel his breath on the nape of your neck, creating goosebumps effortlessly. And the thing was – this wasn’t anything new. It was far from the first time someone had done this. Far from the first time you had been tempted by someone who desired you. But it was the first time they seemed to take their time for it.

Your head felt dizzy with the revelation as Neil’s fingers lightly brushed the neckline of your bodice and journeyed down. It was a first in the fact that he did not even try touching your breasts, instead respectfully settling over your ribs and tapping a vague rhythm over your heated skin. Without searching your heart, you knew that you did not mind it. Not one bit.

You covered one of his palms with yours, firmly pressing it against your waist and raised your head to seek Neil’s gaze. He was already looking back at you, the blue eyes of his eyes dark and consumed with something you wanted to call hunger. The same feeling could be easily found on your face.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” you frowned at the hoarseness of your voice and the breathless tint to the question.

For the first time, it was impossible to fake your reaction. Impossible to pretend you were not affected. Neil’s answering smile, full of confidence and mischief, made that discovery seem fine. Not troubling at all.

“Is it working?” the warmth in his eyes made you feel safe, not threatened by the potential of what could happen.

Not viable to the pains of consequences. That seemed enough.

Enough to make you gently tug at his hand, asking for the freedom of movement to turn around and face him. Only then, with Neil’s curious gaze beaming down on you like a desirable spotlight, you placed his palm back on your waist and offered an honest reply:

“I think you already know,” as proof, you picked up his other hand and guided it to press against your chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat.

The wolfish grin you received in return was worth any leftover sense of shame and embarrassment. Neil leaned in, and just as you were about to close your eyes, awaiting another life-changing kiss, he left a promising peck on the edge of your jaw. On its own accord, your hand tightened over the wooden railing as you exposed your throat for his use.

Neil wasted no time leaving a trail of kisses down the slope of your neck, only just being careful enough not to leave marks. Each kiss felt like a hot poker pressed against the tender skin of your neck, blazing hot and impossible to shake off. You closed your eyes, letting the sense take in the sensation of his tender care. Of the contrasting burn of stubble, scratching at your skin with a delicious sting.

Every kiss took time, only then to be sealed with a lick of his tongue, eliciting your quiet gasps and barely kept in groans of pleasure. The wave of insanity rose, threatening to take over your brain, save for one consistent thought. One revelation.

No one had cared this much before.

Letting go of his hand, you tangled your fingers in his golden strands, lightly tugging to gain his attention. The answering groan was sure to enter the library of sounds and images you liked to relieve in private. But before you could attempt to formulate the desire painted across your face, the door to the studio creaked, disrupting the silence.

You gasped in shock as Neil took half a step back, warily eyeing the doorway. A thousand curses lodged themselves in your throat as a silhouette of an older man, armed with a bucket and a mop, peered inside the room with a scowl. Fucking Rich, the Janitor.

The older man scanned you both from head to toe and sighed.

“It’s closing time, kids. Go home,” his gravelly voice acted like the much-needed bucket of cold water.

As he turned back towards the darkness of the corridor, you met Neil’s eyes. The depths of exasperation visible there told you this business was far from over. You certainly hoped so.

#neil tenet #tenet movie #tenet #tenet 2020 #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet fanfic #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x you #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson imagine #deadlines & commitments

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 2 months

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WIP Weekend

Weekly update:

Chapter XIII of Possession will drop later this weekend. Only two more chapters and the epilogue left to write now, and that separation anxiety is starting to hit! What's going on? I only started that fic yesterday, didn't I???

My RBB fics will post on 25 and 29 March, respectively. I'm just in the process of finishing up the second one and so excited to share them!!!

Meanwhile, in omegaverse, things are finally getting smutty.

Send me an emoji, and I'll write and share three sentences from that fic!

The two RBB fics are a bit of an exception, as I may only share spoiler-free bits, so you'll get a snippet of my choosing from any place within the fic.

🦇Possession

🔥Omega!Eddie

🐠 I'm just gonna swim (until you love me) [RBB fic 1]

☀️ RBB fic 2 [which I really ought to title soon] Snippet from 🔥 CW: omegaverse, nsfw

He just fucking chirped at Steve fucking Harrington. Steve fucking Harrington, who just ate him out like a starving man would devour a delicious feast and who told him he tastes incredible.

Somebody shoot him now.

Steve's eyes go dark again.

“Don't do that,” he murmurs, voice strained and reluctant, but he has started crawling his way up and towards Eddie’s face, as if pulled by an invisible thread. Like he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. His scent crests over Eddie, earthy and warm and intense. Every morsel of self-restraint, every ounce of shame, shatters in its wake. Eddie doesn’t think he minds anymore. “Don’t make that noise at me.”

His hands cup Eddie’s face and he’s close now, so very close. Close enough for their noses to brush, close enough for Eddie to feel his breath on his lips. Close enough for Steve’s clothed cock to slot itself between his legs, big and hard and right, right, right where it belongs.

Eddie can’t think anymore, can’t talk, can just lie there and look up at that face, those eyes.

Taglist: @somegirlsomewhere

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #wip ask game #wip weekend

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multi-fan-dom-madness · 5 months

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Chapter 29: Yaim'la (Second Chances - Hunter x reader)

Yaim'la. adj. comfortable, familiar, sense of "at home."

Chapter Summary: Returning home to Pabu sets you all at ease, and your family more than deserves a break.

Chapter Warnings: fluff and feelings, some angst, reunions, Crosshair actually letting himself be vulnerable in his own way, suggestive content so 18+ (as is this entire blog)

Word Count: 4,132

< Previous chapter | Next chapter >

When you wake, it’s with a start. You’d been dreaming of Arien—not of her death, but that time she took you cliff diving. The exhilaration of that controlled plummet lingers in the pit of your stomach now, the dreamscape rush of wind past your ears fading as you surface into consciousness. Leaving your eyes closed, you take stock of yourself, the soreness that still creaks in your joints, the dull throbs of pain in your shoulder and calf, the dried salt on your face.

You could have sworn you fell asleep still in your Imperial garb (what was left of it, anyways), but as you continue to blindly catalog your surroundings, you realize that you’re in your sleep clothes. Hunter’s left arm drapes over your midsection while his right curls under your head like a pillow, hugging you close to his warm body. His soft breaths puff on the back of your neck. Tears prickle at the back of your throat, and a sniffle escapes you.

“Mesh’la,” Hunter mumbles, voice thick with sleep. He tightens his hold on you. “I’m here.”

Eyes fluttering open at last, you find yourself staring at the thin privacy curtain that separates the gunner’s mount from the rest of the ship. The blue light of hyperspace washes over everything from behind you.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” you murmur.

“S’okay,” he says. He buries his head against your back. “S’what I’m here for.”

With a sigh, you let your eyes fall closed once more as you reach for the hand embracing you. Fresh tears clot in your eyelashes, but don’t fall. To calm yourself, you draw lazy patterns across the skin of his tattoo, tracing the inked lines of metacarpals and distals, stroking the thin scar that cuts across his hand. Hunter presses soft, close-mouthed kisses to the back of your neck, thumbs drawing soothing circles over your own body. A new kind of warmth, one that is cozy and crackles like a hearth rather than stinging like nettles, begins to bloom deep in your chest.

You shift onto your back to face him. Hunter brushes bent fingers across your cheekbone, featherlight, his gray eyes shadowed as he searches your own teary ones. You rest one hand on his face; his stubble is scratchy under your palm, but his heated skin is a balm. As your breath comes deeper, your lips part, your eyes dropping to his own mouth involuntarily.

“You’re home,” he says. The catch in his voice makes your heart squeeze.

Tilting your face up, you press a sweet, chaste kiss to his lips. He cradles the back of your head, his other palm splayed wide over your tummy.

Pulling back, you rest your forehead against his, breaths mingling. “Was there ever any doubt I wouldn’t make it back?”

He hums noncommittally. “Wrecker had to restrain me from taking over the ship when you first comm’d.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” you say with a gentle laugh. “And Echo?”

“He’s trailing us,” Hunter says. “He stayed back in orbit just in case something went wrong.”

“Smart.” You thread your fingers through his soft curls, gently detangling the strands as you go. “Thank you for trusting me on this.”

He breaks the embrace, pulling his face back just enough to make you open your eyes. Searching his gaze, you can’t help the soft sigh of contentment that escapes you. He’s so often hiding behind a mask of strength; but right now, bared to you under the cleansing light of hyperspace, you swear you can read every emotion as it arises in him. He’s still working through the lingering anxiety, if the tightness around his eyes is any indication. The affection that sparkles in his eyes is enough to steal your breath for a moment. But mostly, he looks so much...happier than you’ve ever seen him. Warmth surges within you again.

“I should be the one thanking you,” he murmurs.

You blink. “What for?”

“Giving him a second chance.” You don’t need to ask to know who he means. “For making us—no. Making me see the truth.”

“I’m all about second chances,” you say with a small smile.

“Mirjahaal,” he says. “It’s...peace of mind. You’ve helped us all find that. The ability to heal. To have a life beyond the war.”

“You would have found that on your own,” you say.

He shrugs with one shoulder. “Maybe. But I prefer it like this. With you in my arms.”

Heart thudding against your ribs so hard he can probably feel it against his chest, you swallow thickly. “And...is there a word for second chances?”

Brow furrowing like it always does when he’s thinking, Hunter falls silent. After a long moment, he shakes his head. “If there is, I never learned it. The closest I can think of is jate’kara—luck, or destiny.”

“Destiny,” you whisper. Withdrawing your hand from his hair, you slide your hand along his face so your thumb trails over his lips, which part under your touch. “I like that.”

You kiss him again before he can respond. Unlike before, this kiss is needy, desperate. Tilting your head, you lick at his bottom lip, moaning softly when his tongue meets yours. His palm flattens along your back to press you closer, his other hand trailing down your body to hitch your leg up over his hip. You groan quietly against him again.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to gently shush you. Then his mouth is on yours again, tasting you, consuming you. Tugging on his thick curls, you delight in the shudder that dances up his body under your touch. Heat in your core, already simmering from before, sparks into a low flame. Your hands claw at one another, squeezing muscle and soft flesh, dragging you both together impossibly close, two bodies trying to become one.

When you shift your hips, his half-hard length presses against your lower belly.

“Kriff,” you gasp out as you pull apart, panting. Out of reflex, you roll your hips against him. “Hunter.”

“Mesh’la,” he says, but it’s a warning. One of his broad hands rests on your hips, stilling your movements. “We can’t. Unless you’d like an audience?”

His tone is playful, but you shake your head, the gravity of the situation quelling the heat in your core. “No. But as soon as we’re able...”

He squeezes your hip before easing your leg back down to a more comfortable angle. “I promise.”

Nodding, you tuck yourself under his chin, face half-pressed against his strong chest. For a long while, the pair of you lie there like that, entangled, comfortable. Though still exhausted, sleep eludes you; Hunter stays awake with you, his heart under your ear steady and calming.

“Cross...told us a bit of what happened,” Hunter eventually says.

You still in his embrace for a moment. “How much, exactly?”

“They were trying to experiment on him. He’d tried getting another message out to us and had been sedated probably a few hours before you busted him out.”

You nod, processing the new information. “It wasn’t just Crosshair they were experimenting on.”

It’s Hunter’s turn to go absolutely still. His chest ceases its rhythmic rising and falling for a few seconds too long. “What do you mean?”

Curling in on yourself, you fist the fabric of Hunter’s shirt tightly. “Most of those prison cells held clones. Dozens upon dozens of them are still there. I—”

“Don’t even say what you’re about to say,” he interrupts, kind but firm. “There was nothing you could have done for them.”

“I know,” you say, but even to your own ears, your words aren’t convincing. “We did what we went there to do, but was it enough?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs. “I don’t know.”

The next time you wake, you’re alone, and hyperspace no longer fills the gunnery windows. Groaning, you push yourself into a sitting position to peer with sleep-filled eyes at the sight out the transparisteel barrier. Mostly, stars drift in the distance, and you catch sight of Echo’s ship a few hundred feet to the port side, but directly below you, a glittering azure planet with dozens of islands and fluffy white clouds comes into view.

Scrambling out of the gunner’s mount, you rush to the cockpit, the metal floor cold against your bare feet. When the door slides open, each of your family looks up at you with various expressions of welcome, cups of instant caf steaming in their hands. Hunter extends his hand for you to join him.

You take your place, perched on his lap, and happen to catch Crosshair’s gaze. He simply nods once at you, then blows on his caf, returning his attention to whatever Tech-babble you’d interrupted.

“—likelihood of this planet being discovered as a refuge is quite low,” Tech says.

“But not zero,” Crosshair counters. “Not even near zero.”

“Aw, but it’s so nice,” Wrecker says. “An’ we practically just got here. You should see—”

“Wrecker!” Hunter cuts in. His battlefield voices makes you jump, but Wrecker just rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, alright.” The big man waves off Hunter’s narrowed glare with a good-natured smile. “But really, Cross, I doubt there’s any planet left in this galaxy that has a ‘near zero’ chance of being found by the Empire.”

“Wrecker is correct,” Tech says, sounding mildly impressed. “You are, of course, free to make your own decisions, but perhaps there is safety in numbers. At least for now. And especially considering what Hunter shared from your experiences, Nav.” Tech turns, including you in the conversation, his gaze on your left shoulder.

“Whatever they’re up to in that mountain,” you say, bile rising, “isn’t gonna be good for the rest of us out here.”

Over the comms, Echo’s voice comes through a little tinny. “Not to mention all the clones stuck there.”

“Yeah,” you say with a sigh. “Echo, I wanna talk to you about that.”

“In due time,” he replies. “Let’s get back on solid ground first, eh?”

“Speaking of,” Tech says, spinning the pilot’s seat around, “we are about to enter the atmosphere.”

Omega barely waits for you all to debark the ships before she’s launching herself into Hunter’s arms. Behind her, moving at a reasonable pace through the courtyard, are Phee, Shep, and Lyana, broad smiles on each of their faces. You inhale deeply, relishing the warm salty sea air that graces your lungs after so long in the ship. From the top of the ramp, you watch Hunter spin Omega around with a beaming smile, the girl’s giggles music to your soul. Phee greets Tech, the two of them already beginning to step away from the group. Wrecker and Shep shake hands as Shep begins to relay updates from the island. Echo joins the group, letting Omega tackle him as soon as Hunter sets her down.

Behind you, Crosshair lingers in the belly of the ship.

“Come out when you’re ready,” you say over your shoulder. “But I promise no one here bites.”

“Not their teeth I’m worried about,” he replies with a deadpan delivery. Despite it, you think you catch a note of worry in his voice.

Humming, you shrug. “They only stare when you’re new. And you’re with us, so they won’t bother you.”

When he doesn’t answer, you nod and start down the ramp. The warm kiss of sunlight on your skin and the now-familiar cry of gulls on the breeze melts away some of the last remaining anxiety from the mission. Though you hadn’t lied—home is with your family—being back in the safest physical place you’ve ever known certainly feels good.

A presence at your shoulder makes you turn. You can’t suppress the wide smile that splits your face when you find Crosshair lingering in your personal space, eyes already squinted in a glare.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbles.

Raising your hands, palms out in a conciliatory gesture, you face forward again, looking for Omega.

“Nav!” The girl’s excitement is palpable, her voice echoing off the courtyard walls. She skids to a halt in front of you, eyes shining with tears. “I knew you could do it!”

Ruffling her hair, you can only chuckle. “Thanks, kid.”

Her gaze slides from your face to focus on Crosshair behind you. You watch her expression waver between joy and worry, the unintentional half-step back she takes, her fingers nervously fidgeting with a bead bracelet on her wrist.

“Crosshair,” she finally says.

“Kid,” he responds.

Omega’s face settles on joy, and she brushes past you to wrap her arms around her brother. Crosshair grunts in surprise, glancing at you with wide eyes. You jerk your chin at Omega with a roll of your eyes, and only drift away once he tentatively embraces his sister. Tears of happiness well in your eyes.

Warm arms snake around your middle; Hunter rests his chin on your shoulder. He murmurs, “There’s a nice bakery I think Cross would like.”

Wrapping your arms overtop his, you huff a laugh. “Won’t Shep be hosting another feast for our return?”

“Probably,” Hunter says, his warm breath tickling the side of your face. “But last time, he didn’t have those rolls.”

“Or that meiloorun jelly,” you say, catching onto what his plan must be.

Hunter hums in agreement. “We could sneak off, go back to our ‘cave’...”

Excitement thrills in your belly, heart skipping a beat at what he’s insinuating. But there’s something stopping you from agreeing. Maybe it’s the relaxed, contented atmosphere of reunion, or maybe it’s the feeling of really, truly being home, but you don’t want to run off like teenagers and have to rush. You want to take your time.

“Let me talk to Echo,” you say. “See if he can’t keep them all away from the houses tonight after dinner. We can take a lantern, some sleeping rolls, make a night of it?”

He kisses your cheek. “Deal. But I still do want that meiloorun jelly.”

You throw your head back, laughter welling up from deep within you. “Alright, alright. Let’s take Cross with us, though, okay? Need to make sure that when people see him for the first time, he’s not on his own.”

Releasing you, Hunter comes to stand next to you. His eyes are soft, a gentle smile curling his lips. For a moment, the chatter around you fades away as you gaze at one another, hands slowly twining together.

Hunter bites his lip. “I—”

“Hunter, Nav!” Omega calls. “C’mon, we have to show Crosshair that thing!”

Hunter makes a face, but the expression is gone before you can process it, replaced by an easy smile as he leads you over to the rest of the group. “Alright ’Mega, lead the way.”

She grabs one of Crosshair’s hands and tugs. “Let’s go, Crosshair, come on!”

He looks like he’s about to protest, but he glances at you and Hunter, and his gaze softens. Letting Omega drag him through the courtyard, the rest of you (except Shep and Lyana, who return home to prepare the night’s welcome home feast) trail behind the two of them through the winding, circuitous footpaths to your small plot of land. Tech and Phee take up the rear of the train, chattering quietly, while Wrecker walks next to Crosshair, pointing out good fruit to eat and the monkey-like critters that play with him sometimes.

Echo sidles up alongside you, bumping his shoulder into yours. “What were you two planning earlier?”

Embarrassment floods your body, and you take solace in the fact that Hunter is the only one who can sense it besides you. “Oh, um, just what we want to bring to dinner tonight.”

With a single raised brow, Echo’s face splits in a devious smile. “That all?”

“Yes, vod,” Hunter says in a tone that brooks no further questioning.

Echo ignores the silent warning. “Right. I hope you know how unconvincing that was. So—and I can’t believe I’m the one giving this talk: remember to always use protection and—”

“Echo!”

Both your and Hunter’s voices ring out, equal parts incredulous and embarrassed, as the man in question simply laughs, moving out of arm’s reach. Probably for the best, you muse, as your first instinct was to playfully whack at his arm.

“In seriousness,” he says, coming back into range once he deems it safe enough, “I don’t think I said this before, but I’m happy for you guys. Really.”

You exchange a contented glance with Hunter, a small smile tugging at your mouth.

“Thanks, Echo,” you say. “And thank you for...well, just being here.”

“My pleasure.”

Up ahead, Omega pulls Crosshair to a halt. “Okay, Cross, close your eyes. Yes, it’s necessary. Please?”

Crosshair heaves a sigh, and you chuckle at the glimpse of the melodramatic man that you’ve heard all the stories about. Nerves suddenly twist your stomach, palms beginning to sweat. Echo hadn’t exactly reacted the way you’d hoped when you showed him your new houses; would Crosshair be the same?

“He’ll like it,” Hunter murmurs to you, accurately guessing where your mind is going.

Throwing him a grateful glance, you offer a tight smile.

“Okay,” Omega says, cutting through your internal worrying. “Everyone else, go ahead, and we’ll follow.”

You do as requested. Wrecker climbs onto the ledge of the fountain, arms splayed, a massive smile showing all his teeth. With a laugh, you sit on the edge of the fountain on the other side, while Hunter leans against a nearby tree, arms crossed. Phee remains at the edge of the property, letting Tech take his place amongst the rest of you all; he opts to perch on the ledge next to you, pocketing his datapad.

“Ready, Omega!” you call.

“Coming!”

A moment later, she leads Crosshair around the corner. His hand covers his eyes, and from the way his brow is furrowed, you assume his eyes are scrunched shut beneath his fingers. Picking at the hem of your clothing, you watch with bated breath as Omega ushers Crosshair to stand just in front of the fountain, then releases his hand. She scurries to you and crawls into your lap.

“Okay,” she says, “you can open your eyes now, Crosshair.”

Slowly, he lowers his hand, then relaxes his face so it’s not so pinched. Finally, he opens his eyes, blinking in the bright, midday sun.

“It’s a fountain,” he says, deadpan.

Rolling your eyes, you gesture behind you. “And what else do you see?”

His gaze flicks up. Watching him as closely as you are, you catch the moment where he stops breathing, expression frozen. “What- What is this?”

“Home,” Wrecker booms. “Built it ourselves!”

Crosshair falls silent once more. His piercing, perceptive gaze sweeps over the entire plot that is the squad’s, taking in the central courtyard, the identical stucco houses, the small garden plot that Wrecker has set aside. You fiddle with Omega’s hair, cold worry trickling down your spine the longer he stands there, unmoving.

Eventually, he takes a step forward. “Which one—?”

“Any of them,” Tech states. “There is sufficient room in each of them for all of us.”

Crosshair’s gaze meets yours, then darts up to meet Hunter’s eyes. “And I can pick whichever one?”

“Except for the west-facing bedroom in the leftmost one, yes,” you answer with a lighthearted smile. “Sorry, I got dibs on that one.”

By the time that dinner comes around, Crosshair has chosen which room he’d like for himself (the west-facing room in the rightmost abode), you’ve all washed up (Shep seems to have gotten the water working while you were all away), Hunter brought Cross to retrieve the rolls and jelly as promised, and the seven of you now settle around the table on Shep’s patio. The sun’s dying rays spill orange across the darkening sky, suffusing the clouds with a comforting palette of colors. Shep, Phee, and Lyana eat at a smaller table nearby, while the rest of you, the entire family, tucks into the meal at your own table. As the food explodes across your tastebuds, head buzzing pleasantly from the berrywine, you simply let the various conversations wash over you. Radiating from deep in your being, where you first started to feel the squad wriggle their way into your heart, comfort spreads a blanket of relaxing warmth through you.

Crosshair is quiet for most of the meal, but that doesn’t surprise you. He inhales nearly all the food placed before him, but doesn’t touch the berrywine, opting instead for clear, cold water. Echo, for his part, sniffs at most of the morsels on his plate, and regales the table with stories you’ve heard several times now about his time in the 501st. Wrecker and Omega toss food back and forth, trying to get it in their mouths; Tech keeps score.

Hunter’s hand never leaves your thigh, his thumb smoothing circles over the inside curve of your leg just above your knee. He’s loud, laughing and cajoling with his brothers freely. Every now and then, though, he fixes you with a look so dark, so scorching that your entire body vibrates. Slowly, his hand begins working its way up your thigh—never high enough to arouse suspicion, but the darker the night becomes, the bolder he grows.

Omega and Lyana had gone inside some time ago, both of them tired and ready for another long day of exploring tomorrow. Phee also bid you all farewell around the same time, retiring to her own abode. Shep kindly offered you all to stay as late as you want before disappearing.

Berrywine sweet on your tongue, you fidget in your seat. Hunter squeezes your thigh, his strong fingers caressing your skin, and a shiver runs up your spine.

It doesn’t go without notice.

“Cold, Nav?” Echo asks, a shit-eating grin on his face.

You stick your tongue out at him. “Not as cold as your heart, Echo.”

“That’s a low bar,” he says with a laugh, cheeks rosy, clearly as affected by the alcohol as you are. “Considering my heart’s made of metal these days.”

The table falls silent, despite Echo’s continued grin. You try to stifle a chuckle behind your hand, but it comes out as a very unattractive snort.

“Oh, yeah, sure, laugh at the disabled guy,” Echo teases. “I could still kick your ass in a fight and you know it.”

That only makes you laugh harder. With a chuckle, Hunter stands and, pulling you with him, effortlessly dips to hoist you over his shoulder. You squeal. Blood rushes to your head as you hang upside down.

“I think it’s time to get this one to bed,” Hunter says, his voice rumbling against your legs and chest where you’re draped over him.

“No fair.” You pout your bottom lip though he can’t see it. “I can walk by myself, you know.”

“This will be faster,” he counters. “G’night, everyone.”

A chorus of “goodnight” rises from the rest of the squad, your own squawk a moment behind. Hunter carries you down the mountain footpath until he reaches the main street, where he sets you down. You stagger, dizzy from disorientation and the drinks, giggling.

“C’mon,” he says, tucking you under his arm. “Let’s go home and get you sobered up.”

“I am—” You hiccup “—sober!”

Hunter looks down at you, cocking one eyebrow.

You roll your eyes. “Fine. I’m tipsy, that’s all.”

“Well, tipsy isn’t sober, and until you sober up, we can’t go to bed,” he says.

“Since when?”

“Since right now.”

“You made that rule up.”

He chuckles. “I am the leader.”

You hiccup again. “Still, it’s a dumb rule.”

“Oh really?” he says, a grin now spreading over his face. “In that case, I guess I should tell you the real rule.”

You’re just this side of sober enough to realize that he’s tipsy as well, two spots of color high on his cheeks, his eyes beginning to glass over. But he looks so carefree, so relaxed, so young, that you can’t help but play along.

So you playfully gasp. “You lied to me before?”

“Only because we were around other people,” he says, “and I didn’t want to be rude.”

Brow scrunching, you frown. You don’t recall walking past any other village residents, but maybe you’ve just been too enraptured by the way his mouth moves when he forms words to notice. “Why would a rule make you rude?”

“Because,” he says in a stage-whisper, “the real rule is that until you sober up, we can’t make love.”

That sobers you up. Giddy grin spreading over your face, you speed your pace up, eager to get back home and start burning the alcohol out of your system so Hunter can make good on his promise to you from earlier.

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dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night · 6 months

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Seasons in the Sun chapter six

Whumptober No. 29: Scented Candle

TW: claustrophobia, arranged marriage, monarchy, blood, brief misgendering, referenced death of a parent, implied xenophobia, emotional whump, human whumper, vampire whumpee

The wedding party was as crowded as Slava had feared. The sea of human figures parted for his husband, but still it threatened to drown him.

At least the chairs were comfortable, and sitting next to his husband gave the effortless illusion of comfort and love. They hardly needed to look at each other, so long as they remained inseparable before hundreds of guests.

The scented candles on the table filled the air with a sweet aroma. Something like lilacs, but not precisely. Slava wondered if humans had as bad of senses as people always said, and if so, whether they could really smell the candles they lit.

Of all the people Slava could have met first, he was glad for it to be his sons-in-law. They were such cute little boys, running up to gawk at him, but hiding behind their father's chair.

"It's polite to at least say hello," Cobalt chastised them. "This is your new mother. She deserves some proper attention."

"Yes father," Harbor said.

"Yes father," Bastian copied.

They both were at a loss on what to say, barely managing to look Slava in the eye, let alone speak. So, Slava took the initiative in starting a conversation.

"You must be Harbor and Bastian. Your father speaks very fondly of you. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintances."

Harbor and Bastian stared at Slava's mouth as he spoke. Or his fangs, rather. Equally terrified and enchanted.

"I can't believe you're a real life vampire!" Harbor exclaimed. "That's so cool!"

Bastian crossed his arms. "Do you really eat people?"

Slava felt heat rise in his cheeks. Blushing was awfully uncomfortable, even more so in such warm weather Than in the cold he was used to.

"Yes, I'm a vampire," he said patiently. "A real life one, even. Almost everyone in Alkseir is. And no, I don't eat people." He smiled mischievously. "I drink them."

Bastian's jaw dropped. But he took a step forward, instead of running away as most little kids would have, morbidly interested in Slava.

"Are you gonna eat- I mean drink us?" Harbor asked, looking awfully unfazed by the notion.

"No silly," Slava said. "You're my step-children. That would be terrible parenting, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, yes," Cobalt interjected. "And you two need to stop being so rude. Slava is going to be a member of our family for a very long time. You had best get used to him. Now sit down."

Harbor and Bastian had a brief squabble over who got to sit next to Slava, ending with Harbor pulling eldest son privilege. Bastian sat down next to his brother, leaning back in his chair so he could see Slava better.

People took their seats at this table, and the others set up around it. They were all dressed in the most modern of fashions, with acid dyed colors, floral adornments, and low collars. Advisers, generals, diplomats, and many others, none of whom Slava recognized.

"Is my mother still here?" Slava asked Cobalt. "I never got to say goodbye."

"She planned to stay until the early hours of the morning," Cobalt said. "I must admit, I'm unused to having weddings at night. But rest assured, she will stay here until you say your goodbyes. And you'll see her again at some future political meeting or other."

His words did much to ease Slava's anxiety. He felt almost silly for his fears, like a little boy still clinging to his mother's legs at a party. Of course he might see her again, even if their lives would remain firmly separated for decades to come.

"Our mother died," Harbor interrupted. "We had a step-mother once, but she only lasted a couple months. I don't remember her name."

While Slava was curious about what had happened to their step-mother, he knew better than to ask. Opening old wounds was a bad practice, especially when they marred the souls of young children.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said gently. "I'm sure you miss your mother very much. Having me here must be difficult for you, but I promise that I am not trying to replace your mother. No one could do that."

"Yeah you could," Bastian said, with an over exaggerated shrug. "You're our mother now."

"And you're a vampire," Harbor emphasized. "That means you won't die."

Sympathy stabbed at Slava's heart, quite intent on tearing it to shreds. He had never suffered the death of a parent, so he had no idea how to comfort Harbor and Bastian. Especially when they seemed so nonchalant about their loss.

"That's enough talk about Fleur," Cobalt said, trying to hide his emotional pain from the advisers and generals sitting at their table. "This is a happy occasion. I'd rather not spoil it."

"Yes father," Bastian and Harbor said in unison.

Slava wasn't sure how Cobalt taught two young boys to be so well behaved, but he admired him for it. Slava and his siblings had been such trouble makers in comparison.

Servants came onto the grounds, bearing platters of food and drink. Plates and cups were made from the finest ceramics, and utensils from well polished silver. The servants provided for the royal family first, as always, then attended to their guests.

A glass of blood sat properly on the table in front of Slava. He pretended like he knew how to drink from it, watching Cobalt out of the corner of his eye to mimic how he brought the cup to his lips and slowly tilted it back to drink.

It was an odd sensation, but Slava was supremely grateful for dinner. Anxiety was always worse on an empty stomach. He supposed he would have to get used to this sort of dining, and was thankful to have caught onto the proper manners so quickly.

"Is that really blood?" Harbor asked.

Slava set his cup down on the saucer. "Yes, of course. I wouldn't drink fake blood, now would I?"

"I guess not. Do you eat food too, or just blood?"

"Just blood. Food is for humans."

"What does it taste like?" Bastian had a hard time keeping his excitement in check, twitching like a kitten in a field of catnip. "Is it good?"

"Have you ever lost a tooth?" Slava asked, figuring humans did that as well as vampires.

Bastian nodded. "So… like a coin? But wetter?"

Slava had never tasted a coin before, and it seemed a bizarre comparison.

"Everyone has different tasting blood. Like how-" Slava glanced at Harbor's plate, trying to remember what humans ate "-Kinds of meat probably taste different from each other."

"That's so cool!" Harbor exclaimed.

Cobalt shot him an exasperated look. "Keep your voice down."

"Sorry father."

"Can I see your teeth again?" Bastian asked Slava. "They're pointy."

Slava's mother had told him to smile with closed lips when humans were about, as they took such things as a sign of aggression. He had already failed multiple times this night alone.

But ignoring her advice when explicitly prompted couldn't hurt anything. Especially for the sake of satisfying inquisitive children. So, he smiled at Bastian, revealing the fangs he had tried so hard to keep hidden.

"That's awesome," Bastian breathed.

"You're so pretty," Harbor added politely. "Like a fairy."

"More like elves," Bastian argued. "Since they've got pointy ears just like Slava's. And they're tall."

"Or a goddess," Harbor said. "The ones in those old paintings our teachers make us look at."

Slava laughed softly to himself. What peculiar children he had ended up with. They were sure to end up kind, but very eccentric, adults. And, truth be told, he wouldn't have it any other way.

Taglist: @hugh-lauries-bald-spot @whumpsday @whumpshaped @heavenlyeden @thecyrulik @bloodinkandashes @whumpytine

#Abraham original: Hot off the press #Seasons in the Sun #Whumptober 2023 #Whumptober day 29 #Scented candle #Claustrophobia whump #blood #emotional whump #human whumper #vampire whumpee #Royal whump #Whump series #Whump writing

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impetuous-impulse · 11 months

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Wellingtons Sieg: Aesthetically Pleasing or Populist Potboiler?

This is a post responding to @empirearchives on this question: "Was Wellington’s Victory popular in Vienna because of the quality of the music itself or because of the political context (Austrians celebrating the defeat of Napoleon)?” I examine the background of Wellington's Victory and its audiences in reference to Beethoven’s heroic aesthetic and in comparison to the Eroica. In my final paragraph, I also attempt to engage with this post by @diagnosed-anxiety-disorder. (Hi! I love your enthusiasm for classical music and Napoleonic history! It’s just that Idk how to socially interact djflskdjf,,,) WARNING: LONG.

To answer the question, Wellington's Victory—or, in German, Wellingtons Sieg—was entangled with its political context in the outset, so judging its popularity by separating its context from its aesthetic qualities is impossible. Let me touch on the political and aesthetic qualities of the piece in turn.

Wellingtons Sieg was comissioned by Johann Nepomuk Mälzel (aka. the guy who gave Beethoven his ear trumpets) for celebrating Wellington's success in the Battle of Vittoria. It was, further, made to be played on Mälzel's panharmonicon, which was a mechanical orchestra based off of barrel organ technology. At the very same time, real barrel organists would have been in the streets playing lowbrow pieces that celebrated Wellington, so the piece had common themes with the popular music of the day. Thus it is unsurprising that Beethoven wrote Wellingtons Sieg was "nothing but an occasional piece" [nichts als ein Gelegenheitsstück], but he did not mean it pejoratively; he was acknowledging its historicity.

When discussing musical merit, the arbiter of a piece's aesthetic qualities are always its audiences. Austria in 1813 was a police state that censored anti-Royalist sentiments and lauded pro-Royalist ones, so Wellingtons Sieg, commemorating an Austrian ally's victory, would have inavariably been well-received in terms of aesthetics and political content. Laura Turnbridge, in chapter six of Beethoven: A Life in Nine Pieces (2020), points out that Wellingtons Sieg "premiered in the University Hall on 8 December 1813, at a charity concert in aid of Austrian and Bavarian soldiers wounded in the recent Battle of Hanau.” Turnbridge continues:

Wellingtons Sieg was enthusiastically received and played again and again, including at no fewer than five benefit concerts in which Beethoven participated, on 2 January, 27 February, 29 November, 2 December and 25 December 1814. At the first of these, at the Großer Redoutensaal, Beethoven played up the piece’s spectacular potential by having the French and British bands advance towards each other down long corridors on either side of the hall. The hall seated up to a thousand people and the orchestra was unusually large for these concerts, numbering 120 players, an aspect that Beethoven noted with glee in his diaries [...]. Beethoven attempted to add a further patriotic spin to the January concert, trying to arrange for a statue of the Kaiser, which stood in the hall, to be revealed from behind a curtain on being summoned by Zeus in his incidental music for Die Ruinen von Athen (The Ruins of Athens). The Russian Emperor Alexander and other leaders were invited to attend his academy on 29 November, which also included the Seventh Symphony and a new cantata, Der glorreiche Augenblick [...].

The sovereigns and soldiers that Wellingtons Sieg was made for certainly loved its aesthetic qualities, but said qualities had different qualifiers to our aesthetic preferences of Western art music today. This means the overtly political nature of Wellingtons Sieg makes it impossible to be judged by modern aesthetics. Nevertheless, it cannot be said Wellingtons Sieg was only popular with the public, for it was appreciated for its artistry, or at least for the composer behind it. In these contexts, Beethoven was lionised as much as Wellington, the subject of his piece. The following is from Nicolas Mathew, in his 2006 article "History under Erasure: Wellingtons Sieg, the Congress of Vienna, and the Ruination of Beethoven's Heroic Style”:

Shortly after attending the Akademie on 2 January 1814 while in Vienna, the Romantic poet and Beethoven fanatic Clemens Brentano, brother of Beethoven's friend and correspondent Bettina, sent his hero the “Vier Lieder von Beethoven an sich selbst" (Four Beethoven Songs to the Composer Himself) and an effusive, barely coherent covering letter. The third poem resounds with a confluence of archaic musical and military imagery, taking the transposition of Beethoven and Wellington, Leyer und Schwert [lyre and sword], as its central conceit. "Du hast die Schlacht geschlagen, Ich habe die Schlacht getont" (You have fought the battle, I have set the battle to music), it begins, eventually reaching this exhortative finale: Die Rosse entspann' ich dem Wagen Triumpf! auf Tonen getragen, Zieht mein Held ein, der Ewigkeit Pforten Rufen in meinen Akkorden, Wellington, Viktoria! Beethoven! Gloria! [I slacken my steeds from the chariot Triumph! Carried upon tones, my hero moves into the Gates of Eternity Summoned in my chords, Wellington, Victoria! Beethoven! Gloria! ]

There was more fanboying, but you get the idea. Nor was the popularity of Wellingtons Sieg limited to the Congress of Vienna—it was celebrated long after the end of the Napoleonic Wars. In 1824, the highbrow musicians and music lovers who begged the increasingly reclusive Beethoven to put on a concert in Vienna (to combat the dominance of populist Italian opera) referenced only one of his compositions: "For years, ever since the thunders of the Victory at Vittoria ceased to reverberate, we have waited and hoped to see you distribute new gifts from the fullness of your riches to the circle of your friends.” Beethoven was evidently comfortable with the popularity his ode to Wellington’s victory earned, as he alludes to the piece when writing to Count Franz Brunsvik on 13 February 1814 about the progress of war: "no doubt you are delighted about all the victories—and mine also.” It is implicit that Wellington’s victory is also Beethoven’s triumph—while Beethoven's heroic image was constructed in Napoleon's Eroica, his heroic credentials are equally prominent in Wellington’s Sieg.

To me, the Eroica and Wellingtons Sieg are two articulations of the same heroic theme (regardless of how “bad” they sound). A. B. Marx, a Berlin critic that Beethoven admired, compared both works in a dialectical analysis. Aside from defending the unsutble tone painting of Wellingtons Sieg, he posited that Wellingtons Sieg was an external realisation of the internal Kampf-und-Sieg of the Eroica—two sides of the same coin. As Mathew puts it,

Wellingtons Sieg—with its fanfares and marches, its battle, its realism, its extrinsic historical derivation, its sheer explicitness—offers a perspective on the poetic content of the Eroica. By turning the Eroica toward the world—by providing a concrete realization of its guiding poetic idea, as Marx would have it—Wellingtons Sieg becomes a hermeneutic key, a kind of musical exegesis.

While Marx toned down the narrative foiling of the Eroica and Wellingtons Sieg in a later biography of Beethoven, he cannot deny that both works spring from the same heroic seed—Beethoven’s struggle-and-victory model of composition. Their popularity as of 1813 in large part came from its famous composer, whose name made it part of the Viennese repertoire. From an artistic perspective, rather than being partial to either side of the political conflict, Beethoven's heroic approach to music simply found the next Great Man to eulogise. In doing so, he transcended the “greatness” of both his subjects, a greatness that is only beginning to be deconstructed by scholarship.

It was only when the Napoleonic era grew increasingly distant that Wellingtons Sieg was seen as problematic by critics. Mathew points out that while there were mixed responses to the piece, it was a more than decade later that "contemporary critical misgivings about Beethoven's imitative music prompted a fully argued polemic against Wellingtons Sieg" (notably, Gottfried Weber's 1825 review of it in his journal Cäcilia, who Beethoven responded to with his profanity-laden quote). Weber’s opinion shaped musicology’s indictment of Wellingtons Sieg. It was certainly aesthetically pleasing to the shell-shocked veterans of 1813, and continued to delight highbrow and lowbrow audiences until political and musicological circumstances pushed it into obscurity. Finally, let’s face it—Wellingtons Sieg simply didn’t fit the image of apolitical, isolated artistry that Beethoven enthusiasts wanted to elevate him to, by conveniently forgetting that Beethoven had to eat too.

Serious analysis aside, here’s a hot take: I think Napoleon would have enjoyed Wellingtons Sieg a lot more than Beethoven’s famous works. According to the article @empirearchives has linked for us (a good starter guide), that man’s music taste was so out of line with what we think is the Western canon today! Paisiello certainly isn’t being revered as the Italian genius of the 1790s by the general public. And which average classical music enthusiast has heard of Jean François Le Sueur, much less broadcasted the music of Napoleon’s coronation on the radio? The musical hegemony of Beethoven, apparent sympathiser of Napoleon, has ironically shoved the pleasant, simple melodies and the opera that Napoleon liked out of the spotlight. And that was exactly the type of music a great number of Beethoven’s contemporaries liked—give Napoleon catchy motifs based on war marches, easy melodies, and some tone-painting, and he’s a happy audience.

I hope my response isn't too confusing and that it shed some light on the question. If you want any further sources or proper citations, please ask and I will reply accordingly!

#clickbait: accidentally wrote an essay on wellingtons sieg #ludwig van beethoven #napoleon bonaparte #classical music #congress of vienna #wellington's victory #to everyone whose posts i haven't read!! sorry!!! i'll catch up on them when i can ;;;;;

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inkribbon796 · 7 months

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Egotober 2023 Day 10: Territorial

Summary: Anti finds out about Marvin moving oversees, and is not too thrilled he’s losing a toy.

A/N: Happy Birthday to Anti, he gets separation anxiety and feels for his birthday.

Prompt: Glitch

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

A lot of people thought Anti was an idiot.

Sometimes the glitch demon liked it that way. If someone thought he was stupid or weak they didn’t react fast enough before he cut their throat out. He’d made Dark bleed a lot of his rotten gunk blood before he treated Anti like the threat he was.

But he knew when the Septics were planning something. And they were planning something big. Not the fun kind either where it would be a fight and maybe they’d trap Anti into a bricked up phone, or a necklace, or that one time they forced him to be in a music box. This wasn’t the fun type of planning.

In fact, Anti suspected it had less to do with Anti, and everything to do with Dark.

Which always boiled Anti’s blood.

So Anti did what he always did best. He waited for Marvin to take one of his many walks around town. And set a car on fire right next to him.

“Hey!” Marvin called out, after getting spooked by it as a couple people screamed. His magic spun around him. “What the hell?”

Anti didn’t say a word, he just turned into a glitchy mess of aura and anger.

Magic began humming along Marvin’s skin. “Fine, asshat, let’s go.”

Anti’s latent aura got staticky as Marvin could only see malice and fury in his eyes as they clashed. Glitchy green aura mixing with the vibrant purples and silvers of Marvin’s magic.

Marvin was used to the quips and the threats, but whatever had set Anti off had him absolutely furious. “Did Dark come to town and no one told us? Did Rumble set your dick on fire?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Anti said as he kept trying to go for Marvin’s throat.

It took Marvin a while to tire Anti out and he started slowing down after destroying someone’s car.

“So, you gonna actually tell me what happened?” Marvin asked.

“You and the others are up to something and I don’t like it,” Anti said.

“Oh, because I’m probably moving to the States, at least for a little bit,” Marvin said, not thinking why that would be a problem.

Anti stiffened, so furious and angry that he looked calm. “To Egoton?”

“Yeah, well, no one in Egoton can see aura and they—”

Marvin didn’t get to finish, Anti lunged at him with renewed anger. Thankfully Jackie ran in to help him and being outnumbered and tired made Anti run off to sulk before they discorporated him.

The glitch demon would be back to fight with them another day, today he stewed in his anger. In his indignant fury.

Dark was not getting Marvin to play with. All the Septics belonged to Anti. They belonged to him. If Anti had to drill that into Dark and the Septics heads he would do that. If the magician wanted to fuck off to a different country, Marvin would make him leave an arm when he did it.

Marvin sent out a random text to Anti. “It’s not personal, they’re just all blind as shit when it comes to aura.”

Anti sent a response of a phone virus over to Marvin’s phone just out of spite. Then he went to Egoton to get into a fight with Dark. The glitch demon used his aura to phase through every warehouse wall until he found the demonic mob boss in his office minding his own business.

The glitch demon got a couple scratches in and ripped Dark’s suit up but wound up getting discorporated in the end. He’d been fighting for a while and Dark discorporated him, unsure what exactly had set Anti off and not caring enough to ask.

The glitch demon was unpredictable and Dark changed into a new outfit and was left to deal with Anti after he’d reformed in a couple weeks.

#Egotober 2023 #Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Antisepticeye #ALTR 114920 #marvin the magician #jealous demon #Anti doesn't like sharing #Dark just works here he doesn't know what's going on

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lizzyverydizzyyo · 6 months

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D.E.A.N | Chapter 30 - Peak

Masterlist and overall summary of the whole novel is here. | Prompt on trope-appreciation-tuesdays that inspired this is here. | @whumptober-archive

Fandom : Original Work

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

AO3

Wordcount: ± 8086 [Also very action-heavy, so I can’t cut it into two chapters]

TW: Suicide Pact, Suicidal Ideation, Depression, Dread, Minor Character Deaths (antagonist), Blood, Injury, Weapon, Gun, Firearms, Shooting, Drugs, Graphic Depiction of Violence, Gore, Explosion, Medical Instruments and Treatments

He can sense it’s nearly over, although he doesn’t know on whose favor fate will fall into: his side or the enemies’. All who remain are now left to lick their wounds pitifully, wondering if they’ll ever get back to the way it was. Mark tells himself that, at least, ones dear to his heart are still breathing on this God’s green earth.

Whumptober 2023 Themes (last 4 and Alt. Bonus only):

Day Alt. bonus — Aftermath of Failure

Day 28 — “You'll have to go through me.”

Day 29 — Troubled Past Resurfacing

Day 30 — Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

Day 31 — Emptiness | Setbacks

Whumptober 2022 Themes (post-event, not completionist):

Day 11 Alt. — Ambushed

Day 24 — Fight, Flight or Freeze | Blood Covered Hands

Day 26 — No One Left Behind | Separated

This story is set in the last half of 2016.

——

Once they’re in the open, they whip their heads left and right, trying to figure out which vehicle Angie and Doctor Lowe are near to. There are two vans: one on the far side of the left, and the other on their right but close. It’s probably not helping that everything is dark.

He didn’t realize how late it is. No wonder many sections of the headquarter looked dark before. What time is it anyway?

Suddenly, they see Angie’s head poking from behind the van on their right. Her arm follows, showing up from the other side of the van to wave to them.

“Angie!” Mark calls out happily, although he still makes sure he keeps quiet.

Anna and Mark sprint to close the distance.

He doesn’t know about Anna, but he feels warmth washing over him with his heart feeling a little lighter. Like giant boulders are lifted off his shoulders. Like hope.

“How did you get here? How did the bomb go?” Anna blurts out quickly.

“Long story. I survived. That’s all that matters.”

“Okay. True,” Anna replies.

Mark gives himself a few seconds to scan Angie and Doctor Lowe quickly, seeing some cuts and bruises here and there, and scratches on their clothes, but they’re alive and well and standing firmly. They’re all okay. Mostly.

Across him, Angie throws a slight look towards Nick in Mark’s arms, one arm lolling on the side and dangling weakly. Nick is quiet and not moving, his head laid against Mark’s chest, but his own chest still rises and falls. Angie stares at the bloody palm of Nick that’s hanging down. She doesn’t point it out.

Which is probably for the best because they can’t afford to panic and spread the anxiety towards each other. They need to be steady and quick now.

“Get in,” Doctor Lowe tersely instructs Mark while Angie walks towards the back of the van to open the doors. It’s not locked.

Mark frowns while looking at the van, pausing a few steps away. He scans their surroundings and sees no one else beside 5 of them.

“What?” the surgeon turns around to him exasperatedly.

“Is this safe?” he asks. “Did any Helga people get to it?”

“It’s fine. I’ve been here all the time we were separated,” Angie says urgently to Mark. “The agents in charge of guarding the backyard just left for the inside not too long ago, so the vehicles were still protected from any sabotaging.”

Mark contemplates for a few seconds, but ends up closing his eyes and sighing as he accepts Angie’s explanation, so he steps forwards to approach the van.

“The keys?” Angie asks him.

Mark faces her fully to give her better access to Nick’s pockets on his utility belt. Nick stays still, eerily silent. He doesn’t react at all to Angie rummaging her hand through his many pockets until she gets to the one with the handful of metal keys.

“Okay, good, lay him down there,” Doctor Lowe instructs him once Angie has the keys in her palm. The surgeon points to the far side of the van’s interior.

Mark bends down his body a little so that he can fit into the back of the van as he steps into it. He climbs into the van’s inside while crouching, still with Nick in his arms, but when both of his feet are firmly on the floor of the van and he is pretty much squatting, he starts shifting his legs one knee at a time to kneel. He shuffles that way a bit until he reaches the divider between the back of the van and the driver section so that he can deposit Nikolai on the floor.

Nick is still unmoving with face leaning against Mark’s chest and one arm lolling around, even until he gently lays Nick down.

“No, no. Sit him up a bit. His legs can’t be higher than the rest of his body,” the surgeon interjects, pulling on Mark’s arm a bit to stop his movement.

Nick finally makes a sound by groaning weakly when Mark tries to pull his body up into sitting position, while Doctor Lowe pulls his legs straight from slightly bent position. It seems to be very important that Nick’s legs are lower than his torso as he is bleeding like this, as said by Angie too before the first surgery.

Once they’re settled inside, Doctor Lowe turns back to pull the doors in and slam them closed. Only then does Mark take off his helmet and put it away. He takes off Nick’s helmet next to see his face and gauge how he is doing.

Nick’s eyes are half-lidded, blinking sluggishly once in a while. He looks extremely pale with cold sweat drenching his body and wetting his hair. Even his skin is cold to touch.

“Kid, just last a little bit more, okay?” Doctor Lowe now says as he crouches to sit next to Nick across from Mark, both facing the weakened boy. The old face uncharacteristically shows strong emotions and non-clinical concern, for once.

Nick’s thin hands are on top of his own abdomen, but they’re not really pushing on his wound strongly, probably because his energy is completely depleted. Mark kneels on one knee in front of him as he puts his own palm on top of Nick’s to push at it firmly.

Nick winces and weakly shifts his head to the side.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. We need to put pressure on your bleeding,” he tells Nick softly.

Nick turns his head forward again to look at him, face seemingly half-conscious. His breathing is labored and dragging, and when Mark takes Nick’s left wrist to feel his pulse, it’s faint but abnormally rapid.

“Why the fuck are we not driving yet?”

He sees Doctor Lowe raising his head to look over Nick’s head towards the divider, his face urgent with a somewhat angry look. He has never been a patient man in all the time Mark has known him, after all.

“Hey,” the doctor calls out again, “what are you waiting for?!”

He bangs on the divider, making Nick wince and moan in pain again. Mark glares slightly at the surgeon, but the man doesn’t seem to care.

“We’re looking for the key!” they both hear Angie’s muffled voice.

“Do it fucking faster!”

Even with the divider, Mark can hear Angie and Anna frantically mumbling with each other, “Where the fuck is the key? Is it this? No, that doesn’t fit, fuck! I don’t know which one? Did they not say which key is for which car! Oh my god…” with metal jiggling.

“Jesus fucking Christ, are you serious, you dumb bitches? Go now!” Doctor Lowe yells out incredulously.

“We’re trying, okay?!” follows with more metal clanking from both women in the front.

“For fuck’s sake, just cut the cord and start with it!” Mark now screams in turn in frustration.

“Are you fucking serious? No! It’ll just destroy the car!” Angie responds from the front.

Nick shifts his head to the side again, weakly gasping with eyes barely open.

“Angie! Anna! Come on!” Mark yells again after looking at that.

He hears more metal jiggling and hissed arguments from the front, and he is about ready to get out and sort the problem out himself, but then he hears the van sputtering then humming to life.

“Gotcha!” he finally hears from Angie.

Mark and Doctor Lowe unconsciously exhale in relief and sag their bodies at the same time. He can even hear Nick exhaling weakly too.

He turns to Nick again with a tight smile, trying to be calming and reassuring.

“This is it. We just have to reach backup team and it’ll be over. You’ll be okay there,” he says softly.

Nick simply looks back at him, seemingly fighting against his exhaustion so that he can keep his eyes open. He winces a bit before blinking weakly, then his eyes stay half-lidded until they all can feel the motion of the car starting to be driven away.

Of course, in ideal situation, it’s better to drive slowly and carefully so that Nick isn’t jolted around while bleeding like this, but there are still dozens of Helga people they’re trying to run from in here, and possibly even more who are still trying to reach this headquarter. They don’t have any other choice but to accept Angie hitting the gas and speeding up along their path until they reach Central Hub’s backup team.

Doctor Lowe and Mark have just taken off their guns and put them on the floor when they simultaneously push at Nick’s shoulders instinctively. He is whipped from side to side at a sharp turn Angie is taking, so they’re making sure Nick isn’t knocked around—especially on the head—and injured more.

“Argh…” Nick immediately yelps in pain at the sudden movement.

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m sorry,” he soothes Nick.

He can see tears flowing from the corners of Nick’s swirly blue-brown eyes as they’re squeezed shut. In turn, Mark squeezes Nick’s shoulder a little to calm him down. Eventually, the van is going at a more even pace with less bouncing as it seemingly settles on an established road.

“You keep pushing on his wound. I’ll try to connect to backup,” Doctor Lowe eventually instructs him.

He simply nods and sits down with crossed legs so that he is in a more comfortable position to hold Nick. His own right shoulder is leaning against the divider as he keeps his left palm’s pressure at Nick’s abdomen. Mark sees Doctor Lowe sit on his heels while clicking on his watch for a while.

The old surgeon tsks.

“The reach is too short with this,” he comments.

“Well, yeah. It’s for a contained network. It’s not meant to be far,” he responds.

“It would be nice if it can. I was hoping its reach is far enough considering we don’t have any of our heavy-duty laptops.”

“There is our satellite map on the dashboard, isn’t there?” he inquires.

“For them,” the surgeon nods his chin to the front to refer to Angie and Anna, “but not us. We can’t see where we are from here. Can’t prepare.”

Oh, that makes sense.

“I guess we should just keep our comms open to connect to backup’s network.”

“I’d rather not do that for too long. We can be intercepted. There are only 5 of us here,” the old man informs him, finally clicking the button on the earpiece itself, seemingly disconnecting from 1034’s headquarter’s network.

Mark too ends up clicking on his earpiece to disconnect it.

There is no point in connecting to 1034’s headquarter anymore since they’re leaving that place and won’t need to communicate with any of them. He knows they’re not going to send more chaperone agents for Nick because there simply are just not enough agents to fight Helga in the headquarter itself.

It’s better to make sure their connection isn’t intruded on by any non-authorized party by turning it off completely.

He almost falls asleep due to his extreme exhaustion and lulling silence for a while when Doctor Lowe suddenly talks to him.

“Shift him a little,” Doctor Lowe instructs Mark.

He furrows his eyebrows.

“I need to see behind us,” the doctor explains, pointing at the screen on the divider that’s supposed to show the back of the van through the small camera on the door.

“Oh.”

Mark gently slips his right arm between Nick’s back and the divider to circle Nick’s body from behind, pulling him closer almost to an embrace until Nick’s head is lying on Mark’s right shoulder instead of covering the screen.

He doesn’t realize the intimacy of the gesture until Doctor Lowe stares at him for a few seconds.

He is about to push Nick away a little bit to minimize the too-personal sense of their position, but when he sees Nick’s closed eyes on the pale exhausted face, he just doesn’t have the heart to do it. Who’s going to have a problem with it anyway?

Doctor Lowe ends up shaking his head and rising to kneel so that he can get closer to the screen and turns it on.

It crackles a bit before he sees the screen coming to life. Not that it’s going to help in telling them where they are, especially since it’s dark outside, except just to see if their environment is safe.

For quite a while, all they do is just glance at the screen every so often while mostly ignoring it in favor of laying back and closing their eyes to get a little bit of rest. They’re not really expecting anything noteworthy to happen, but he hears a bang on the divider from the front.

He and Doctor Lowe furrow their eyebrows and look at each other.

“Look at your watch! What colors are they?” he hears Anna inquire.

“What? What color? What are you talking about?” he shouts back with a perplexed expression.

“There are incomings shown in our satellite map. Are they our guys?”

He immediately straightens up his back with an alert look, just as Doctor Lowe does. They whip their heads to look at the screen.

It’s not obvious in the beginning, but he can see some dots following them from behind that are getting closer and closer and eventually appearing like several vehicles that are not D.E.A.N issued.

Oh, fuck.

He looks at his watch over Nick’s head and shoulder who is still leaning against his chest, clicking a button on the side to turn it on again.

They’re all brown pulsating dots following from behind.

“Oh, shit,” Doctor Lowe whispers horrifically.

“Nick, Nicky, get off, I need to move,” he says to Nikolai, trying to be gentle even if he is about to lose his shit.

Nick flutters his eyes open and winces, seemingly having fallen asleep before.

He hates being rough with Nick, but he has to quickly shift Nick’s body away from him so that he can move to grab his rifle again.

Doctor Lowe is kneeling while slamming the seat covers up, seeing what’s inside their under-seat storage. He frantically grabs all manners of firearm cartridges, from long rifle ammo clips to boxes of handgun bullets from the inside. Mark can see that besides those, there are explosives too like grenades and some smoke bombs.

There are also different kinds of rifles there, seemingly more of a sniper rifle type, along with some rifle tripod mounts.

Sniper rifle be damned. He’ll use them when he has to. Bullet is a bullet once it’s in someone’s skull.

“Wha…” Nick mumbles with half-lidded eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says distractedly as he starts reloading several magazines worth of bullets for his pistols, then inserting a long ammo clip into the chamber of his rifle along with Doctor Lowe.

Not long after, they immediately hear shots hitting the back of their van.

Shit. He thought they’re out of the woods already.

Doctor Lowe frantically rummages through the storages again, muttering furiously to himself.

“Doc, you got bullets. What are you looking for?” Mark asks in frustration.

“I need sticky tapes for the rifle mounts.”

“What?!”

Doctor Lowe sits on his heels again while turning towards him.

“I’m not Addrianne or Mary who can probably shoot the fucking moon without rifle mount, all right? I need a steady mount.”

“Just shoot with your machine guns!”

“You do it! I’ll find some tape.”

Mark tsks incredulously, but he does grab his helmet to put it back on before pushing open the hatch on top of their van. He takes a slight look at the screen to get a feel of what kind of enemies they’re dealing with before popping his head up with his machine gun pointed to the back.

There are 5 jeeps following them.

“How the fuck did they know about us?!”

Mark ignores Doctor Lowe’s question to start pressing his rifle trigger, followed by resounding shots and strong recoils that hit him much harder than usual with his current shooting position. He mostly hits the windows and non-vital parts of the enemies he can see.

When he pauses a bit, he observes them and finds that they all look fresh and battle ready, maybe even more combat-trained than the ones swarming 1034 before. There are women there too, ones who look as military-trained as the rest.

He absently thinks about Doctor Lowe’s question.

He doesn’t like the thought that maybe there was a planned breach of information about their strategy. These enemies look especially prepared for this kind of battle, while the ones in 1034 look more like low level thugs of the syndicate who just happen to be given firearms.

He bows down his head under the hatch when the other side returns the shots, waiting until they stop so that he can shoot again. On his left a little bit behind him, he hears shotgun shots and cocking from Anna who is poking her head out of the window to shoot with him.

He feels their van swerving to the left sharply, feeling himself knocked to the side and hit hard on the chest by the metal opening of the hatch.

“Fucking hell, Angie!”

“I’m avoiding their shots!”

He breathes hard as he steadies himself, pointing his machine gun again to shoot mostly at the driver of the jeep closest to them.

They seem to know his plan, so that jeep also swerves to the side to avoid his shots.

“Move!” Doctor Lowe yells at him from under.

Mark looks down to the inside of the van and sees Doctor Lowe holding a short rifle tripod mount, presumably with sticky tape on the bottom of the feet.

He pulls himself down to allow Doctor Lowe to stick the mount to the top of their van, using the opportunity to pull another long ammo clip to be slung over his shoulder as preparation before the current one runs out.

“I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to install that!” he half-shouts.

“Shut the fuck up. I told you I’m not a sniper. I’m just doing what I can,” Doctor Lowe shouts with voice half-muffled by the windy surrounding. “Now give me that rifle!”

Mark looks down on the ground to see the different kind of rifle usually used for precision shooting. He simply grabs that and follows the surgeon’s instruction.

Unlike their automatic machine guns which can shoot endlessly as long as they keep pressing the trigger and have ammo clips attached, the rifle Doctor Lowe is using right now is semi-automatic. It requires him to pull the trigger each time he wants to take a shot, although he doesn’t have to keep reloading each time.

Mark kneels on one knee with his own rifle strap slung over his shoulder again, both of his arms holding the gun itself, while he faces Nick.

The younger man’s face is alert and scared, no longer has any trace of sleepiness as before. Mark’s heart clenches at the deep fear shown on that bony and pale face, undoubtedly in pain too at the sudden movements Angie keeps making.

Nick is holding the sides of the opened seats for dear life.

“What’s going on, Mark?” he asks shakily as he starts crying again.

“It’s fine. We’ll deal with it,” he softly says, once again saying it both for Nick and himself.

Eventually, Doctor Lowe removes his rifle from the mount and pops back down to gather more ammos and fill the chamber with them once again. Mark uses this opportunity to pop back out, and he starts shooting again.

He aims lower this time, trying to point at the wheels.

Their van swerves to the side once again, so he groans as the corners of the opened hatch hit him on the chest again.

“Argh!”

“Sorry!” Angie simply shouts.

He starts shooting again once he is sure Angie is done with her swerving. He hits one person, and he can see the man’s body flopping to the side and bowing forward. The driver next to him doesn’t flinch or look away from the road despite having her comrade shot to death next to her.

Mark starts pointing his gun at another jeep now, going for the passenger shooter again. He only manages to shoot the person’s shoulder, but that’s good enough. She’s not going to be able to shoot properly like that.

He pulls back, going down into the van again to take a break from the harsh recoils and avoid the shots from the other side, so Doctor Lowe rises again with his semi-automatic rifle after reloading it.

Doctor Lowe focuses on the scope, taking a shot more carefully and slowly. Mark can only guess what’s happening. The only way the people in the back of the van can see what’s behind is by looking at the screen, but that has a limited view.

He hears another shot from Doctor Lowe, followed by loud crashing, but before he can catch what’s happening, there is another bang to the back of the van, so now the screen crackles then goes black.

Oh, great. Fantastic. As if they weren’t already stuck and cornered before.

Even so, Doctor Lowe lowers himself again, gathering ammos to be inserted into the rifle chamber again.

“Your turn,” he tightly says as he keeps focusing on inserting some ammo clips.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Got one of their drivers.”

He furrows his eyebrows as he thinks about what Doctor Lowe means until he raises his eyebrows in surprise.

The driver shot by Doctor Lowe either got injured enough that they can’t steer the vehicle well anymore, or killed so the jeep swerved around uncontrollably until it hit another one.

Basically, taking two enemies’ vehicles at once.

Not like Addrianne, my ass, Mark thinks.

“Your turn, Hayden!” Doctor Lowe yells at him.

He immediately jumps up over the hatch to point his gun again.

As he guessed before, there are now only three jeeps still following them, while the other two are falling behind so far in the back. Still, that doesn’t mean they can’t change drivers and start chasing his team again. He doesn’t know if their jeeps’ engines are damaged enough to stop them completely.

He squints his eyes at the recoil of his rifles, still not used to how harsh and painful it is while being shot this way, but he keeps going. He quickly pulls the end of the other long ammo clip to start inserting it into his machine gun’s chamber. He cocks it after it’s inserted and starts shooting again.

He got two, but only some back passenger shooters, not any driver like what he aimed for.

“Here,” Mark hears Doctor Lowe call to him.

He pops in a little only to see the surgeon handing him a smoke bomb. He would prefer the grenade, but they’re still too close to throw it safely, so he accepts the smoke bomb anyway.

He pulls away the pin with his teeth and throws it far into one of the jeeps’ open roof. There is clanking and harsh hissing before smoke quickly seeps out of the can and fills the jeep. The jeep swerves wildly to the side after that and gets left behind.

Two more to go.

He starts shooting again for a while until his ammo runs out.

He only manages to simply graze the remaining chasers instead of causing substantial damage to his enemies. Behind the two jeeps, he starts to see the jeep left behind after the smoke bomb, and it’s gaining on them. He also sees another one, which is one of the two crashing jeeps that Doctor Lowe shot before.

Oh, fuck. It’s going up to four again, then.

Doctor Lowe and Mark keep taking turn shooting either with machine guns or sniping rifles, or even a shotgun they find after rummaging through the under-seat storage more carefully. Once the ammos for those run out, they take out their pistols, which are not ideal because they’re not as strong as machine guns or as precise as sniping rifles, but better than not fighting back at all.

He can feel his worry and panic starting to rise again each time he pops back down and sees more and more empty bullet boxes and used clips.

“Hey kid, you need to hold on really tight on this seat, okay?” Doctor Lowe cryptically tells Nick as he points at the jutting metal under the opened seat.

He doesn’t understand why Doctor Lowe is saying that considering Nick is already holding onto the seat so tightly.

Nick is no longer pushing down on his abdomen and seemingly hasn't been for a while, which means he’s been bleeding more than they would have liked compared to if he’d been pushing at his wound. He’s getting even paler, grimacing more often after every swerving and jolting from the speed of Angie’s driving.

He faces where Doctor Lowe is pointing.

“Wha… about—”

“It’s okay. Mark is gonna help you with your bleeding,” the surgeon cuts him off, instantly knowing what Nick means.

Doctor Lowe cocks his head to the side to point at Nick. Mark gives a questioning stare for a bit, but obeys the surgeon’s command.

“You hold on tight too,” the old man says cryptically again, but doesn’t wait for Mark to comply before popping out of the hatch.

Mark simply kneels down facing Nick with one hand pushing at the wounded abdomen and another gripping a handgrip tightly as the doctor tells him to.

He’s not sure what the surgeon is planning until he hears loud boom and a sense of this van almost being flipped over, roughly knocking him over to the floor. Thankfully, he pulls his left arm from Nick’s stomach quickly enough to throw it above his head so that it’s cushioned against the metal body of the under-seat storages.

Still, the force of it brings sharp pain to his forearm that can’t help screaming in pain. He feels like he has broken the bone in his forearm, or at least given it some deep musculature damage.

Nick thankfully gets thrown into his arm too, so his head isn’t knocked around too at the harsh bump the van was put through.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Doc?” he cries out angrily.

The doctor simply pops back down to bend down and grabs an item.

“We have no bullets,” he tightly says without a care towards Mark’s offense.

“And you didn’t think to warn us before throwing a fucking grenade?”

“I did.”

The surgeon knocks at the divider twice before popping his head back out while gripping another grenade.

This time, Mark is more ready.

He elongates his legs to tightly push against the under-seat storages on both sides. He pushes feet against the left under-seat while his lower back is pushed against the right one. Being tall has its perks, it seems.

One of his hands is holding onto a handgrip attached to the divider while his other hand is putting Nick almost in an embrace again. Nick too is holding on to a handgrip on the other side of the divider, while his other hand is pushing at his stomach.

He hears another kaboom and feels the van jolts around roughly, but without throwing his body around since he has good enough grip on his surroundings. It happens three more times, each time adding more and more aches onto his body due to the rough jolting, on top of his muscles being forcibly and endlessly taut.

Nick too keeps keening in pain, fisting Mark’s shirt desperately while leaning over and sobbing.

After the third explosion, Doctor Lowe bends down to frantically crawl all over the floor, repeatedly slamming the seat covering of the storage loudly. He keeps mumbling to himself like he is possessed, until he eventually reaches the one closest to Mark and Nick near the divider.

“Move over,” the surgeon tightly orders him.

Mark has to bodily carry Nick in his arms to move him away so that Doctor Lowe can turn that storage upside down too.

They wince when they feel harsh shots at the back of their van, now being dented by the repeated firings of strong firearms.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Nick’s half-lidded eyes land on the surgeon’s back.

“Wha… what’s—what’s going… on?” Nick stutters weakly.

Doctor Lowe’s shoulders slump again, giving Mark another jolt of fear. It’s never good when the surgeon slumps like that. The beer-bellied man then weakly sits on his heels with his head leaned back while exhaling shudderingly.

They hear more shots, and the dents get deeper.

The doctor still doesn’t face Nick or Mark, and instead bangs on the divider.

“Anna! Why aren’t you shooting?!”

Mark can feel his heart thumping on his chest painfully, faster and faster the longer it takes for Anna to reply.

“There is no more bullet,” they all hear Anna shout with her own resigned voice.

“Try to find more! Under Angie’s seat or something!” Doctor Lowe tries again.

“We tried, Doc. We can’t find more!”

Just as she is done talking, they hear more bullets shot in their way with clanging sound. Mark realizes that one manages to lodge itself into the door of the van.

He feels cold washing over him.

Nick shudders in his arms, and Doctor Low stares helplessly at that bullet.

Everything feels like slow-motion, or being submerged into a pool with a sense of detachment the more bullets shot in their way. There are now several bullets being lodged into the van’s backdoor. One of them is even pushed out into the inside of the van by another bullet shot to that hole.

“No…” Nick whispers horrifyingly with tears starting to flow from his eyes again, “…no, I don’t—I don’t wanna… go back…”

He whimpers again.

Mark hopelessly stares at the closed doors with many bullets lodged into them, as does the old surgeon in front of him. He feels a sense of cold dread in his chest. In his arms, Nick turns away from the door and pushes his face into Mark's shoulder instead.

“No… I don’t want them to take me again… please, I don’t want to…”

Mark squeezes his eyes closed at Nick's muffled and desperate mumbling and tightens his arms around the fragile body, accompanied by more shots towards their van.

“It’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not going back. You’ll be okay,” he whispers gently to Nick as the boy keeps crying in his hold.

He moves his hands to rub Nick’s back up and down, tucking Nick’s head into the space between his neck and shoulder, cradling Nick like a child.

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, don’t worry, yeah?”

He knows it’s a lie, of course.

There are four jeeps worth of highly trained Helga members on their tail. Maybe more, considering their screen is broken and they can’t see outside if there are more jeeps coming. They’re cornered. They have no weapon—no bullets, no protection, no means of fighting back.

God knows how long they still need to go to get to Central’s backup.

They…

They lost.

But he keeps rubbing Nick’s back up and down, continuously telling Nick that everything’s going to be fine.

Eventually, Nick whimpers, “Just… just kill me… please… I don’t want them to take me back…”

“No, don’t say that, come on,” he whispers gently to Nick’s ear, hating that Nick is trying to shatter his self-made illusion.

Across from him, Doctor Lowe stares with just as much emptiness on his face. The man even looks scared with glistening eyes.

Nick pulls back to face him fully.

“Just kill me…”

“Nicky, don’t—”

“I know we’re stuck, Mark.”

He stares back at Nick’s sure face, even if it’s wet with tears and pale.

“Don’t let me go back to them, please…”

Mark breathes out shakily, wincing once in a while when he feels more shot at their van.

“Just kill me…”

Nick chokes on a sob after that, face terrified but resigned at the same time.

Behind Nick, he sees Doctor Lowe digging into his pants then pulls out four glass vials.

Mark stares at them, catching a glimpse of ‘morphine’ and ‘100ml’ on the labels.

“No,” he firmly says to Doctor Lowe.

“You know we’re done, kid,” he tells Mark gently.

“No, we’re not. We’ll be fine.”

Doctor Lowe gives him a heartbroken and pitying look, but…

They’ll be fine. They have to be fine. He doesn’t have to kill Nick to prevent him from being taken back. They don’t have to kill themselves so that Helga can’t torture them back. They’ll be okay.

They’ll be fine. They’ll be fine.

Even if there are more bullets lodged on their door, they’ll be fine.

They’ll be fine, they’ll be fine, they’ll be—

“I’m too old for this shit, son,” Doctor Lowe says with palpably heavy sense of exhaustion as he takes one bottle from his palm and keeps it in his own vest pocket.

Four bottles and one taken by Doctor Lowe already.

He gulps painfully.

Nick… Nick has to have one. He deserves that, at least.

It’s either Mark, Angie, or Anna whose fate in Helga’s hands will be uncertain.

Mark bites his lip, feeling terrified too with cold realization seeping into him. He feels his eyes getting wet, suddenly thinking about his mom and how he never got to say a proper goodbye to her, or Jackson. Or the others in his team.

How Nick will never get to taste freedom, except by taking one of those bottles.

It’s so unfair. Why is it all so unfair?

He hugs Nick tighter with his own closed eyes and tears flowing down his cheek.

“It’s okay,” he continues softly again to Nick’s ear, “you’ll be okay. They’ll never take you again. I promise. You’ll be okay.”

He keeps doing that, delaying the inevitable, trying to find it in his heart to help Doctor Lowe injects the content of that bottle to Nick’s vein when push comes to shove. And it will come to shove.

There are more shots to the van, and he feels deep plunging in his chest again.

Maybe he has never been cut out for this. For being a D.E.A.N agent. He doesn’t think a true D.E.A.N agent should be this shaky and terrified at the face of danger they supposedly signed up for.

“Wait.”

He opens his eyes and stare back at the surgeon.

The old man’s face is confused with furrowed eyebrows.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Mark asks back.

“There are shots fired,” the surgeon replies with widened eyes.

Mark glares, feeling angry at the fact that he’s emotionally being yanked around. The surgeon is the one forcing Mark to come to terms with what they’re going to face, but he is now the one being obtuse and playing around.

“I can fucking see that, Doc,” he harshly replies.

“No, look,” the surgeon says, curiously with a smile blooming on his face, “there are shots outside.”

Mark glares even more at the surgeon’s demented game.

“I’m aware. I have ears and eyes.”

“No, listen,” the old man emphasizes.

He stays glaring with Nick crying in his arms while refusing to look at the door with bullets lodged all over it. He doesn’t understand the point of Doctor Lowe saying all of these stupid shits.

But then he furrows his own eyebrows. There is something strange about the gunshot sounds.

Obviously, he can sense some bullets being shot in their way, be it through sound or the vibrations once they hit their van, but he still turns his head towards the doors along with the surgeon.

“These are not shot towards us,” he concludes.

On top of that, he finally hears some really loud whooshing above them, enough to penetrate the metal body of the van and into their hearing.

Mark quickly clicks on his earpiece comm, almost missing it in his haste. Immediately, there is a crackling sound of it connecting to a network.

Mark clicks on his round button.

“This is CC75 reporting in. Are you 1056? Over.”

“Oh, god,” he immediately whispers out.

“I repeat. This is CC75 reporting in. Are you 1056? Over.”

Mark shakily clicks on his square button while looking at his watch, seeing light blue dots all around them.

“We copy. Confirming this is 1056. Over,” he shakily replies.

“What’s your code? And is the informant with you? Over.”

“This is MT56. And yes, the informant is with us. Over.”

At that, Doctor Lowe jumps up and slams open the hatch again.

Mark immediately looks up, now realizing that the whooshing sound are from several helicopter blades.

“YOU’RE LATE YOU FUCKING BASTARDS!” Doctor Lowe screams with his hand thrown upwards while cackling like a maniac. “WHOO HOOO!”

Mark chokes out a half-laugh half-cry at the surgeon’s excited yell.

They still hear more shots, but it’s clear that it’s more between backup’s heli and the Helga members chasing them, rather than between those members and their van. He can even hear slight booming while their van is jolted around a little. He can only guess that it might be from backup’s grenade launchers.

Doctor Lowe pops back in and basically lets himself drop to his ass while leaning back on his arms, still laughing once in a while. He has tears too on his face despite the weirdly soothing chuckles.

Mark closes his eyes and lets more of his own tears drop to his cheeks, but out of relief. He hugs Nick even tighter while burying his face into the black hair.

“I told you we’ll be fine, right?” he whispers to Nick’s ear, now being honest.

Nick wraps his own arms around Mark too and pushes his face deeper into Mark’s neck, sobbing too out of relief.

Mark hears more crackling, so he clicks his square button again. He hears a different person talking this time, with a voice he is more acquainted to even before going into D.E.A.N.

“Agent Hayden, I have informed Agent Kingston and Agent Basset that you should drive forward for 20 more miles with two of our helis and three other backup’s vehicles, totalling 40 protection agents until you reach our rescue station. There are Medic agents ready to treat the informant’s puncture wound on his abdomen and other injuries all of you might have sustained. Do you copy? Over?”

“Yes, we copy, Agent Callahan. We’ll meet rescue teams in 20 miles. Over.”

“Good. Unfortunately, we can’t send all of our backup with you because we’ll need to assist 1034, but I think 40 agents are plenty enough to protect 5 of you. Do you copy? Over.”

“Yes, we copy. Of course, Sir. We’ll manage with that. Over.”

He is about to click circle to turn off his comm, but he hears another crackling signifying another request to connect to him.

“Good to hear you, son. Would love to hear Jackson too, but I bet he’d be proud of you anyway.”

Mark chuckles.

“Thank you, Sir. I’m trying my best.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are.”

He waits for a bit, but eventually the familiar senior agent says, “CN94 over and out.”

The van continues to go for a while, with the shooting sounds eventually ceasing to the point that the bumping motions have become calming and lulling them all into a state of half-asleep. Mark makes sure to continue staying awake for the most part so that he can help Nick put pressure on his wounded stomach.

He doesn’t have the energy to think about what it means that Nick is leaning slightly to the side so that he can keep lying on Mark’s chest. Nick’s black-haired head is tucked so deeply under Mark’s chin that he can feel his lips slightly touching the dark sweaty strands. Mark’s arm is also still circling around Nick’s back and putting pressure on the wound that way.

He doesn’t even realize it when the van starts to slow down until it comes to a stop.

Suddenly, the doors to the back of the van are slammed open with lights flooding the space. He has to squint and put a palm over his eyebrows to adjust to it.

He sees several people wearing D.E.A.N’s standard uniforms with bulletproof vests on top who are pushing a gurney towards them, rolling it until it touches the back bumper of the van. Some step into the van itself to help Mark and Doctor Lowe shift Nick around until they can deposit Nick onto the mattress.

The bed is adjusted into a position where it bends upwards in the middle so that Nick isn’t completely lying down. An oxygen mask is quickly fitted onto his face with his head raised a bit so that the elastic band can be pulled behind his head. They put his head back to the bed again after that.

He doesn’t really notice Doctor Lowe walking away to be treated himself.

They immediately start wheeling Nick away, but before they can move far, Mark already steps forward quickly to approach the gurney without thinking. Nick too suddenly lifts his head with a desperate whimpering while reaching out to Mark. When Mark is close enough, Nick quickly holds his hand and grips it tight.

“Sir, we need to insert IV in him for the transfusion and other medications.”

“Let me go with him,” he insists, ignoring the other Medic agents who are trying to get him to sit down and be treated too.

He can’t be bothered to think about himself until he can see Nick safe.

“We’ll need to get him to a medic facility and into a Central Hub HQ. He is a critical informant.”

“He is a 21-year-old human trafficking survivor with PTSD. He is not just an informant,” he replies firmly with a little bit of offense and anger on Nick’s behalf at how they just reduce him to another mission object.

“Yes, sir, we’re aware,” the agent firmly responds to him without reacting to his impassioned words, “but he is still our critical informant, and we need to transport him to a safe confidential location as soon as possible.”

“Let me be with him until then,” he insists.

The Medic agents stare at him then at Nick who is still gripping Mark’s hand, no inhibition in his exhaustion and severe blood-loss. One of them sighs.

“Just until he is ready for transport to a medic facility.”

“Thank you,” he responds with deep relief and gratitude.

“And you’ll need to be treated too in one of the tents.”

“Yeah. With him.”

They give him an unreadable look, but he is too exhausted to think about what that means. They end up simply wheeling Nick into one of the medical tents with Mark on the side still continuously holding Nick’s hand.

Mark can see other agents being wheeled into some tents too, some arriving with helicopters. He assumes those are agents from 1034 and their backup after they decided Nick had plenty of backup agents protecting him already. Some of those arriving agents are able to stand and walk by themselves, but some have to be helped to move around. Some don’t move at all.

He doesn’t know what’s their exact status, and he is too afraid to think more about it, so he focuses on Nick again.

The Medic agents start pulling at Nick’s clothes to unzip his bulletproof vest and outright cuts up his shirt to get to his wound. Nick whimpers a bit at the sudden touches from strangers around him, so Mark squeezes his hand and whispers, “It’s okay, they’re not hurting you, they’re taking care of you, don’t worry”. Nick seems to calm down at that, and the Medic agents give him another unreadable stare that he is starting to get irritated with.

Is it so strange that he wants to calm Nick down and make sure that he is okay?

Nick reaches out shakily to move his hand out of Mark's grip and closer to the lower side of his bulletproof vest. He furrows his eyebrows seeing Nick's movement until the pale frail hand eventually hovers while the boy mumbles half-consciously, "Hmm... you... your bleeding..."

Mark feels warmth in his chest, relieved that Nick is safe enough to be able to feel concerned for someone else. And touched that in his muddled sense, Nick still cares about his condition.

"It's fine. Just lightly grazed. I'll be okay," he says as he bends closer to Nick's ear and squeezes Nick's palm lightly.

One of the Medic agents frowns with a disapproving look, seeing as the blood is copious enough to warrant a guess that it's slightly more than a superficial wound. Whether it's because he is minimizing his injury or because he keeps refusing to be treated until Nick is done, he doesn't know.

Nick shifts his head again to stare more directly at his right waist.

"Hurts? Doesn't... hurt?"

"I'll be fine," he chuckles, "don't worry about me."

"Hmm..."

Nick continues looking like he hardly has wits about him, unfocused despite trying his hardest to cling to consciousness.

The Medic agents keep treating Nick regardless, cleaning up his wound and entire front torso with disinfectant. He is guessing it also contains anaesthetic so that Nick isn’t too in pain when they cauterize his wound with the cauterizer. One of them lifts Nick’s palm that’s not gripping Mark’s palm and starts palpitating the skin to find a vein until she settles at one spot. Another Medic agent brings her a plastic pan with IV attachment instruments and materials in it.

After that, it’s pretty straight forward until the saline and blood bags are attached to Nick.

There are agents firmly walking out of a newly arriving helicopter, and the Medic agents who are caring for Nick turn to look at those agents slightly before looking back at Mark.

“He is going to be transported now.”

A firm dismissal.

But Mark doesn’t really care. He still walks to follow Nick’s gurney even when Nick has let go of his hand, maybe because the mask also disperses sedative so that he doesn’t feel afraid anymore being bounced around between strangers without Mark.

Eventually, they lift the bed to raise it and insert it to the heli with Nick being shifted around a bit. Mark sees that those swirly blue-brown eyes are closed, and his breathing is steady. Nick might have fallen asleep or unconscious, but he seems okay overall.

The helicopter’s blades are spinning again, creating strong gush of wind around. Mark has to put an arm over his face to soften the blow, then it takes off.

Mark would have liked to follow Nick all the way to the medic facility, and maybe beyond, but he does understand the need for the separation and confidentiality, so when some Medic agents clear their throats, Mark turns to them to dutifully follow them into a tent and sits on one of the beds as instructed.

Mark closes his eyes and leans his head back while they fuss over him. He takes a deep breath, finally letting himself feel the entirety of his shaky body, along with his exhaustion and the pain of the last many hours—and maybe even days or weeks—washing over him, but also deep relief.

When he opens his eyes again, he fittingly sees the dawn breaking with the sun starting to peek out of the sandy landscape.

A new day. A symbol of everything horrific happening before, now over.

Not everything is well and good, of course, considering there is still the question of Nick’s condition—which he doesn’t know whether he is allowed to be told or not after this.

There is also deep grief when he sees agents being wheeled on gurneys into several medical vans and helicopters, some of them fully covered by white sheets as their bodies and the fabrics are smeared with deep red, while the others are in varying degrees of being injured.

Even after this, there will most certainly be many more missions to deal with the rest of Helga. Undoubtedly going to be much more difficult than this.

But the yesterday of chaos is over. It’s really over.

It’s all okay now.

He can finally breathe easy, until the next mission.

***

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

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astaldis · 5 months

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Comfortember Masterpost

Hi, thank you so very much for this fun event and the inspiring prompts ❤️❤️❤️

Here's my comfortember master list, all the fics are for The Witcher:

The Present

Prompts: 1 Safe, 3 Leaves Changing, 4 Warmth, 18 Cuddles, alt. 3 Travel, alt. 4 Candles, alt. 5 Colours

Summary: It is the evening of the last day of October, Samhain, a magical night where the gates between worlds are wide open for those who can travel through space and time. Ciri can, and she has a surprise for her boyfriend Cahir, a very nice surprise. (Words: 1,656 / Fluff & Mild Smut)

A Night Among Elves

Prompts: 2 Sweater Weather, 4 Warmth, 5 Treehouse, 25 Rain, 26 Friends, 29 Sleepover, alt. 2 Baths

Summary: Unexpectedly, Cahir and Gallatin run into each other during a raid. The weather is shitty and Cahir is cold. Fortunately, Gallatin has a remedy. (Words: 6,208 / Hurt-Comfort)

Shadows in the Dark

Prompts: 7 Sick / Illness, 13 Baking, 27 Soup (Chapter 5)

Summary: The shadow. There it is again. Fuck! You thought you had lost it after running from the accursed property as fast as your legs could carry you. Now your lungs are burning and your heart is pounding in your ears like it is going to explode any second. You are so exhausted, you are ready to drop on the spot. But you cannot stop running or it will catch up with you. The nameless, shapeless horror. This eery black thing that has been stalking you all the way from the old, abandoned mansion. How you wish the night was already over, that the first rays of morning sunlight would make the shadow disappear, but it is not long past midnight yet. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Will you still be alive by the end of the night, or is the shadow going to get you? Will you die here, just because of this stupid, stupid bet?

Fortunately somebody arrives just in time to save your arse from the shadows stalking you. A Witcher, exactly who you need. (Words: 10,410 / Hurt-Comfort, Witcher Cahir)

Who'll save you when you fall?

Prompts: 1 Safe, 4 Warmth, 9 Aftermath, 22 Cry, 25 Rain, 27 Soup (Chapter 3)

Summary: It is the reign of the Usurper and today justice is to be served. A hanging. Only, things do not go as smoothly as they are supposed to go. Or: Emhyr meets young Cahir for the very first time. (Words: 6,625 / Hurt-Comfort)

Stranded

Prompts: 1 Safe, 4 Warmth, 18 Cuddles, 23 Anxiety, 26 Friends, alt. 3 Travel

Summary: On their way from Toussaint to Stygga the Hansa get separated from each other in a natural disaster. Regis, Geralt and Angoulême find themselves stranded on a little island while Milva and Cahir are missing. (Words: 1,630 / Hurt-Comfort)

I will bring you ruin

Prompts: 7 Sick / Illness, 23 Anxiety, 26 Friends (Chapter 2)

Summary: At Kaer Morhen, Cahir tells Ciri something that makes her scream ... (Words: 6,048 / Hurt-Comfort)

Scary is the night (and full of honey cakes and kittens)

Prompts: 1 Safe, 4 Warmth, 12 Dreams, 24 Blankets, 26 Friends

Summary: "Kiss me!" she orders, her emerald green eyes gleaming with lust. However, it is not lust of the kind you would expect when you are told to kiss the girl - no, the princess. It is blood-lust her eyes are shimmering with ... (Words: 1,111 / Emotional Hurt-Comfort)

A Sunday in Beauclair

Prompt: 20 Shopping

Summary: Geralt hates shopping. But Fringilla has a surprise for him. (Words: 555 / Mild Smut)

Enchanted Lake, Enchanted Dream

Prompts: 12 Dreams, Alt. 2 Baths

Summary: For once Cahir is not haunted by Ciri in a nightmare. This dream is very different ... (Words: 700 / Mild Smut)

Saving Each Other

Prompts: 8 Grief/Mourning, 10 Sadness

Summary: Milva is sad. Cahir helps her forget. (Words: 200 / Mild Smut)

Not A Selfless Present

Prompts: 15 Plushies, 17 Heirloom

Summary: Regis has a very special present for Angoulême. It is not a totally selfless one, though. (Words: 350 / Friendship)

Sometimes I fall to pieces

Prompts: 16 Tea Break, 18 Cuddles, 21 Relapse, 28 Flashbacks, alt.1 Books

Summary: Cahir has a bad flashback and Yennefer has to pick up the pieces. Luckily, she knows how to. (Words: 1,000 / Emotional Hurt-Comfort)

#comfortember masterpost #comfortember 2023 #prompt challenge #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanfiction #emiel regis #cahir #milva #geralt of rivera #jaskier #yennefer #cirilla #angoulême #fringilla vigo #gallatin #emhyr var emreis #comfortember #the witcher tv #the witcher fanfic

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crissiebaby · 1 year

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DiapOut: Chapter 20

DISCLAIMER: This series contains diaper usage, public humiliation, masturbation, hypermessing, sissification, WAM, mental regression, and other ABDL themes. If you haven’t read the first chapter and want to catch up, be sure to check out the link in the description. I hope you enjoy!

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“Welcome back to DiapOut everyone!” said CassiRole, mugging to the camera as the eight contestants stood behind her separated by the team. Next to them were two large, empty scales, “When we last left our contestants, they were getting changed out of their Mess-Off diapers as the clock expired on Round Two. Now, it’s time to find out the results! Iris nannies, please join us on stage.

Rolling into view from both the left and right wings of the sound stage, nine Iris bots carrying eight very used diapers rolled up to the scales. However, they did not place their smelly packages down yet, adding to the suspense. “Iris nannies! Please set down the lightest diapers from each time,” said Cassi, prompting the bots on each end to lower their carefully-folded nappies, which just so happened to be Cade and Misa’s diapers.

“MESSERS: 16.3 POUNDS. WETTERS: 4.7 POUNDS,” said the Iris bots in unison. This process continued. Zeke's diaper added 20.1 pounds to the Messer’s overall total, while Rupert landed an impressive 23.4 pounds. Simultaneously, Lelaya shocked the room with a 28.2-pound diaper, which was a fraction of a point down from Mia’s even 29-pound pamper.

Biting her thumb’s fingernail, Kyoko could feel her anxiety rising with each new diaper that was placed. Doing the math in her head, she knew that her team was down by an incredibly slim margin, and given the impossible size of Ayaya’s diaper, it was unlikely they were going to pull off a victory. The best that she could hope for now was to maintain some of their Round One lead going into the final stage of the game.

Over on the Wetter’s platform, little thought was given to their results at all. Mia and Misa were too busy scowling at each other to care, while Lelaya was too pouty about coming in third on her own team to be happy with her team’s lead. The only one even semi-paying attention was Ayaya, who was still coming down from her hypermess-driven brain fog.

Despite the lack of enthusiasm from the Wetter’s side, anticipation was high as the final three robots were set to place the final two diapers on the scale, with Ayaya’s diaper still needing two Iris bots to support it due to its width. “The scales show the Wetters with a 1.6-pound lead, with 61.9 and 60.2 points respectively. Iris bots! Lower the final diapers,” said Cassi, conducting the robot nannies as well as the audience who ate up every word she spoke like a maestro.

Setting down the last two diapers, the Iris bots read off the final results.

“FINAL TALLY. MESSERS: 86.5 POUNDS. WETTERS: 96.1 POUNDS.”

The audience gasped as they did the math in their head, determining that Ayaya’s diaper weighed an almost unheard-of 34.2 pounds. While others had outdone this number in professional messing competitions, to do so in a single messing without aid was a momentous feat.

Kyoko, meanwhile, only managed a 26.7-pound diaper, placing her fourth overall behind three Wetters. While she wasn’t exactly thrilled with the round’s result, there was a silver lining that lifted her somber spirits. Given that the Wetters only eeked out a 9.1-pound advantage, that meant they were unable to overcome their 45-point deficit, giving the Messers a slight lead. Turning to her compatriots, she gave each of them an enthusiastic high-five as CassiRole announced the point totals after two rounds.

“After two incredible challenges, the Wetters and Messers are neck and neck going into the third round,” said Cassi as an insert graphic appeared next to her on screen displaying the team totals, “At 151.5 points, the Messers held onto their lead in spite of just losing the second round. Breathing down their necks are the Wetters, who after a messy round both figuratively and literally, are standing with 146.1 points to their name! Who will reign victorious in Round Three and move on to their final round for their chance to take home $500,000?! We’ll find out after a quick word from our sponsor!”

Lifting the microphone to her mouth, Keelee cracked the whip on her team. “That’s a wrap on Round Two! We’ve got 45 minutes to get set for Round Three!” she said as the set devolved into organized chaos. While her people began rushing set pieces off of the sound stage, she casually approached the studio breakers, activating a set of fans built into the studio to air it out after the Mess-Off.

Turning her back on her team and making a B-Line for the green room doors, Misa couldn’t have been happier to get an extended break away from the game and, moreover, away from her team. “I’m gonna take a nap. Don’t bother me until we’re called to set,” she said, refusing to make eye contact with any of her friends.

While Lelaya and Ayaya were taken aback by Misa’s seemingly sudden anger, Mia was all too aware of what was going on. “Hey Misa, you sure you don’t wanna talk about anything?” she said pointedly, making it clear by her tone that she was not sorry. It was true. She wasn’t sorry one bit and she didn’t care who knew it.

Stopping in her tracks for a moment, there were a number of things that Misa wanted to say to Mia. However, when the moment came to voice them, she found it too difficult to speak. Without saying another word, she pushed through the backstage double doors, leaving her team in the dust.

Feeling awkward due to the drama that Mia and Misa were stirring up, Ayaya took the opportunity to slip away undetected. As much as she wanted to stick around and be glorified for her unprecedented ass disaster, she had her sights on far bigger fish. Looking around the set, she tried to find where Jackson had wandered off to. Surely, he was impressed by her S-tier messing skills but it wouldn’t hurt to hear that everything was on track. Unfortunately, her partially discombobulated state of mind made it difficult to navigate the studio's many moving parts, making her feel like a kid lost in a supermarket without a parent.

As Ayaya crept around the busy set, someone far less pleased with Ayaya’s performance found her before she could find Jackson. “Hey there, Ayaya. Mind if we have a little chat?” said Keelee, stepping into Ayaya’s path and starring the fame-hungry streamer down with a smile that was too cheeky to be legitimate. Ayaya tried to push past Keelee but she was grabbed by the wrist the moment she was in range. She yanked her arm back, finding that years of production crewing had blessed Keelee with far too many muscles for her to be overpowered so easily. “Listen, I’m flattered but I don’t I’m just not into you like that,” she said condescendingly.

“Oh, get off it, Ayaya. I know what game you’re playing,” said Keelee, twisting Ayaya’s arm to force her in close, “There’s zero fucking chance you filled that diaper without cheating. I don’t know how you did it but when I find out, I’ll make sure you get what’s coming to you.” She then let go of Ayaya’s arm and walked away as though nothing had happened. Sticking around would only give Ayaya the opportunity for a comeback anyway and she had more important things to focus on at the present regarding the show.

Rolling her eyes, Ayaya paid no mind to Keelee’s empty threat. Sure, she had her suspicions but nothing more. And with Jackson at the helm, there was basically no chance of any of this rebounding onto her. “First thing I’m doing when I’m in charge is making sure you never work in this industry again,” she whispered under her breath, glaring at Keelee from across the sound stage like a predator marking its prey.

“Ayaya! There you are,” said Jackson, who was standing in between a set of doors that led outside the studio. He peeked inside the space, looking both ways to check that the coast was clear before waving her over.

Waddling her crinkly butt to Jackson as quickly as she could, Ayaya winced as a beam of bright sunlight hit her eyes. After hours of being stuck inside a dimly lit studio, the outside world almost felt alien. Still, while her eyes were struggling to adjust, her sense of smell was grateful for the fresh air. She inhaled deeply through her nose, “Ahhh, Thank Goddess! I thought my eyebrows were gonna burn off.” Snickering at Ayaya’s exaggeration, Jackson reached into his pocket, pulling out a carton of cigarettes and a lighter. He placed one in his mouth and offered the box to Ayaya. “You smoke?” he asked, gingerly shaking the box back and forth.

“No, only a couple of times in college,” responded Ayaya, sighing as the clean oxygen she was smelling was about to be infected by the ashy stench of tobacco smoke.

However, instead of pulling the carton away from Ayaya, Jackson inched it closer. “Well, today you do. I don’t care if you don’t inhale, just take one,” he said as he looked over at a ground of three men in suits walking by and chatting amongst themselves.

Realizing she needed to blend in, Ayaya grabbed one of the exposed cigarettes and placed it in her mouth, leaning forward for Jackson to light it. “Okay, you can relax now. What’s up?” she said, removing the white stick from her mouth and holding it between her fingers as a single strand of smoke rose from its smoldering end.

Lighting his own cigarette and taking a long puff of smoke, Jackson exhaled slowly, letting his heart rate calm down. “We may have a small problem,” he said before going in for a second hit.

Scoffing, Ayaya nodded, “Yeah, I know. Keelee just mad dogged me over my messing prowess. That muffin may have been a tad overdoing it, ya know-”

“No, no, Keelee’s not an issue,” said Jackson, interrupting Ayaya in the process. With lines of smoke still escaping his partially open mouth, he ran his fingers through his hair, gripping a bunch of it as his hand rounded the back of his head, “There’s been a slight change of plans regarding the next round…”

TO BE CONTINUED…

« PREVIOUS l FIRST l NEXT »

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Edited by AllySmolShork

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portaltothevoid · 9 months

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For Whom the Bell Tolls - Chapter 29 - Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x OFC (Kat Ramsay), sequel to Foolin’

Summary: They finalize their plan of attack. We go inside everyone’s pre-battle anxieties.

Warnings: anxious thoughts

Word count: 2.5k

Chapter song: Separate Ways (Worlds Apart) (Stranger Things remix) by Journey

Tag list: @munchabunch @madaboutmunson @earl-greater

When the wick of the last homemade bomb was stuffed in its bottle, Steve looked up to see Nancy standing in front of him. “Nice improvement on the shotgun,” he commented with a smirk.

“Nothing like a felony to ensure I won’t miss and avoid the end of the world,” she laughed.

“I doubt you’d miss even if you didn’t,” he smiled at her.

Her cheeks burned scarlet at the compliment. “Yeah, so, um, think we should round everyone up to figure this out?” she spluttered.

“Hey, guys!” Steve bellowed, getting the rest of the party’s attention. He motioned for them to join with a wave of his hand.

“Alright, so Lucas and Erica should go with Max to the Creel House,” Nancy said. “Dustin and Eddie will take care of the bats. Me, Steve, Robin, and Kat will go to the Creel house in the Upside Down.”

“No,” Kat refused. “I’m staying with Eddie and Dustin.”

“Kat, you’re our best shot at winning this thing,” Steve said.

“Right, which is why it won’t do any good if I go with you guys. Look, I can help them distract the bats and then from inside Eddie’s trailer, I can find Max and hide her. She already told me all about where she’ll be, so once I get there, we’ll be good. If he finds us, I’ll hold him off,” Kat said.

“Okay, but… don’t you need a sensory deprivation tank to do this?” questioned Dustin.

“I can do it if I have enough white noise. I’ve done it before. I had to go in someone’s mind to retrieve a code word for some spy op and they told me I had to do it without the tank. It was a test that I wasn’t supposed to pass, but I did,” she shrugged. “Then they brought in the demodog and that’s when they knew…”

“If you use your powers to immobilize him before–” Nancy started.

“He will immediately know I’m there and change course. If he killed me instead, can you even imagine how much more power he’d have, what that would do to the rift between worlds? This gives not just Max a fighting chance, but all of us,” Kat stressed.

“Are you sure you’re up to this though?” Lucas asked. “I mean, wouldn’t it be better just in case something happened to have the bomb squad watching over you while you do whatever you do?”

“It doesn’t matter who I have around me,” Kat rejected. “One tilt of his head can break your neck and you’re dead on the floor before your brain can even think of wanting to say ‘No, stop!’ If that asshole wants me dead, I will be.”

“Her nose didn’t even bleed when she talked to El,” Eddie remarked, very quickly trying to get off the subject of his love dying.

“Exactly. And I transferred memories to her from the Void too. Look, we don’t have time anymore. This is as ready as I’ll ever be – as any of us will ever be. And I’m not changing my mind. This is what we’re doing.”

“Yeah, she’s got a solid point, so… I guess it’s settled then,” Dustin said. “So, what do we do about the bats?”

“We have to get them away from the Creel house, but we need to get there before you guys do that,” Nancy said.

“What if… I mean, I dunno how it’ll work there, but, uh, what if I play my guitar?” Eddie suggested. “Set up my amp and shit. Could probably hear that shit for miles.”

“That… is brilliant!” Dustin exclaimed.

“I can set it up on the roof of the trailer and it should be enough,” he added.

“I have a set of drums in your closet. We set those up, we play, and as soon as we’re done I’ll go back through the gate and begin.”

“How the hell are you gonna have time to play drums and then go mind-diving?” Erica countered.

“Because I am so not missing out on the performance that’ll help save the world,” Kat said.

“And those bats hear us, they’ll be on us like flies on shit in less than five minutes. She’ll have time,” Eddie said.

“Okay so… we drop Team Max off at the Creel house. While they set up, we head to Eddie’s and through the gate we all board up the trailer. Lucas can signal to Erica, who can use a flashlight to signal to us in the Upside Down when Vecna has Max. As soon as that’s done, we’ll make our way to Vecna and wait until Eddie’s done playing. Eddie will start to play when Max is secure in the Creel house and Vecna’s found her. Kat will tell us she’s about to go find Max and that’s when we go into the house and blow that asshole to bits,” Nancy said, laying out their game plan.

“That sounds too easy,” Erica said nervously.

“Because it is,” Kat agreed.

“The one variable we can’t account for is Vecna. Sure, this most likely will catch him off guard, but we have no idea for how long. And it’s not like we have any back up plans. Our back up plan is to abort if shit goes south, so, yeah. We’ll either save the damn world or… or…” Robin rambled.

“We go out swinging,” Kat shrugged.

“Um, Kat, you’re awfully calm about this. How are you so calm?” Robin asked.

“I– I don’t know. I guess since the demodog attacks and knowing El is back and rediscovering some of my memories, I just… I remembered how much power I have. And I’ll stop at nothing to protect each and every one of you. I am so sick of this asshole getting his way and what he wants, because he went on a ‘boohoo life sucks and no one likes me so let me destroy everything’ kick. I’m done,” she said firmly, crossing her arms.

“So… that’s it. That’s our plan,” Steve said quietly. A hush fell over the group as they realized it was time. They had their battle strategy, so now the only thing to do was start it. “Alright, well, let’s, uh– Let’s pack up and get on the road.”

They did as Steve said, having nothing to actually pack, Kat pulled Max aside. “Listen, Max, I just want you to know how incredibly strong you are, okay? You’re one of the few who got away from him and lived to tell the tale. Hold on to that. Hold on to the fact that you have people who love you. Who will do whatever it takes to protect you. Vecna never had that. He doesn’t know what it’s like. Please, just promise me, you’re gonna fight like hell, okay?”

Max nodded as she shifted her weight, not sure what to do with the compliment from Kat. “Yeah. I will. I don’t… I don’t want to–”

“Don’t even say it. Because it’s not going to happen,” she said sternly as she pulled the girl in for a hug. Kat knew she kept to herself, but she couldn’t help it. This was unlike anything that they had ever faced before. Kat smiled as she felt a squeeze from Max.

“Thank you. Thank you for everything. I– I’m sorry you have to…” she trailed off as her eyes welled with tears.

Kat shook her head. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. Vecna is a power hungry monster. It’s his fault all of us are going through any of this. Or actually, maybe it’s that stupid lab for not– Doesn’t matter whose fault it is. You shouldn’t feel guilty for any of this. You’re so fucking strong, Max. You keep fighting. You haven’t stopped. And what you’re about to do? It’s brave as hell.”

“Alright,” she said, quickly wiping at the few tears that managed to escape. “You’re a little too good at this… pep talk thing you’re doing,” she laughed.

“Yeah, but it’s true. I didn’t want you going through this not knowing that. And knowing that I believe in you one thousand percent,” Kat gave Max’s shoulder a squeeze as they turned to get on the RV.

“Same goes for you, you know. You’re a total badass,” she said, turning and smiling up at Kat.

“Takes one to know one,” she winked.

“You guys ready?” Steve asked then as he held the door open for them.

“Nope,” Max said.

“I don’t think there’s any way to be ready, so… on that note, full steam ahead,” Kat said sarcastically. Steve let out a small laugh through his nose. He followed them and sat in the driver’s seat, bringing the Winnebago to life.

Once the wheels were rolling, a tense quiet suffocated the ride. Steve and Nancy sat up front, watching the road ahead of them pensively. He would steal looks at Nancy. He still loved her. He could finally admit to himself. After the conversation he had with Eddie in the woods… He knew she still cared about him in some way. He could tell she wasn’t happy. Any chance he had to confess to her… something interrupted. It was gnawing at him like a starved dog on a bone. If by some miracle they made it all out of here alive, he would find the time, the perfect opportunity to tell her how he felt.

Nancy’s stare, on the other hand, never wavered from the window beside her. She kept thinking about the vision Kat had shared with her. She had seen everything Vecna showed her as if she had been the one in the vision. Could they really alter that fate?

Guilt gnawed at her underneath all her apprehension. She thought of her boyfriend. While she missed him, she rejoiced getting to spend time with Steve. Though they had separated, she knew somewhere deep down, she still had feelings for him. She could see how much he had grown over the last couple of years. Regardless of her current situation, her long distance relationship had made her terribly unhappy. Being close to Steve again, fighting side by side with him again… It was almost enough to relight a spark she thought had died long ago.

Behind Steve, sat Erica. Her eyes kept flitting over to her brother. She vowed to herself to spend more time with him after this was all over.

Lucas sat across from Max. Both of them anxiously staring out the window. Max drowned out everything with Kate Bush blasting into her ears while Lucas kept sneaking glances at her. Anyone could see how much he cared for her and how this whole ordeal was breaking his heart seeing her go through this. She was trying to psyche herself up as much as possible. Kat’s words helped, but still feeling him in the back of her mind, always lurking, always waiting… She was fighting her own inner battle to keep her confidence from waning.

Robin sat on the floor, her arms crossed. She was trying to keep her anxiety down. Her expression, solemn as she kept her gaze forward. Kat was sitting on the bench in the very back. She fixed her stare out the window. Terrified was an understatement. She could feel Vecna hiding beneath the shadows, just as Max could. She had a bad habit of never taking her own advice. This time, she knew she had to make an exception. Her memory became a rolodex of all her greatest achievements. The only goal was to remind herself that yes, she was powerful. Yes, she did have what it took to win. She had already done it once. What made this time any different? The fact that her loved one and friends were on the front lines with her? If anything that caused her to only want to fight harder.

Even still, she had this sinking feeling, deep down, that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake. It was the feeling that… not everyone would make it out alive. Could she avoid Vecna’s visions of the future from becoming true? The only thing she could do… The only thing any of them could do was try.

Next to her, Eddie kept nervously ringing his hands around his makeshift spear. No matter what, he was not going to run this time. He was through with running. Whatever it takes to keep Kat safe, he was going to do it. The duration of this ride was the time he would spend worrying about what was to come. He would worry about the fate of his girlfriend. As much as he believed in her, if anything… anything at all was to happen to her… That was something he didn’t think he could come back from. The same went for the boy sitting next to him. That boy had grown to be the little brother he never had and never knew he wanted. All of these kids were so bright, with so much ahead of them. There’s no way this could be the end of the road, right? He had to go to experience life outside with his partner by his side, fighting to make either his own name or his band’s name one that could be seen in every household. This was finally his year, afterall.

Dustin looked as if he was going to throw up at any second. Him and his friends had fought this before and won. They had Kat on their side now. El had her powers back. They had to stand a fighting chance. He kept wracking his brain for any other possible plans, scenarios, or ideas. But he came up empty every time. This was it. They were doing this. They were en route to fight the biggest battle of their lives. Despite his fears, his worries, he knew somehow, some way, they were going to make it out of this alive. Just as they always had. And he swore he would do whatever it took to clear Eddie and Kat’s names. Them of all people, did not deserve any of the slander the ignorant town of Hawkins kept throwing at them. Eddie had proved to him that being yourself was more important than anything else. Kat had shown him perseverance and what the power of friendship could do for someone. Every single person in that RV was a tried and true warrior in his eyes. Part of him felt foolish for being such an optimist, but he had to believe they would make it out of there. Alive. He just had to.

Too soon, the Winnebago slowed to a stop. “Alright,” Max said, inhaling sharply. “Let’s do this.” Erica got off first, followed by her brother. Max closed the door behind her. Together they stopped and stared at the foreboding Creel house where their fates and the fate of the world lied. They looked at each other and with a nod, they marched forward.

Kat couldn’t help herself, she pushed aside the curtain that hung in the rear window and watched as they stared up at the expansive house. Knock ‘em dead, kid, Kat thought to herself as the ruins of a monster’s childhood home faded from view.

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#eddie munson #eddie munson fix it fic #eddie munson x ofc #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things 4 #eddie munson angst #eddie munson au #nancy wheeler #dustin henderson #robin buckley #steve harrington #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair #max mayfield

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passerine-writes · 2 years

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Symbols - The Timeline

Back to Masterlist

Chapter 29 | Chapter 30

Hello my loves! I decided to make a timeline of things so it's a brief refresher to those who have read from the beginning but to also make everything a little more organized and easier to understand and also to fill in any background gaps! I'll probably make an updated version of this as the chapters progress but I hope this is beneficial!

- Burukiku Kaataa, Kaara's father, found out his best friend, Shinda Sutekina, was his soulmate on their birthday, she died when they were twenty years old.

- Kaataa met Kaara's mother, formerly Misane Mai when they were twenty three years old and got married at about twenty six since Mai pushed for it.

- At age twenty seven, his affair with Fumikawa Arise started.

-Mai fell pregnant with Kaara at age 28 and gave birth to her on September 13, 1995 in Tokyo Met. Matsuzawa Hospital.

- At age 27, Arise fell pregnant with Komini and gave birth to him on October 29, 1995.

- Kaara met Bokuto Koutarou when she was four and he was five after accidentally hitting him on the head with a volleyball.

- At age five, Kaara was evaluated for OCD since she was a very cleanly and overly organized child. The results came back inconclusive and was told that it was mostly some type of anxiety disorder and she would have to be reevaluated at an older age.

- The pair met Akaashi Keiji when the two were six and Bokuto was seven at the very same park, he was reading Artemis Fowl on a bench and he peaked Kaara's interest.

- Shortly after Kaara turned seven, her parents divorced and her mother moved about a fifteen minute drive away from her father. Visitations were made alternating weeks. Shortly after the separation, Mai became and alcoholic.

- Whenever Kaara could, she would have sleepovers with Bokuto and Akaashi.

- At age eight, Kaara became more attached to volleyball and joined the elementary schools club along with outside classes with Bokuto and Akaashi.

- When Kaara was almost 9 years old, she found out the truth as to why her parents divorced and found the full reason of her hatred for soulmates.

- At age eleven, Kaara's mother gained full custody and she started her first year of middle school at Matsuzawa Middle School. Not long after she started s/hing to try and cope with her new reality.

- Soon after Kaara met Kozume Kenma and Kuroo Tetsurou, Kuroo approached her at the same park she met Bokuto and Akaashi, realized she was playing a video game and brought Kenma over.

- After her first year of middle school, Kaara quit volleyball but still continued to practice with and support all four boys as an acting libero. She also got clean from her s/h tendencies and stayed as such for the remainder of middle school.

- When given the chance, Kaara would visit her father on weekends and try to convince him to let her come home. As an apology, he would take her to get her ears pierced since that was one of the things she heavily expressed an interest and likeness in, he soon after turned it into a reward for getting good grades.

- Mai met all of the legal guardians of the four boys and eventually let them have sleep overs again.

- During her stay at her mothers, she would try to go to her grandparents house if she couldn't go anywhere else.

- At age fourteen, Kaara ran away from her mothers and back to her fathers, crying hysterically asking if she could live with him again. He realized that she hadn't been exaggerating all of those years and quickly filed for full custody, which he thankfully won. In the meantime she stayed at her grandparents house, her fathers parents, since it was a neutral ground.

- From ages seven to fourteen, Kaara experienced many forms of abuse from her mother and hers mothers love interests at the time.

- On Bokuto's fifteenth birthday, she saw his marks and assumed she wouldn't be the fifth soulmate. She only became slightly hesitant of Kuroo's after she saw him and Bo were soulmates.

- In April of 2011, Akaashi and Kaara started their first year at Fukurodani, Kaara became the boys volleyball clubs manager until her 15th birthday.

- All through middle school and the start of high school, Kaara was used and bullied by other girls for being too close with the volleyball teams. Any girl who tried to befriend her inevitably ended up using her in order to try and get close to one of the boys.

- After her birthday, Kaara tried to remain friends with the four but shortly after Bokuto's birthday, she cut them all off out of fear. Trying to find a way to cope again, she reverted back to s/h.

- A few months after isolating herself, she started taking medications for her worsening panic attacks since she was trying to reject having soulmates.

- After summer break in her second year at Fukurodani, Bokuto discovered she was the fifth soulmate.

- On November 8th, Kaara and her father moved, and she started at Itachiyama on November 12th. On her first day she met Komori Motoya and Sakusa Kiyoomi.

- A week and a half later, she found out that her father was seeing Arise and had a son named Komini. Looking for comfort she went to Kuroo's house and hugged him. He found out her history of s/h that night and felt guilty for not realizing sooner.

- After talking with her father, Kaara started assuming that instead of having a third job, he would go and visit Arise and Komini, she is later proven correct in her assumption.

- Two and a half weeks after moving, Kaara met Fumikawa Komini in the hallway on accident. Not long after, the four had a 'family dinner' together at a restaurant to properly be introduced. A few days after, she spends the weekend at the Akaashi residence for Keiji's birthday.

- On Monday December 8th, Kaara has to start attending volleyball practices due to her fathers instructions and is supposed to walk home with Komini. That day, she meets Miya Atsumu who tried to flirt with her and failed, followed by Miya Osamu, Kita Shinsuke and Suna Rintaro. Her and Osamu bonded right away over the onigiri she brought that day, and he soon after defended her when Komini continued to disrespect her boundaries.

- That Thursday, Kita stopped Komini from hitting Kaara as she went into a panic attack. Atsumu helped her through it.

- The next day, she hung out with Atsumu, Osamu, Suna, Kita and Ojiro and got her ears pierced. She put together that Atsumu and Sakusa are soulmates but is confused as to why he flirted with her since he seems so interested with the ace. From Thursday to Monday, she had multiple nightmares and reamed out Bokuto Minato for his outdated views.

- Monday evening after practice, Kaara was attacked in the gym by three girls for being 'too close' to Sakusa, Komori and Komini.

- Tuesday the 16th, Kaara stayed home to recover and had a heart to heart with Arise.

- The next day, Kaara had a large discussion with Komini, Arise and her father to clear the air but soon found out that the two were being arranged to move in.

A few little side notes!

Kuroo moved in with his grandmother (aka, grams) at 9 years old.

Kenma's parents are constantly away on business trips so he has one ginger cat named Cheddar

Bokuto's father is homophobic and has been for decades but only started voicing it once Bokuto found out him and Kuroo were soulmates.

Akaashi's parents are the only non toxic duo of parents

Kaara is basically an honorary member in all of their families

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squares-the-cosmosrectangle · 5 months

Text

Fanfiction Master List

This will be updated every time a chapter is added to a fic, or I write a new story! The story link is now with the title.

Catalyst of Disorder

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Puyo Puyo (Video Games), Tetris (Video Games)

Relationships: Squares & Tee (Puyo Puyo), Ex & Tee (Puyo Puyo), Ex & Squares (Puyo Puyo), Tee & OC, Marle & Squares (Puyo Puyo)m Ai & Elle & Ess & Jay & O & Tee & Zed (Puyo Puyo), Squares & Ai & O & Zed & Jay & Ess & Elle (Puyo Puyo), Marle (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), Squares (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), Marle & Squares (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC)

Characters: Squares (Puyo Puyo), Tee (Puyo Puyo), Ai (Puyo Puyo), Jay (Puyo Puyo), O (Puyo Puyo), Zed (Puyo Puyo), Ex (Puyo Puyo), OC’s, Marle (Puyo Puyo), Ess (Puyo Puyo), Elle (Puyo Puyo), Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), Prismie (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC)

Additional Tags: Squares-centric (Puyo Puyo), Wholesome, Family Fluff,Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Major Character Injury, Injury Recovery, Head Injury, Family Bonding, Family, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Protective Siblings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Language: English Words: 98,544 Chapters: 29/53

Long ago, the goddess who watches fun created a being to watch order. The duo were siblings, they bonded over their duties and issues the Watcher of Order had to deal with. Over the course of a nine hundred ninety nine years, they watched together — until the Watcher of Fun started obsessing over bonds between two worlds.

The Watcher of Order wasn’t happy, he sought to correct it and make his sister happy around him again. He succeeded, but it wasn’t how he intended. Due to this the Watcher of Fun decided it was better if he got babysat by the Tetris King, it’ll teach her little brother to be less clingy to her.

A year before the present time is when our story starts, the Watcher of Order and his new babysitter — the Tetris King — now have to bond together and learn about the other's past. They’ll meet a dangerous foe and all they know will be changed forever.

An Ethereal Trio

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Puyo Puyo (Video Games), Tetris (Video Games)

Relationships: Marle & Squares (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), No Romantic Relationship(s)

Characters: Marle (Puyo Puyo), Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), Squares (Puyo Puyo)

Additional Tags: Wholesome, Fluff, Family Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Headcanon, Head Injury, Major Character Injury, Pre-Canon, Loneliness, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Fluff and Angst, Major Original Character(s), Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Parent-Child Relationship, Family Bonding, Family, Māru is my brother’s OC, Self-Harm, Self-Doubt, Self-Worth Issues, Childhood Trauma, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Blood and Injury, Injury, Injury Recovery, Scars, Blood, Mild Blood, Blood Loss, Separation Anxiety

Language: English Words: 47,146 Chapters: 3/?

Marle, Māru, and Squares are the three watchers of the Puzzle Worlds, they live together in harmony for 1,000 years, but, how did their lives go? What did they see? How did they bond? This story is gonna explain all of that, and much more!

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Series: Tetris Backstories

Lost to the Rift

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandoms: Puyo Puyo (Video Games), Tetris (Video Games)

Categories: Gen

Relationships: Tee (Puyo Puyo) & Original Character(s), Squares & Tee (Puyo Puyo), Ex & Tee (Puyo Puyo), Ai & Elle & Ess & Ex & Jay & O & Zed & Tee (Puyo Puyo)

Characters: Tee (Puyo Puyo), Ai (Puyo Puyo), Elle (Puyo Puyo), Ex (Puyo Puyo), Squares (Puyo Puyo), Jay (Puyo Puyo), Ess (Puyo Puyo), O (Puyo Puyo), Zed (Puyo Puyo),Namiko (My OC), K-Infinity (My OC), Cahpyer (My OC), Prismie (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC)

Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Trauma, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Child Abandonment, alien Tee, References to Depression, Loss of Parent(s), Memory Loss, Adopted Children, Adoption, Getting to Know Each Other, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Taihen is Tee’s old name in my hc universe, Preteenager Squares is a mini cutie., Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, K-Infinity is slightly abusive, Sick Squares (Puyo Puyo), Illnesses, Verbal Abuse

Language: English Words: 7,470 Chapters: 1/?

In the land of Tetrimina, a rift to a dimension of blobs caused mysteries to come forth for five years. However, a couple — who met when the rift formed — decided to start a family.

However when the rift closes suddenly, the couple finds themselves in a situation that ultimately breaks their family apart.

Their child, Tee, will find a way to be a person again, he’ll learn to cope with his differences and his missing parents he doesn’t know. And maybe, he’ll see them again one day.

Time Rifted Twins

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandoms: Puyo Puyo (Video Games), Tetris (Video Games)

Categories: Gen

Relationships: Elle & Jay (Puyo Puyo), Jay & Elle & Squares (Puyo Puyo)

Characters: Jay (Puyo Puyo), Elle (Puyo Puyo), Squares (Puyo Puyo)

Additional Tags: Injury, Blood and Injury, Panic Attacks, Telepathy, Telepathic Bond, Pre-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Recovery, Injury Recovery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Language: English Words: 5,320 Chapters: 2/2

The telepathically bonded Jay and Elle, who truly are they? And where did they originate from?

Questions many don’t know the answers too, but,

One person knows more than others do

A person by the title as Keeper of Order

The telepathic twins, and the Keeper of what’s Right

They met within a tragic accident and bond

The only friend the Keeper had, and certainly, the first the twins had too

What is their ending? How do they join the Starship Tetra?

Keeper of the Puzzle

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Puyo Puyo (Video Games), Tetris (Video Games)

Relationships: Ex & Tee (Puyo Puyo), Ess & Ex (Puyo Puyo), Ex & Squares (Puyo Puyo), Ai & Elle & Ess & Ex & Jay & O & Tee & Zed (Puyo Puyo), Elle & Ex & Jay (Puyo Puyo), Ex (Puyo Puyo) & Original Character(s)

Characters: Ex (Puyo Puyo), O (Puyo Puyo), Ess (Puyo Puyo), Tee (Puyo Puyo), Zed (Puyo Puyo), Ai (Puyo Puyo), Elle (Puyo Puyo), Jay (Puyo Puyo), Squares (Puyo Puyo), Original Characters, Cahpyer (OC), Kaimetsu (OC)

Additional Tags: Hurt No Comfort, Trauma, Blood and Injury, Headcanon, Major Character Injury, Injury Recovery, Pre-Canon, Loneliness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Fluff and Angst, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Language: English Words: 1,821 Chapters: 1/?

Ex, the prince of the Tetris World, and his twin Cahpyer, the other prince, had a rough past revolving around their father Kaimetsu. However, they found out that things aren’t as they thought, and their royal lineage was over. What happens to Ex? How does he become the Keeper of Dimensions?

Fashionista Fashion

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Puyo Puyo (Video Games), Tetris (Video Games)

Relationships: Ess & Ex (Puyo Puyo), Ess & Tee (Puyo Puyo), Ess & Zed (Puyo Puyo), Ai & Elle & Ess & Ex & Jay & O & Tee & Zed (Puyo Puyo), Ess & Squares (Puyo Puyo)

Characters: Ess (Puyo Puyo), Tee (Puyo Puyo), Ex (Puyo Puyo), Zed (Puyo Puyo), Squares (Puyo Puyo), O (Puyo Puyo), Jay (Puyo Puyo), Elle (Puyo Puyo), Ai (Puyo Puyo)

Additional Tags: Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Not to Ess, read Tee’s story, i’m honest, Wholesome, Family Bonding, Family Reunions, Family Secrets, Family Feels

Language: English Words: 1,821 Chapters: 1/?

Ess, the navigator of the S.S. Tetra finds out the problems of the Tetris World from her papa, Ex. They survive a bout of sorrow as the loss of one dear to them weighs them down.

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Series: Holiday Stories

Trick or Treat!

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Puyo Puyo (Video Games), Tetris (Video Games)

Relationships: Marle & Squares (Puyo Puyo), Marle (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), Squares (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), Marle & Squares & Tee (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC)

Characters: Tee (Puyo Puyo), Squares (Puyo Puyo), Marle (Puyo Puyo), Elle (Puyo Puyo), Jay (Puyo Puyo), Ai (Puyo Puyo), Zed (Puyo Puyo), O (Puyo Puyo), Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC)

Additional Tags: Halloween, Trick or Treating, Wholesome, Cutesy, Dialogue Heavy, Halloween 2023, First ever halloween fic lets gooo!, Squares (Puyo Puyo)’s first time Trick-or-Treating

Language: English Words: 2,605 Chapters: 1/1

In the month of October, there’s a holiday called Halloween. Where you dress up in costumes and gather candy from an event called “Trick-or-Treating”. The young Watcher of Order had never gone trick-or-treating before, and his sisters are going to change that!

The Hotel of the Ghostly Order

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Puyo Puyo (Video Games), Tetris (Video Games)

Relationships: Marle (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), Marle & Squares (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), Squares (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), Marle & Squares (Puyo Puyo), Marle & Squares & Tee (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC)

Characters: Marle (Puyo Puyo), Squares (Puyo Puyo), Tee (Puyo Puyo), Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC)

Additional Tags: Other Characters not important enough to be mentioned, Halloween 2023, Spirits, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Not really but technically, idk how to tag this, Wholesome

Language: English Words: 4,241 Chapters: 1/1

The Tetra Crew are on a trip in the Teshika planet cluster, in the planet named Tarigaia. The hotel is said to be haunted by a child who no one knows the origin for. The child is titled the “Ghostly Order”, but what’s their origins? Tee better be ready, cause emotions are stirred tonight.

A Puyo Tetris Christmas

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/F

Fandoms: Puyo Puyo (Video Games), Tetris (Video Games)

Relationships: Puyo Puyo (Video Games), Tetris (Video Games)

Relationships: Ringo Ando/Ess, Marle & Squares (Puyo Puyo), Squares (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), Marle (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), Marle & Squares (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), Ai & Elle & Ess & Jay & O & Tee & Zed (Puyo Puyo)

Characters: Marle (Puyo Puyo), Squares (Puyo Puyo), Tee (Puyo Puyo), Māru (My Brother’s OC)

Additional Tags: Fluff, Family Fluff, Wholesome, Awkward Romance, First Christmas, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Eve, Christmas Morning, Christmas 2023, Squares (Puyo Puyo)’s first Christmas, Post-Canon, Cute, Cute Ending, Cutesy, References to Depression, Ringess (Puyo Puyo)

Language: English Words: 2,227 Chapters: 1/1

The Ethereal Trio celebrate Christmas with Ringo and the Tetra Crew! This is also Squares’ first time celebrating the holiday, so he’s honestly confused!

(Zed, Ai, and O never speak, but just know they’re in this fic lol)

——————————————————————————————————

Series: Stories Under 1,000 Words

Baking Together

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Puyo Puyo (Video Games)

Categories: Gen

Relationships: Marle & Squares (Puyo Puyo) & Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), No Romantic Relationship(s)

Characters: Marle (Puyo Puyo), Māru (CosmicRectange_Squares’ brother’s OC), Squares (Puyo Puyo)

Additional Tags: Wholesome, Fluff, Family Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Baking, Family, Family Bonding, Siblings, Sibling Bonding, Cookies, they bake T-Cookies together, the Tetris world gets mentioned like twice, mainly just cookies though, Squares can’t bake, He tried though, Marle & Māru love him anyway

Language: English Words: 832 Chapters: 1/1

Marle, Māru, and Squares decide to bake together after Squares wakes up to the smell of them baking. They make cookies for themselves and some for Squares to give to someone he knows from Tetrimina. They love doing things together as a family, a gentle hug for Squares hard work is deserved.

Beaches of Tetrimina

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Puyo Puyo (Video Games)

Categories: Gen

Relationships: Squares & Tee (Puyo Puyo), No Romantic Relationship(s)

Characters: Squares (Puyo Puyo), Tee (Puyo Puyo)

Additional Tags: Wholesome, Family Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Fluff, Beaches, Tee & Squares visit a beach

Language: English Words: 972 Chapters: 1/1

The Tetra Crew visit the beach, and they bring Squares along too. It’s the Keeper of Order’s first day at the beach, so he’s nervous to say the least. Tee & Squares’ play together

0 notes