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solomonish · 3 years

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he comes with a warning sign (satan & his brothers)

One of these things is not like the other...the one born as soon as the others fell, the one made entirely of feelings they'd all rather forget.

ao3 link: here!

Satan started his life crashing into the ground, the impact creating a crater that is now considered a piece of Devildom history.

His first memory was the gut-wrenching jolt of falling through the air, watching as a man he didn’t know let out his anguish in a mess of feathers, blood, and tears Satan vaguely felt he wasn’t supposed to see. The next was of his collision, a bone-shattering hit that, somehow, only sent a dull ache through his body. Black feathers floated down around him, some matted with blood falling faster than the others, soft like the ones inexplicably around his neck in a boa. Around him, he could hear quiet moans of pain and the occasional sob, a cacophony that both grated in his ears but fit the turmoil that threatened to spill out from within him. Those first moments were nothing but hatred, an acidic burn within him so strong it felt like all he’d ever know.

Emotion didn’t come easy to him. For the longest time, he felt like an animal, some form of furious energy trapped in a cage of demonic armor that wouldn’t give no matter how often he lashed out. Occasionally, he’d manage to reach his arm between the bars and swipe at whoever made the mistake of getting close, attempting to ease him into the familial life that was expected of him. Who were these people? Why did they think they could expect him to care about them? It didn’t matter to him that they were shrinking from him, undoubtedly fighting behind closed doors about who’s turn it was to see him. In a way, it made him feel better. They should feel as angry as he did.

Even after he calmed down - convinced himself to put on a show of obedience for the right to stretch his legs and not have to wonder if the others forced the orange-haired one named Beelzebub to send his dinner (meaning he’d get none at all) - he was still aloof, uninterested in what the others thought about spot in their family. Eventually, he’d learn: learn of what they used to be, what they did to fall from that place, and of the person they lost. For the first time, he cared about the misfitting sensation inside of him. After all, he’d very much rather feel like an intrusion than a replacement.

The knowledge of what happened introduced that new emotion to him, a sort of sympathetically charged guilt that he, hah, hated. The others were in no state to teach him how to be a person. Their means of teaching him to be something other than a feral beast were certainly some sort of violation of his personal rights. So, instead, he took to reading, desperate to find answers to questions he didn’t yet know how to ask. Through the many novellas and epics, the treatises and research journals, entire libraries worth of fiction and nonfiction, Satan began to piece himself together. He taught himself how to craft a facade of sympathy and understanding, how to mask the anger that constantly boiled inside of him, and tuned himself to his emotions lest he fall back into the vat he always hovered just above. Cats and books calmed him down. Black feathers and Lucifer made him lose his grip.

Perhaps it was because, if he reached back as far as his memory went, the only thing he saw when his entire body burned with pure wrath was Lucifer himself and a tornado of feathers. Maybe it was because Lucifer seemed to watch him and regard him as a miniature version of himself, then promptly remind Satan that he would always be a step beneath his legacy. All Satan knew was, on the days Mammon would call on his crows to complete a scheme and the yard was littered with their feathers, his mood soured in the same way it was when Lucifer even made his presence known.

Every day, Satan had to wrestle with emotions the meanings of which he had to discern for himself, emotions that never should have been his in the first place. The war that raged inside his very core was only the product of a failure, a symbolic continuation of what robbed his “brothers” of someone he would never meet. There was no way he and this Lilith could exist at the same time, and Satan often wondered how readily the others would trade him for a chance to have her back.

Satan did not waste time wallowing in self-pity. However, despite his practiced control, he could not stop the frown that always formed when someone spoke of his origins. He was the product of Lucifer’s wrath and grief, a part of Lucifer that he tried so desperately to claw out of himself he disfigured himself in the process. Lucifer was once the most brilliant angel, the morningstar himself. Satan was the worst part of him, an embodiment of that which he could never want, not in his grace as an angel or his degeneracy as a demon.

If any of his brothers caught on to this pattern of thinking, they never breached the topic. Perhaps they agreed. Satan wasn’t sure he’d want to know if they did.

His withdrawal from the others was only natural. His violence in the beginning effectively conditioned them to stay away, and he could only imagine the things they associated him with in their grief. As they all did their best to move on, letting their broken bones fuse crooked, Satan gave up on his hope of ever fitting in. He was the youngest, yet the fourth most powerful - the one in the middle, splitting up the older and younger siblings and somehow not quite meshing with either group. When Diavolo commented on the everlasting love of brothers, Satan smiled and nodded. If he could put on an act of being a composed individual, he could put on an act of being a true member of their family. With how absorbed they were in themselves, it was rare the topic ever came up.

The only one who seemed to care was Lucifer. Even then, he only seemed to want to be his brothers’ keeper, if only for the disciplinary privileges it gave him. When Satan stepped out of line - which seemed to be always- Lucifer was quick to remind him that, oh, perhaps they weren’t brothers. Something churned in his gut, nothing like the bile he pretended rose up at the thought of being Lucifer’s son. As Satan simmered in his fury, silently planning something to get back at Lucifer, he wondered if they truly did find pleasure in reminding him how much he didn’t belong.

Logic said that only Lucifer knew to plan psychological torture that way, but Satan was under no obligation to forgive the behavior of the others on the ground of ignorance.

So, as was only natural, Satan came with a warning sign. He was the one to be wary of, a ball of uncontrollable rage disguised as one of them. His smiles were all surface-level and fake, hiding his true, devious intentions. Be careful around him - better yet, don’t associate yourself with him more than you have to.

After all, he had been pushed away from the beginning, a volatile bundle of emotions that Lucifer couldn’t - didn’t want to - deal with. There was no place for him anywhere when he had been tossed aside like trash from the start.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #swd obey me #obey me swd #obey me satan #swd satan #satan #satan angst

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queenmuzz · 3 years

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So, anyways, I saw something @liulyam had posted for Spardaverse a while back I DON'T KNOW HOW I MISSED THEIR WONDERFUL ART FORGIVE ME! Anyways, I saw specifically THIS piece of art, and it sent the brain juices into overdrive....

So, the same thing plays out everyday. Nero gets off the school bus and runs in, backpack flying, and tells his uncle excitedly about his day at school, before racing up the stairs to tell his dad the same thing, in the same adorably animated manner. Unfortunately, Vergil doesn’t respond the same way as Dante, sitting still, not even acknowledging that the boy is talking to him. Initially, Nero doesn’t mind, understanding his recently rescued father has been through a lot, and needs time and patience to recover. But as the months pass by, Dante notices that his nephew doesn’t run up the front steps as eagerly, his descriptions of school become shorter, paler. And most worryingly of all, Nero spends less and less time with Vergil, preferring to peek his head in the man’s room, sigh, and slowly make his way to his own room, closing the door sullenly.

“What’s going on Nero?” Dante takes the plunge and asks him one day, before the boy trudges up the stairs. “You haven’t been that rambunctious ball of energy lately.”

Nero kicks the worn hardwood floor. “It’s dad… I know you told me I need to be patient,” his face scrunches up at the word, it’s a thing he’s never been able to truly do. He’s definitely a Sparda boy. “But he just keeps ignoring me. He won’t talk, won’t even look at me. It’s like I don’t even exist! Maybe...maybe he doesn’t want me to exist-”

“Hey now!” Dante needs to nip this train of thought in the bud. He knows first hand where it can lead to. Had he not found Nero nearly nine years ago, while wandering the world, drinking up every bar’s entire inventory in a vain attempt to fill a void in his chest, who knows where he would have ended up? “Your dad...well, even without the stuff he’s been through, he was never much of a talker. Always preferred to have his actions speak for him.” “But that’s the thing, Uncle Dante!” Nero blurts out, close to tears. “He DOESN’T DO ANYTHING!!! He doesn’t care!” And with that, Nero bolts up the stairs, past Vergil’s room, not even checking up on him, and slams his bedroom door with such force, Eva’s portrait wobbles on the desk and tips over. Dante sighs, sets his mom back up, and slowly makes his way up the stairs. Not to Nero’s room; Dante knows better than to provoke that tiger cub when he’s in an ornery mood. It’s time to talk to his dad.

Vergil, or what’s left of him, is sitting in an oversized chair, the only one that fits his giant frame, facing the window, the only one in the place with a view. If he’s heard the ruckus (and Dante knows he has), he makes no indication that it affects him.

“Verg,” he calls out, “I know it's been rough, I know I piled on a lot of shit on you, the whole thing about having a kid and everything these past nine years. I’m not expecting you to just snap back to normal, and start insulting me like in the good old days, but…” Dante’s not good at this sort of thing. He’d rather Royal Guard his emotional turmoil. It used to be with alcohol, but now it’s with a cheery smile. “The kid needs a sign that you’re still there, you’re still fighting. I know you are, hell, you’re the one that helped me take down that bastard Mundus on Mallet Island. But that’s the thing, Nero’s only heard things that you’ve done, not seen them. You need to show him yourself, otherwise…” Vergil makes no motion, and even Dante, stubborn as he is, knows it’s fruitless to continue much more, “you’re gonna lose him too.” And then Dante heads back downstairs, to see if he can whip up a snack to bribe his nephew to come out of his lair. Strange, he swears he hears the rustle of fabric from Vergil’s room, as if his brother had just moved.

Nero sits at Dante’s desk, working on his math homework. It’s his least favourite thing, fractions. Uncle Dante is a whiz at them, and usually would be able to help him, but he’s gone out on an ‘Really quick, won’t be more than a half hour’ errand run. It’s been nearly two hours, and the only other adult here is his dad… so Nero is practically by himself.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Nero’s neck prick up, and he hears scrabbling at the front door. He’s still not allowed to go out with Uncle Dante or Auntie Lady on their hunts, but he knows what a demon feels like, especially when there are a lot of them. ESPECIALLY when they’re really powerful Instinctively, he grabs a chair, and wedges it underneath the door knob, and looks around in a panic. He’s never had to deal with a demon attack by himself before. He remembers his uncle has a case of weapons that he was told to NEVER touch beside the jukebox, but Nero figures that he can say sorry to his uncle later. He smashes the lock with a billiard ball, and yanks open the lid. He’s disappointed. He thought there would be a treasure trove of swords and guns, but all there are two swords, one red and one blue. But he doesn’t have much of a choice, and the whine of protesting wood ends with a thunderous CRASH, and demons pour through. “FIND THE HERETIC GOD SLAYER!” One says, before turning in Nero’s direction. Without much warning, it shrieks as it launches at him with razor sharp obsidian claws.

Nero might be little, but his uncle has trained him well. Whipping the two blades around, they connect the monster’s waist in a pincer move, and like a pair of scissors, bisect it in a shower of blood and ash. Nero swears he hears a voice (or is it two voices?) approvingly say, “Impressive!” but doesn’t have a chance to savour his very first demon kill as another demon comes at him, knocking him over. The reddish gold blade clatters away on the floor, way out of reach, not that it matters. Nero’s pinned to the ground by a skeletal foot, as the demon lifts a blade to impale him. He squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for the end.

The final blow never comes. Instead, he hears shriek, and the pressure on his chest instantly subsides. He opens his eyes, to see it stagger back, its decapitated head clattering to the floor. Its brethren likewise are either dead or dying, their high pitched screams shattering the glass in the jukebox.

Nero’s first thought is that his Uncle has finally come home, Dante’s come to save me! But what’s odd is that there’s no sound of Dante’s beloved Ebony and Ivory. And last he checked, his uncle never was able to shoot out blue ghostly blades that now impale most of the horde. But it doesn’t matter, because his uncle is here to save the day! That is, until he yelps as he’s quickly, but not roughly picked up and held as whoever holds him spirits him out of the building, the blue blade still clutched in his hand. Nero begins to panic, but hears a voice, almost like a croak, as if the vocal cords had been in disuse for years…

Nero

And even though the voice is harsh sounding, it's one of the most comforting things Nero’s ever heard.

Of course that half hour errand run would turn out to be three hours. But when he was promised a free pizza for clearing out that demon nest on the West side, Dante couldn’t say no. Besides, he’d pick up some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on the way home as a way of apologising to Nero. The kid might be cross with him, but he’d forgive him the moment he smelled those chewy biscuits. Dante might even let him have more than half of the package.

So when he gets home to find his front door smashed open, his office trashed, and worst of all his jukebox shattered-wait no, worst of all, his nephew missing, all thoughts of pizza and cookies vanish from his mind as he rushes in, guns drawn. There’s no sign of life, but the black splatters of demonic ichor painting the walls shows that some real bad mojo went down here. The strangest thing though, is Agni, a weapon Dante was definitely sure he had under lock and key, laying there on the ground, alone.

“Alright, time to spill your guts” he yanks the blade up so that he’s at eye level with the pommel, “What the hell happened here?” Agni makes the same response as Vergil. Which means silence.

“I swear to…” he pulls out ivory, and presses the muzzle into the (more troubled than usual looking face), “You’re gonna tell me what went down, or we’re gonna see how many bullets I can jam into your ugly mug.” “You told us to remain silent.” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, consider that rule temporarily relaxed.” “There was an attack.” Agni starts, its distorted voice unusually agitated, “The little one fought with great valour, but eventually even he was overwhelmed.” Dante’s blood goes cold. “But then a great bulk of a demon came out and slaughtered the attacking filth, and spirited the boy away, alongwith my brother.”

“Rudra’s still with Nero?” That’s odd, if they were trying to capture the kid, they’d disarm him first.

“Yes, they are not far, I think they’ve stopped moving.”

“Alright,” Dante makes his way out of the disfigured wood, “let’s go find the kid and your bro...and if he’s alright, maybe I’ll reconsider giving back your talking privileges.” “Oh, that would be wonderful, will you allow us to leave the dark box? It’s been so long since we’ve fought, we crave batt- ”

“I said IF, and I won’t guarantee anything if you keep jabbering on and on.”

Angi directs the demon hunter to a dark secluded alleyway, a few blocks from Devil May Cry. One hand on its hilt ready for attack, the other fingering the trigger of Ivory, he cautiously makes his way past the recently overturned garbage cans, to a shadow alcove, where a shadow crouches. Beside it is Rudra, glowing faintly, it’s turquoise blue light providing enough illumination for Dante to make out what has happened. There’s Nero, peacefully slumbering away, apparently unharmed, not even his shirt is torn. And holding him gently, stroking his downy white hair with a giant hand...is Vergil… And for once, even though he is still staring straight ahead, there’s a different look on his face, a sense of contentment.

Huh Dante thinks to himself as he holsters the weapons, I was right, actions DO speak louder than words.

#Devil May Cry #Nelo Dadgelo #Dante #Vergil #Nero #canon divergence #I didn't want to connect this to their post via reblog #because that should stand alone in its own perfection #my writing

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taehyungiejiminie95 · 4 years

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BTS Reactions – You’re dating another idol

You laugh kindly as your boyfriend speaks casually with the reporters lining the red carpet. It’s nothing you’re not used to – you’re well used to the limelight by now, by way of your famous boyfriends both past and present. You’re not some kind of fame hunter, you don’t dream of being adored by everyone, you don’t even particularly like going to coveted events like this. But you do it to support the man you’re with. At some point, you become aware of somebody watching you with intense eyes. Although you’re no stranger to being watched, this feels… different. More accusatory. You know without looking back who’s glaring at you and the hand your boyfriend has wrapped around your waist.

Jin

“Jimin, stop staring,” Jin whispers gently to Jimin, guiding his groupmate away from the sight and towards the next red carpet interview, “It’s just going to cause a scene, and I don’t think we really want that kind of publicity,” Jin’s voice is controlled and calm, as he flat out refuses to let any of his emotions bubble to the surface. With years upon years of practice, he lets his eyes pass right over you and your new boyfriend without even a hint of recognition. Jimin shakes his head in wonder and Jin elegantly dodges a few questions regarding your presence here, acting as if he hasn’t seen you yet – but must find you for a brief catch up, surely.

You and Jin seem to keep brushing shoulders all night, but he makes no move to acknowledge your presence if he can. As he walks up to the table where his group and a few others will be seated and sees you there, he stalks straight past to where some of his idol friends are sitting, naturally integrating himself into the conversation while Namjoon rushes to make quick amendments. It’s all sorted by the end of his conversation.

Jin holds onto his composure all night, smiling and waving and cheering as if there’s nothing wrong. Even his groupmates wonder what’s going on, why he isn’t bothered by it at all. It’s not until much later on that Jin’s true feelings show. The van doors have just closed, and everybody is inside. It seems like all the air is let out of Jin, and he crumples forward, his first few tears slipping out as they’ve been threatening to all night.

Yoongi

“I can’t believe she has the nerve to show up here! It’s barely been 6 months and she’s already got somebody else draped over her. Who even is that?” Yoongi mutters to Namjoon as he glares at you. The leader tries to discourage his staring, knowing that the press will just be eating Yoongi’s horror up, as disgustingly predatorial as that is. Nothing sells like rivalry, and if Yoongi doesn’t stop staring and muttering, that’s going to be what happens,

“Look, I know. I get it. But unless you want this to be front page news, you’ve got to stop this,” Namjoon pushes gently, trying not to be too harsh. Your breakup really did affect Yoongi, so it’s not fair to expect him to be okay with this,

“I just feel like I should say something, you know? It’s obvious some reporter is going to ask me a question about it, but maybe if I go over there then that will be a story enough and they won’t have to,” Yoongi tries to control his voice and convince the leader that him going over there wouldn’t end in a fight. However, his voice betrays him and Namjoon is forced to quickly drape and arm over Yoongi’s shoulders to hold him in place for the next bout of pictures. He wouldn’t be surprised if Yoongi bolted at any moment. It’s been a long time since any of the group has seen Yoongi in this much pain and turmoil. Namjoon silently curses you in his head. How could you do this to him? Showing up here after everything… yeah, in Namjoon’s opinion, Yoongi has every right to be mad.

Hoseok

“Should I go over and do something? Maybe act all happy, like I support the relationship? Might be good for our image, especially with our upcoming album being what it’s about,” Hoseok asks Namjoon under his breath. He likes to think his leader will always know what to do, but Namjoon just shakes his head and shrugs. There is no right way to act when your ex-girlfriend (who you had been with for years) turns up at an awards show you’re about to sweep clean ay with a new nearly-as-famous idol boyfriend just a few months after the public announcement of your break up. Not exactly any manuals based on the correct etiquette. Hoseok swears softly and decides it would probably be best. If he’s lucky, it might make him feel better.

The rapper walks through a crowd that parts like the Red Sea for him, and he approaches you and your new boyfriend with bated breath. You catch sight of him first and try not to show how much you’d been dreading this. You couldn’t avoid coming, but you knew that he would do this. Hoseok was always a sociable person, wanting to appear as good-natured and as friendly as possible. After so long together, you know him like the back of your hand,

“I hope I’m not interrupting!” Hoseok says brightly, giving your boyfriend a friendly smile as he shakes his hand, “Just thought I’d come over and introduce myself, make sure nobody feels awkward,” His smile widens externally as a few reporters catch wind of the situation and hurry over, but inside his dread multiplies. He’s sure this is the right thing to do in this situation, but why does it hurt so much to see you so happy? He swore he would always support you, but he can feel a green-eyes monster stirring in his belly. It’s ugly.

Namjoon

Immediately upon registering your presence, Namjoon straightens his back, squares his shoulders and sets his jaw. He is not going to play into whatever kind of sick game is at play here. He’s certain everyone expects him to react in some way, maybe even go over and try and say something. Some fans are probably even hoping he’ll start a fight. No. He will not stoop that low. He bites his tongue and decides who he is going to be tonight. He won’t be the cheap headline of some failing tabloid. He’ll be the front cover of MTV and Billboard after cleaning house at yet another top-flight awards show. That’s who Kim Namjoon is.

It gets really hard to be Kim Namjoon when you and your boyfriend end up sitting right behind him, talking in such a soppy way to each other. He’s forced to sit there and listen to the two of you simper and kiss each other for the sake of the cameras all night. Namjoon refuses to even flinch, just playing his role in these shows. To be fair, it’s not like he spends long sat down anyway. Award after award is given to them, and he receives a few on behalf of his company as well. This is who Kim Namjoon is. Untouchable. Unfazed. He will not let this get to him. He will not let this get to him. He will not let this get to him. He will not…

The mantra starts to break down towards the end of the end, when he catches fragments of a conversation that he wishes he was having with you. Talks of going home, of cuddling, of having breakfast together. A single tear escapes Namjoon’s eyes, and he hopes deeply that if a camera did catch it, they would assume it was the emotional video being shown on stage to support the ending of racism.

Jimin

“Jimin! How does it make you feel that your ex has a new boyfriend already?” A reporter shouts over the din of voices in the red carpet area. Jimin rounds on them with a dark expression, staring directly into the camera as the question registers slowly in his brain. A deep frown settles on his face as he considers how best to address this question he knows is going to be screamed and shouted at him all night. He might as well get something out now, and stick to it,

“I think that’s a really personal question. I’ve already spoken with ARMY about how I feel, as you should know. What others do doesn’t affect me. I’ve been on a journey with my group, my brothers, to learn to love myself. The first lesson is not to let things you can’t control upset you. I’m happy for her. I hope she finds what she’s looking for,” Jimin’s teeth are clenched together as he speaks, but he knows his voice sounds as melodic and as friendly as always. The reporter nods in thanks and is about to call out another equally intrusive question when Taehyung tugs his best friend forwards for an important photo with a big artist also attending,

“That was a pretty good response, hyung. I wonder if it’ll keep them happy for now,” Taehyung states absent-mindedly as he gets into a memorable pose. Jimin does the same, pulling on his most endearing smile. Inside, he doesn’t know what to think. He knows the answer to Taehyung’s thought – no. The media are never happy unless Jimin is crying on his knees, in pain and suffering. That’s the only way half of them will sell a story. They want to see him hurt. It’s all he can do to swear he will never let them see the truth. How it feels like you’ve got his heart in that little clutch of yours. Like you’ve stolen it. Like he’ll never get it back.

Taehyung

Taehyung’s face falls as your new boyfriend tightens his arm around your waist, tugging you into his chest for a cute couple’s picture. Your smile looks so radiant and overjoyed. He can’t remember when you ever looked at him like that. Maybe you never did. Taehyung tried so hard, day in and day out, to be good enough for you, but he never was. You still decided to leave him just before he went on tour. He was devastated. None of the group look fondly on you after you left him in such a sorry state,

“Come on, we’re moving on now,” Jin whispers in his ear, trying to be subtle as he moves Tae along. The eldest of the group doesn’t want to be harsh, but if Taehyung doesn’t get his expression under control then they’re going to have front page news on their hands. And not for the right reasons, “Hey, isn’t that Seojoon over there? I haven’t seen him since you went on your Hwarang promotions with him!” Jin exclaims a little louder, trying to draw away the attention of reporters on Taehyung and Taehyung’s attention on you. It seems to work, even if Taehyung’s enthusiasm is a little lack-luster,

“Woah! Hyung, you’ve gotten taller,” Taehyung marvels, bounding straight past where you’re stood to hug his actor friend, “Thank you for the food truck you sent me last month, me and my members really enjoyed it,” He continues, beaming up at Seojoon, trying his best to fulfil his happy-go-lucky image. All he can do is pray it works as Seojoon does his best to pick up the slack for his hurting friend.

Jungkook

“I’m going over,” Jungkook huffs, and before anyone can grab him, he’s broken off from the group and elegantly stalked over to where you and your new boyfriend are stood, recounting for the hundredth time how the two of you met – well, his version of it anyway. Your boyfriend’s management had been eager to leave out the part where you met through your ex, Jungkook. But the singer has no intention of letting that fact remain buried, “I think you two have missed a detail in there,” Jungkook interrupts casually, giving the camera his most innocent smile. He gives off the aura of an old friend, a hint of a laugh in his tone,

“Jungkook?” You gasp, not quite as well-practiced in acting unbothered by things. Your shock (and horror) is evident on your face for a split second, long enough for everyone to notice, before you’re able to rearrange your features into something more pleasant, “What were we missing? I’d hate to not be giving the full story,” Your smile is strained, but only Jungkook and your boyfriend really notice that tiny detail,

“I feel the same. The fans need to know the full story, how else are they supposed to love you like you love each other?” He lies tactfully, “I believe the part where you actually met because I was mentoring your lovely young man at the time. Did that part slip your mind? It was a little after he debuted, he reached out for some tips on how to be on the camera. We worked closely, and clearly you did too,” Jungkook amends, looking directly into your eyes as he sees you panic. Good. Jungkook bids his goodbye as naturally as he gave his hello, and sweeps off back to his group. He hopes it hurts. You cheated on him; you deserve it.

#bts #bts angst #bts reactions #bts jungkook #bts taehyung #bts v #bts jimin #bts hoseok #bts jhope #bts jin #bts seokjin #bts yoongi #bts suga #bts namjoon #bts rm

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letsunity · 3 years

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Save Your Tears

Omega is gone. He failed her. The blastershot to his chest doesn't nearly compare to the hole she left behind.

He failed.

Hunter fought many, duelled even more. It usually went the same way, him taking down multiple targets at once.

That bounty hunter moved so fast that Hunter blinked and was on the ground. His hand wasn't even on the blaster; it's like it teleported. Hunter had only seen such speed in the Jedi; not even a droid had such reflexes.

What hurt the most, however, was her face as he faded from consciousness. She was so scared, terrified, likely believing that he was dead. He should be; by turning to shoot the droid, the blast barely missed his heart. The last thing he heard was her cry for help, then his brothers waking him back up.

Not even twelve hours before, Hunter told her that she was staying with them; they'd never leave her. She'd never be alone ever again. Omega, a child with no experience with the outside world, trusted him. He failed that trust; he failed her; he failed everybody. A leader is supposed to protect their squad, but he failed.

Although Hunter didn't know, he failed Crosshair first. Thanks to Wrecker, they know he's trapped in there, controlled by that chip. Even though he's not doing it, Hunter can't help but hate him, which only makes it worse.

Hunter doesn't want to hate him, he has to hate the chip, but when Crosshair threatened Omega, it was nearly impossible.

He failed them both. By delaying removing the chips, he failed Wrecker, too.

What kind of leader fails his squad so horrifically?

When Wrecker strangled him, the electricity from that Zygerrian's whip, being shot, none of that compared to the emotional anguish.

"Several rib fractures, a crack along the sternum and lung burn. Considering the probability of surviving the shot, it should be worse."

Though he knew better, it felt like he deserved worse.

"Do you know what Bounty Hunter it was?" Hunter growled out, a hand instinctively covering his bandaged chest. His insides were on fire, even with the bacta-patch.

"According to Cid, their name is Cad Bane. I've checked my data and found that he was the very bounty hunter who held several senators hostage, kidnapped three force-sensitive children and successfully stole a Holocron. Given that information, I've concluded that you were outmatched. The responsibility isn't on your shoulders."

Tech was trying to make him feel better. It was Hunter's responsibility; it was his fault, regardless of Tech's data.

The specialist didn't know what else to say; emotion wasn't his strength. Tech followed logic, data, information, but emotion didn't follow such consistency. It was illogical, often unreasonable; it was out of Tech's range of capability. Tech's alexithymia made him unsuitable for comforting his Seargent; he couldn't identify his own emotions, let alone Hunter's.

The lack of Omega's presence was noticeable, however. There was pressure inside of his chest, a clawing sensation in his throat. His eyes stung, despite his goggles securely fastened.

From Tech's understanding of biology, his brain was excreting chemicals that equated emotion. As there would eventually be excess, it'll leak through his tear ducts, possibly why his eyes stung. Despite understanding what was physically happening, he couldn't fathom what was going on emotionally; he wasn't connected correctly.

Was it fear, guilt, sorrow? Tech didn't know. He conflicted about it, both envious and grateful for this cross-wiring.

"It wasn't your fault," Tech shortened, aiming to appease his brother's internal monsoon. His facial expression remained strained, indicating failure. "You'll be no help to anybody if you exacerbate your injuries."

"The past weeks, I don't feel like I've been much help."

Ah, the illogical side of emotional turmoil. Tech didn't have a way of navigating this obstacle. He had too little data to compare and devise a plan for.

Given his unsuitability, having another take his place was the logical course of action.

"Echo, Wrecker, I require your presence," Tech called, taking some steps back. When they stepped up to Tech, he was straight with them, like always. "I don't know how to assist emotionally."

"Ain't like we're any better," Wrecker shrugged honestly.

"Possibly, but you can empathise far easier. Echo, perhaps you're better suited for this task."

"What we do is stay together and support each other," Echo stated firmly, pointing back to their distracted brother. "We're in this together; we'll get through it together."

Wrecker provided a grunt of agreement. While he wanted to break something, they needed to help each other. He wanted to blow stuff up, but even that wouldn't make him feel better. It was bad enough that Wrecker tried killing Omega, but he couldn't help protect her, either.

He failed just as much as Hunter did. He wasn't a good enough big brother to her; he wasn't strong enough to help. That's all Wrecker can do, though, blow stuff up and be strong. He'd be strong for his brothers; he didn't know what else he could do other than breaking something.

While Echo was preoccupied with Tech, Wrecker entered the small set-up they had for Hunter.

"I got her bow," Wrecker said, hoping that'd help some. "We don't blame ya."

"You never were a good liar," Hunter responded, noting the discomfort he'd caused. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

He didn't want to, but on some level, Wrecker did blame Hunter a little. He shouldn't; Wrecker didn't even manage against Fennec, let alone this Bane guy. It wasn't right. Wrecker didn't think that anybody was to blame.

"Yeah, I know. You're upset; we're all upset. Things get said, fists fly, it's an outlet thing, innit?"

The hulking clone shifted himself onto the makeshift bed, alerting Hunter. He manoeuvred himself behind the Seargent, wrapping his big arms around his brother. Given that Hunter was injured, Wrecker didn't hold as tight as he wanted to. Holding someone made Wrecker feel a little better, though it wouldn't make up for the emptiness.

Without the energy to fight it, Hunter accepted the embrace, shivering from the overwhelming turmoil. His body rose and fell, moved by Wrecker's breathing, something to try and focus on.

As the moments flew by, salty warm wetness tapped onto Hunter's shoulder. The smell burned his sinuses, scratching into his own eyes, demanding to be quenched.

Echo joined them, sitting to Hunter's right and integrating into the bundle. Wrecker moved his arm to add Echo, pulling the trio closer together.

Hunter could see Echo was holding her trooper doll; she'd painted it to look like him.

With Omega gone, she didn't feel like just a friend. She didn't feel like a sister, either; it was more than that. He'd been following Cut's advice; he was an acting father figure to her.

Finally, after weeks of caring for the girl, it dawned on him. She was his daughter, his child. He was her father, guiding her and protecting her, who failed her.

Echo had dealt with loss before; it was a constant being a soldier and in the 501st. He watched his brothers die constantly; he was there was Cutup was eaten, as Droidbait was shot, and as Hevy blew up, and stood by as 99 perished valiantly. He couldn't be there for his twin, Fives, something that pained him daily.

The fact that Rex probably killed Anakin hurt too. Knowing how good the General was to the 501st, he didn't deserve that fate. As Ahsoka wasn't a Jedi, maybe she survived, his dorky togruta sister living her own life. She'd grown up so much since he died.

It was hopeful, as was the thought of seeing Omega again. He didn't know how, but Echo was determined to help get her back. They needed her back; she was one of them. If the stars aligned, they could rescue Crosshair, too.

Hunter had his brothers on all sides. Even with this secure sensation, the loss of his daughter did not waver. It grew like cancer with each second, his parched cheeks begrudgingly satisfied. A leader should not cry, a soldier shouldn't break down like this, but alas, they weren't soldiers anymore.

They were a family, an incomplete family.

He failed her once; Hunter won't let it be a second time. He'll get her back; he'll prove to have earned her trust. He'll kill the emperor if it means seeing those brown eyes bright with wonder and amazement again.

They all will.

#the bad batch #post episode 8 #commission #after Omega's kidnapping #hurt/comfort #crying #i'm sad #story #one-shot

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years

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Walk Me Home

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension.

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 3229

Author’s Note: Here we go, fam! New story, new adventures, new thrills and chills and feels! Who’s excited?!? This story was inspired by P!nk’s song “Walk Me Home”, which you should totes listen to (and watch the video, it’s so COOL) if you haven’t. This was a birthday present for @thoughtslikeaminefield , though I will admit it was a few...well, either days or years late, depending on how you look at it. I hope y’all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! SHE ALSO MADE THE IMAGE!! HOW GORGEOUS?!?!

Mega thanks to @mskathywriteswords , @fangirlxwritesx67, and @cracksinthewalls for editing, revision, flailing, and generally knocking sense into me when I’m being stubborn. You all made this story way better than it started it, and I love you.

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY.

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 1

A firm tap on the door of her office makes Kimberly’s head snap up. She blinks, her eyes unable to focus quickly after looking up from her computer screen. She remembers she’s wearing her reading glasses, and slips them off her nose, letting them dangle from the chain around her neck.

“Dr. Harper? Could I take a few minutes of your time?”

“Yes, I…” Her eyes finally focus on her visitor, and the room is suddenly devoid of oxygen. “Dean? Is it...really?”

“Kimber?”

The astonished man framed in the doorway is a far cry from the brash, charming boy she met in a different life, but she’d know him anywhere. Time has been more than kind to Dean Winchester, and Kimberly has to admit some things really do get better with age.

Which is saying a lot, considering.

“God, no one’s called me that since high school.” She stands and takes a couple of measured steps around her desk. Seeing him unexpectedly like this after so much time leaves her physically and emotionally off-balance, but the smile she offers him is genuine. “You’re a helluva sight for sore eyes. It’s been a while.”

Dean recovers from his shock quickly, crossing the small room in a few quick strides, and sweeps her into a hug. She’s engulfed in his presence, not just his physical stature (she does not remember him being this tall or broad or...solid) but also the scent and feel that is absolutely Dean. She feels a shock of vertigo as memories and emotions she’d long laid to rest all vie for immediate attention.

It hits them simultaneously that they’ve embraced for a few moments longer than necessary, and they disentangle with sheepish smiles.

“What are...no, I’m sorry, I’m being rude. Have a seat!” A lop-sided smile pulls at Dean’s lips, and suddenly she’s seventeen again, trying desperately to keep her cool as she finally gets to talk to the handsome, mysterious new kid. Warmth floods every cell of her body, and she comes dangerously close to giggling.

“Coffee?” she offers, forgetting most of her hard-earned vocabulary in the face of her teenage dream.

“Always.”

...

The last time she’d seen Dean Winchester, his father was burning holes in his elder son’s back from the driver’s seat of his precious Impala. He glowered at Dean and Kimber, impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as the teenagers stumbled through their good-byes. Dean’s younger brother sat, slump-shouldered and defeated in the back seat, resigned to yet another relocation.

“Don’t forget my number,” Kimberly murmured, her palms sliding over his jaw, fingers threading into his close-cropped hair, and they both knew she meant, “Don’t forget me.”

“I couldn’t if I tried, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the last word. He cleared his throat, trying to turn away before she could see any weakness.

“Don’t,” she said, holding his face firmly. “If this is all I get of you, don’t even take that much from me.”

Five blissful weeks they’d had before Dean’s father concluded his mysterious business in the area. Five weeks since she’d begun tutoring Dean in AP American History; an absolute sham, she had realized exactly five minutes into their first session. Dean may not have been caught up on the exact dates and details of what they were covering in class, but once he set eyes on the material, even she had a hard time keeping pace with his reasoning.

“Just wanted to talk to you alone,” he’d admitted that afternoon, his olive eyes sparkling. He flashed her what had to be an award-winning half-grin, showing a glimpse of perfect, dazzling white teeth and the merest touch of uncertain vulnerability.

“Does that usually work on girls?” she asked, genuinely curious. He had to practice that expression in the mirror; it was too perfect to be natural. His face lit up as his smile spread, his cheeks gaining the faintest hint of pink. In that one moment, Kimber realized she’d lived her entire life under an overcast sky, and now the clouds had parted. His smile was the sun on her face for the first time, dazzling and vital, and she soaked it in with dizzy abandon.

“Why, is it working on you?”

“Yeah, it, um, it really is.”

They spent the next month or so getting to know each other as only kids can, when everything is new, the absolute pinnacle of priority and passion. They studied each other as fervently as they should have studied for midterms. Explaining how the Age of Enlightenment influenced the American Revolution was a complete waste of time next to finding out that the beautiful, smooth-talking, tough-as-nails Dean Winchester was actually ticklish.

Dean told her the most amazing stories, which she only learned were true after he and his family disappeared. She caught him up in history enough for the teacher to get off his back, and in return he showed her how to get rid of unwanted physical attention with minimal risk on her part.

Dean wasn’t her first kiss, but he wiped the memory of every other fumbling embrace from her mind with a searing permanence. Some nights they snuck out to the treehouse in her backyard, and some nights she snuck him into her room. He would never take her out to any of the famous local make-out spots, though; he said they were too dangerous and just begging for trouble.

She knew better than to argue with him when he got “that look” on his face, spoke to her in “that tone.” It took many years and some hard experiences of her own, but she did eventually learn that he’d been protecting her from so much more than she ever could have understood at that point in her life.

She found herself in awe of the sheer amount of wisdom contained in such a carefree, often goofy package. That they were chronologically the same age, almost to the month, was irrelevant; Dean Winchester had lived far beyond his years, and it showed.

And then one night, he’d arrived on her doorstep in the middle of dinner, asked if she could come outside for a minute. When he told her he was leaving, she knew he wasn’t joking. He’d warned her it would happen this way, that he had no idea how long they’d be in town, but she’d always imagined that future as some vague, misty destination, like “graduation” or “college.” Definitely going to happen, but not anytime soon, so might as well relax and enjoy things while you could.

“I…” But she couldn’t say it, not yet. She wanted to, had read so many novels and seen all the movies. It was the thing to say, and half her friends had already proclaimed their hearts belonging to various celebrities and hot guys around school. But staring into Dean’s eyes, so much older than they should be, she knew better than to throw that word out so lightly, carelessly.

“Yeah,” he sighed. His eyelids dropped, shoulders heaved once, and when he met her gaze again, that smooth front of cool confidence had slid back in place. “I know, sweetheart. Me, too.”

He kissed her then, despite his father’s glowering, despite her parents’ astonished looks from between the living room curtains. His hands were tight on her waist, and she raised up on her toes, pulling his face just a little closer.

They pulled apart after a long moment, eyes locked, and she kissed him one last time, chastely, savoring the plush of his velvet-soft lips against hers.

Then she let him go, and he went. There was nothing else they could do.

She hugged herself against the chill autumn night, ignoring the first dashes of icy rain that stung her bare arms as she watched the black Impala turn a corner and disappear.

She didn’t see him again for nearly two and a half decades. When he knocked on her office door, asking for Dr. Harper, the years melted away. She felt the sting of the rain, the chill of the night he’d left, and for a long moment, all she could do was stare.

…

“How did you find me?” he asks. His fingers slip around the coffee mug she offers him, and she has to make a physical effort to keep her thoughts focused on the task at hand. Everything about Dean has aged so gracefully. She would be envious if she weren’t also granted the absolute gift of drinking in the sight of him.

“I didn’t,” she says, “not exactly. I’ve been teaching mythology, folklore, and urban legends at the university for a long time now. You got me started on that, back in the day.” She offers him a small smile, hoping he understands she remembers all the stories he told her.

The grin he offers in return melts something in her chest that’s been rigid and frozen, deliberately separated from the rest of her emotions for most of her adult life, and she can’t breathe for a second.

“After you left town, I started digging a little. I looked into some of those stories you told me, some of the places you’d mentioned, and then some of the weird stuff that had been happening in the towns where you said your dad was working. I’m sure you know what I found,” she says, eyebrows raised.

Dean’s lips purse as he considers her words. He opens his mouth, brows creased, but then he seems to change his mind. He takes a long drink of coffee, and when he lowers the mug his expression is once again neutral.

“Well, I stayed interested. Made a career out of it, somehow. And then people started coming to me, asking for help finding bits of information here, some lore or ancient knowledge there. Some were hunters, some scholars, but it kind of became my thing. I’d hear stories about you and your brother occasionally, Mr. FBI’s Most Wanted,” she adds, and he chokes a little on his swallow of coffee.

“Why didn’t you ever reach out?” He brushes stray droplets of coffee from his chin absently, and her eyes laser in on a particularly enticing drop on the corner of his mouth. His tongue flicks out, catching it before it falls, and her breath hitches.

“To be honest, I was too nervous,” she admits as he sets his mug on the coaster in front of him. For the first time in many years, old feelings of abandonment, inadequacy, rear their nasty little heads. She has to work to keep her tone even.

“It’s been how long? I figured you’d forgotten all about me; I thought maybe I was just another conquest to you-”

“You were never a conquest to me, Kimber. You know that.” His jaw works in agitation as he frowns. Hurt and something else - guilt, maybe? - cross his face before his expression smooths out, replaced by a blank mask. “You should have known that.”

Doubt cartwheels through Kimber's mind, sending her thoughts reeling. Twenty-four years of thinking Dean Winchester had forgotten her are suddenly put into a new, alien perspective. She scrambles internally to regain her bearings, stunned in a way that only comes from a solid blow to one’s core beliefs.

Despite her parting plea, he’d never called her, not once in all the years after, and she’d convinced herself she was just the girl of the month. She’d been angry for a long time, well into college, but bit by bit, she forced herself to shut away her feelings, ball them up into a tiny hollow in her chest where she could at least ignore them, and moved on.

Apparently, somehow, she’d been mistaken.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

He nods stiffly, sitting back in his chair a little, putting a touch more distance between them. He raises his hand for her to continue, his gesture abrupt, and she shrivels inside. She sees she’s offended him, but if she’s in the wrong, then why did he never call?

“Dean, look, I shouldn’t have said conquest. That was insensitive of me, but from my perspective, what was I supposed to think? You say you won’t forget me, then you vanish into the night? What happened? Not even a single call to let me know you made it to your next stop alive?”

There’s another flash of pain, chased quickly from his eyes by what she’s pretty sure now is guilt. Exhaustion finally settles in, and he suddenly shows every one of the twenty-four years since he last saw her.

“Look, we’ve got a more immediate problem here, if the little bit Garth told me is true. Let’s…” he sighs, scrubbing his face tiredly with his hands. He steeples his fingers in front of his lips, coming to some sort of decision.

“We can sit down and talk Memory Lane over some pie and coffee, but let’s get through this first. Now tell me what’s going on.”

As much as she wants to argue, force him to tell her exactly why he never reached out, she can tell he isn’t going to budge.

“I...so...I wasn’t looking for you specifically,” she stumbles, “but I reached out to a former student of mine, Garth Fitzgerald, who I knew had been a hunter at one point and still had contacts. He said he would send someone my way, and then…”

“And then I showed up,” he finishes. His tone is efficient, economical, and all business. “Garth didn’t tell me much except his old professor was having some supernatural stalking issues. Gotta say,” he adds, and she is relieved to her bones to see the tiniest of crinkles by his eyes, “Sure didn’t picture you when Garth said ‘old professor.’ Figured I’d get Indiana Jones or his dad, maybe, but not...yeah.”

His attempt to add a little humor makes the wash of guilt and confusion in Kimber’s stomach even more uncomfortable.

She fills him in on the details, odd accidents happening to the people she’s closest with at work, strange noises around her house at night, the ever increasing sense she’s being watched.

“You talk to the police?” he asks.

She nods, letting her sour expression do most of the talking for her. “Went as well as it usually does. They didn’t even talk to my neighbors to see if anyone had seen anything. I had to do that.”

“Still, though. Doesn’t sound too supernatural to me,” he finally says, eyebrows furrowed. He isn’t dismissive, though; he stares hard at his coffee mug as he considers her story.

“Well, I guess you could explain away Helen’s fall down the stairs as a horrible but mundane accident. She could have tripped, but the people near her said she looked like she was pushed. Except no one was near enough to have done it.”

Now that she's getting over the shock of finding him on her doorstep, she remembers why he's there in the first place, and reality rushes back in. Kimber’s composure falters, but she does her level best to keep her voice steady.

“But Professor Lawrence was by himself in his office when his skin just started...boiling, not burning. I don’t care what the police report says. And Allen Simpson didn’t actually want to staple his hand to his dissertation, I promise you. He had just talked with me about one of his sources over coffee an hour before...before…”

Her throat closes as the whole nasty scene flashes before her eyes. She’d found him in the grad student workroom after following the sounds of his anguished howls, and there was just so much blood. She’d heard stories from the hunters she’d worked with, read her own share of horrific incidents, but to see it first hand…

“And sometimes, when I walk home at night, there’s...I’ve never seen anything, but I hear footsteps. Always behind me, and there’s no one there, but I know there isn’t anywhere for them to hide, whoever they are. I can feel them just...watching me. Even at home, a couple of times, when I should be absolutely alone, all my blinds and drapes closed. Once when I was making dinner, and once when I was...showering, and...Dean, it’s...I don’t understand.”

She takes in a stuttering breath and dashes at her eyes with the back of her wrist. Her hand drops limply to the desk as she stares at the glossy surface, finally allowing herself to feel the full depth of her fears.

“I’ve researched, tried to figure it out on my own. It shows all the classic signs of witches, but there’s been no evidence of a coven in town before now. I suppose a new one could have moved in, but I haven’t found any evidence so far. No one suspicious hanging around that I’ve noticed.”

Breathe, she reminds herself sharply.

“I checked back through as much of my notes as I could find on the hunters I’ve helped with witch cases. I checked in with anyone who had an open case or hadn’t called me back to let me know how their hunts went. Nobody had anything helpful to tell me.”

Silence stretches between them, both waiting for the other to say something, anything. Kimber cracks first.

“Dean, I’m no hunter. I’ve worked it as much as I can from the research end, and I just...I need help. Please.”

Dean’s hand settles atop hers, its warm weight an echo of familiarity, and she swallows hard against the rising bile in her throat. She meets his eyes, and his gaze is malachite.

“We’re gonna figure this out. I know you. You say this sucker’s a witch, I say bring me that bucket of water, Dorothy. We’ll get this fucker, I promise.”

That secret spot in her chest brightens, warms by another degree or two, and she nods her gratitude. “Thank you. So much. Now...it’s been a long day, and I’m kind of beat. Could I invite you over for dinner without it being too weird?”

He squeezes her hand before releasing it with a roll of his eyes. “I can behave myself, if that’s what you’re getting at. I’m not feral, Kimber.”

“You’re not exactly tame, either,” she says, softening the words with a half-smile as she stands. She swings her jacket on, and he mirrors her actions. She shuts down her computer while he waits in the hall, looking up and down the corridor.

“I’ll need to do a full sweep of your office and check the scenes of the accidents,” he says as she pulls the door shut behind them and locks it. “Who all has keys to the professors’ offices?”

“Just the cleaning staff and the department secretary, and the professors themselves,” she says. “I can’t think of anyone else who would.”

He nods, pursing his lips. Suddenly, a smile lights his entire face and he sweeps into a ridiculous bow before popping up and offering her his arm. The years dissolve in an instant, and he’s that seventeen-year-old boy again, still too old for his age but trying so desperately to hang on to that carefree spirit, holding his elbow in her direction after slinging her backpack over his shoulder.

“Walk you home, milady?”

“I would be honored, good sir.” ...

Chapter 2

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colehasapen · 3 years

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(CHAPTER 4) there's a river full of memory STAR WARS

Rating: T

They arrive to restrained chaos. The panic of the troopers hits Ahsoka like a solid wall the moment they step off of the Twilight and into the Negotiator’s hangar, and the teenager stumbles without fully meaning to, her stomach churning like the time she had eaten a bad nuna bird as a youngling. She’s so used to the Negotiator being suffused with a comforting blanket of her grandmaster’s calming presence that it completely takes her by surprise.

Distracted as he is, Rex still manages to catch her, the worried furrow of his brows deepening as he grips her elbow. The contact with her captain is grounding in a way her tumultuous bond with her Master isn’t, and allows her to focus on Rex’s muffled distress instead of the panic and fear that lines the Negotiator like an oppressive cloud.

Skyguy’s mood sours even further the longer they stand without any member of Ghost Company acknowledging them. The hangar is completely barren of any living souls, save for the two Jedi and the small group of troopers they had brought with them on board; most of the fighters and shuttles went with the rest of the 212th to join up with Master Plo, leaving just a skeleton crew of Ghost Company and the deck crew to man the star destroyer. But still, even with their General… indisposed, and their crew halved, it wasn’t incharacter for any of Master Obi-Wan’s troopers to not have someone waiting to greet them.

It’s making the squad of troopers with them antsy.

“The Ghosts are really dropping the droidpopper today.” Ahsoka hears Jesse mutter, before huffing when one of his brothers elbows him in response.

Worried, Ahsoka looks at her Master, “Do you think Master Obi-Wan is hurt?”

“He’ll be fine once he gets turned back.” Master Anakin growls, and it makes Ahsoka’s montrails twitch. He’s already stressed and tense, and he’s steadily stiffening further, his anger and distress radiating off of him in waves, so heavy that it makes Ahsoka’s head hurt. He and Master Obi-Wan have a relationship she doubts she’ll ever understand, alternating between antagonistic and brotherly depending on the day; their personalities just seem to clash more often than not. They love and care for each other, Ahsoka can tell, but they always end up arguing about things, though maybe it’s just their thing.

Ahsoka worries about her master, just as she’s worried about her grandmaster; she can imagine that waking up in a strange place surrounded by strangers would be a scary situation, especially for a young Force Sensitive who had likely been told about the history of slavers and Force Sensitive children like Ahsoka had been growing up. He must be scared, so far away from the Temple and away from other Force Sensitives, Ahsoka knows that she had struggled at first, but at least she’d always had her lineage around, but she also knows that the 212th, and Commander Cody especially, wouldn’t let anything happen to their General without putting them between him and the threat. Master Anakin though - he’d been off balance since he’d learned about what had happened to his former master while he wasn’t there with him, it seemed to have flipped all these switches in Skyguy’s head, and he’s been in turmoil since.

Ahsoka had offered to meditate with him while they were in hyperspace like the masters at the Temple had taught her to, the way she had seen Master Obi-Wan do, but her master had turned her down, sending her off to work on her coursework instead.

Finally, the doors to the hangar hiss open, letting a trooper that Ahsoka quickly recognizes as Waxer by his shaved head and the strange hairy thing under his lip that she remembers him calling his ‘soul patch’ - whatever that means, Ahsoka had long since learned that Humans were strange - rush in. The Lieutenant looks flustered, eyes frantically darting around in search of something, and he’s hurrying over to them. It’s usually Master Obi-Wan or Commander Cody who welcomes them on board in the few instances that they’ve boarded the Negotiator, and seeing someone else increases Ahsoka’s worry that something had happened to her grand master, beyond the de-aging thing.

“General Skywalker! Commander Tano!” Waxer salutes distractedly, eyes still roaming, and Skyguy crosses his arms over his chest, scowling.

“Where’s Commander Cody, trooper?” Waxer winces visibly, eyes skittering, but Master Anakin’s gaze narrows into a pointed glare.

“There was a-” Waxer hesitates, likely trying to figure out the best way to word why his Commander hadn’t come without risking Cody being punished, “-an emergency, that came up.” He says lamely, awkwardly, and then he winces when Master Anakin’s mood doesn’t lighten and his glare darkens instead. The Lieutenant sighs, muttering something under his breath that sounds like a curse to Ahsoka’s montrails, before he straightens further, emotions falling into a state that Ahsoka recognizes from troopers making a report. “We were in the medbay when you arrived, sir, but Kenobi crawled into the vent the moment our backs were turned.” He says in a clipped rush, eyes darting again, and Ahsoka finally realizes that he’s trying to keep every vent cover in sight. Smart kid, honestly, but Ahsoka isn’t surprised - it’s Master Obi-Wan - of course he’d wait for the moment someone wasn’t looking to try to make an escape from the people that, for all he knew, were holding him hostage. “No one else fits, and he seems to have grown comfortable around Commander Cody, so he’s trying to coax Kenobi out.” And of course he’d feel the most comfortable around Commander Cody, Ahsoka isn’t so young as to not have noticed the imprints of Master Obi-Wan’s presence in his Commander’s Force Signature, and with how much they work together, it’s not surprising that her grand master had left something behind on his troopers - and those of the 501st.

“You lost him?” Skyguy sounds furious, stepping forward to loom over the trooper, and Waxer stares back at him, something nervous sparking in his dark eyes.

Silently, Ahsoka prods her master through their bond, giving him a small pointed frown. It makes the Knight startle slightly, his aggression dissipating, and suddenly his body language loosens, and he steps away from Waxer with a heavy sigh and an apologetic wince.

Flustered and stressed, and likely running on more stims that was healthy, her master rubs an aggressive hand through his messy hair. He’s quiet for a long moment, and Ahsoka can feel him trying to release his heavier emotions into the Force while Waxer watches him, mute wariness in his signature.

Master Anakin makes him nervous, Ahsoka realizes, something like dread pooling in her stomach. She can’t understand why though; Skyguy is a great warrior, an even better Jedi, and he’d never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it.

Maybe he just wasn’t used to seeing someone like Master Anakin? He’d be used to Master Obi-Wan, after all, who was so reserved with his emotions, so no wonder Skyguy’s habit of wearing his emotions on his sleeve would make him a little uneasy in the long run. It wasn’t like they worked with the 212th often. Usually when they had to work together, Master Obi-Wan would join the 501st and leave command of his Battalion to Cody, so there was little reason for one of Ghost’s scout Lieutenants to interact with another General whose specialty lay with frontal assaults.

“I can’t feel him anymore.” Master Anakin admits quietly, and Ahsoka’s lek twitches in a wince. She knows what he means. “Our bond is -” he flounders for words for a moment, “- weird right now.” The Knight settles on. “It’s there, but at the same time it’s not. It leads to nowhere.” He sighs thunderously, anxiety in their bond, and Ahsoka sends him a brush of comfort that has his shoulders loosening further, looking frustrated but defeated. “The Force feels strange.”

“It’s been a strange day, General.” Waxer agrees, head tilting, and there’s a hint of nervous humour shining in his signature.

Master Anakin huffs out a strained laugh, “That’s one way of putting it.” He gestures for Waxer to take the lead, and the Lieutenant salutes. As they stride through the empty halls, Master Anakin asks, “What happened?”

“None of us are really sure, sir.” Waxer admits, “The mission to the surface went off without a hitch, with minimal casualties. One moment, General Kenobi was studying the relic, and the next there was a youngling there instead.” The trooper hesitates, but most of Ahsoka’s attention has slid towards Rex as his signature buzzes with something muffled, studying him when he lets off a muted wave of pain.

The Captain’s anxiety had been a near-constant static in the back of her head since they had learned what had happened to Master Obi-Wan. Ahsoka had known they were close, had sensed the imprint on Rex her grand master had left behind, and considering how often he ran missions with the 501st it wasn’t too surprising that they had become friends. They had a similar sense of humour, and a mutual friendship with Commander Cody.

“Sir.” Waxer finally says, “What happened on Bandomeer?”

The name sounds familiar to Ahsoka.

Skyguy sends the 212th trooper a puzzled look, “Bandomeer?” He echoes, brows furrowed, and Waxer nods nervously. Master Anakin is quiet for a long moment, thinking. “It’s an Outer Rim territory, near Hutt Space.” Her master says slowly, “I think there’s an Agricorp outpost out there?” He rubs his chin, much like Master Obi-Wan does when he’d trying to puzzle something out, and it makes Ahsoka giggle quietly, imagining her master growing a beard like his master’s.

“It would have been twenty-five years ago.” Waxer probes, and Ahsoka perks up.

“There was a slave revolt!” She answers, and everyone looks at her, “We learned about it in modern history. There was a terf war going on, between two mining companies.” She can’t remember all the facts; it had been years since that lesson, back before the War, and before all her lessons changed to center around battle tactics, but Waxer’s intense interest in what she’s saying urges her on. “There was a Darksider that was taking advantage of the situation and was planting bombs, but a Master-Padawan pair stopped them, and helped the slaves free themselves - a lot of those freed still work with the Agricorp on the planet!”

“Huh.” Skyguy says slowly, something bitter in his Force Signature, and it makes Ahsoka’s excitement to share her knowledge on the subject falter. “I thought the Order couldn’t do anything about slavery.”

“I mean, on paper we can’t.” Ahsoka shrugs, “We don’t really have the manpower or numbers to wipe out slavery any more, especially not in the Outer Rim. It sucks, but we try to do what we can when we can.” She looks at her master, confused, because she remembers that they had covered this in ethics classes. “The Senate assigns our missions, vetoes them too, and provides our provisions.” She makes a helpless motion with her hands, but the troopers seem fascinated, and just a little bitter too. They know the horribleness of the Senate better than anyone. “You’ve seen the Senate - the majority is corrupt, people like the Trade Federation and the Banking Clans wouldn’t have a seat otherwise. If there’s slavery on a planet, it’s because the government is looking the other way.” Confused, Ahsoka tilts her head, lekku twitching, “Didn’t you learn about this as an Initiate? There’s a lot of ethics classes on it.”

Her master shrugs helplessly, “I skipped the Initiate stage.” He admits, and Ahsoka stares in shock. “I came to the Order at nine and Obi-Wan took me as a Padawan immediately.”

“Oh, that’s pretty lucky.” She says; he had gotten to skip the uneasy stage of growing up in the Order when anyone wanting to be a Knight and nearing fourteen were desperately looking for a Master to choose them. She shakes herself from remembering it. “Well, uh,” she swallows, “the basics are that, as an extension of the Senate - thanks a lot Ruusaan Reformation, am I right? - the Jedi can’t just show up on a planet without an invitation or an assigned mission.” She shrugs, “If a Knight or a Master can, they’ll disrupt any ring they find, but sometimes it does more damage than good, because there’s no way for us to provide for them, and they can’t provide for themselves, if they don’t have a family to return to, and sometimes the Senate just ends up sending them right back. If they’re young enough, we can use the Foundling Protections in the treatise to have more legal leeway to interfere.” Ahsoka makes a little motion with her hands, like she was finishing a class presentation, and she meets Skyguy’s eyes.

He looks confused, like he had never heard any of this, and Ahsoka wonders why he hadn’t. “Huh.” He says again, going quiet, thoughtful, and there’s stress in Waxer’s signature.

Ahsoka glances at the Ghost trooper, “Why are you asking?”

He hesitates, expression twisting, and he fiddles with his glove, “Is it -” he swallows, “- normal - for twelve year olds to be sent after dar’jetiise?”

“No!” Ahsoka says in horror, imagining someone like Katooni or Zatt facing down someone as vicious and murderous as Ventress. She feels sick, the Force churning around her, “Was Master Obi-Wan -”

Her voice is interrupted by a burst of chatter over Waxer’s comm, distracting them, and Waxer turns his eyes to his vambrace. “- energy is spiking!” A clone is saying, and they’re cut off by a voice Ahsoka recognizes as Cody by his commanding tone.

“Do not touch it-”

The Commander himself is interrupted by a high-pitched whine that has Ahsoka clapping her hands over her montrails with a yelp of pain. The Force is fluctuating wildly, and the Padawan is only vaguely aware of her master doubling over as she screws her eyes shut in the face of the suddenly blinding flash of the Force around them. She can faintly hear the alarmed voices of the clones around her, rising above the ringing of the Force and the static of Waxer’s comm, and Ahsoka slams her shields shut, feeling her master doing the same.

“- the kriff just happened?” She hears Kix snarling, and she’s suddenly aware of her body again, of Rex’s hands on her shoulders, his brown eyes staring at her with alarm.

Ahsoka offers him a strained smile as she blinks the spots out of her eyes, “I’m okay.”

Behind her, a private comm pings.

“This is Waxer.” She turns to look at the trooper, watching his brows furrowing in alarm.

“Waxer, it’s Pace.” Another clone says grimly, “You need to bring General Skywalker to the medbay.” Ahsoka vaguely remembers her grand master’s CMO, but the trooper isn’t a combatant and rarely leaves the Negotiator, so she doesn’t often interact with him. “He’s now officially the highest ranking individual on the cruiser.”

“What happened?” Master Anakin demands, “Did you find Obi-Wan?”

The comm is quiet for a long moment, before the medic sighs, “We found him alright. Yeah. And whatever happened to him?” Pace’s voice shakes slightly, “It looks to be contagious.”

Taglist: @a-mediocre-succulent

#cole writes #fanfiction #star wars #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #clone trooper waxer #captain rex #commander cody #memory-verse

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luna-almighty-god · 4 years

Text

Guardian Angel N°16 [ Yumerai ]

This is chapter sixteen! We're slowly approaching the end!

This story is obviously not canonical, please do not refer to it if you are looking for canonical information.

The drawing belongs to me, please don't take it !

Have a good read!

===

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

===

Pathetic.

Useless.

Weak.

Through feelings too powerful to be controlled, Dream had been stripped of his role as guardian of positive emotions. Not by any third party, but by himself.

Unable to save his brother from corruption, he had been forced to watch him corrupt the multiverse, corrupt his best friend, destroy the world that had been theirs by hurting the people they loved.

In the end, Dream had lost everything. Nightmare at first, then Ink, then his friends like Blue... And how to explain his horror when he had discovered the birth of Nyx? That he had seen the way Nightmare treated him, that he was helpless in front of his nephew that he was unable to help?

Dream had simply been useless.

Too weak to maintain positive emotions, to watch over dreams. Too weak to protect whoever it was. At least it was too weak as a guardian, as a 'nice little peaceful skeleton'.

So he had made a decision.

[He had disavowed his role.]

No more being nice, because in his timeline, kindness didn't lead to anything. Nothing at all. He had convinced himself of that. Trying to sound like his brother, trying to sound like Ink... useless, just useless. Only the hard way was working now, and Dream had made that clear.

Draw his bow, materialize an arrow of light, shoot without the slightest hesitation at his brother, target him between the two orbits. And even if Nightmare had managed to dodge, his stunned face was enough to anchor Dream in his ideas.

[The sweet Dream no longer existed.]

Looking for a way to make a difference, to save their world, to save what's been lost. That was the mission that Dream had set for himself. To make up for their mistakes, their weakness, by changing the moment when everything had turned upside down, that little moment that had sealed their fate.

Oh, Dream had never thought of erasing Nyx, far from it! In his eyes, the birth of his nephew was in no way the cause of this decline! No, the problem went back further, to the insecurity problems of Ink and Nightmare, but also to the problems of the whole multiverse. Because to be so easily corrupted by the master of misfortune, it was that their world wasn't going so well in the first place ...

Everything was so complicated. There wasn't just one problem to deal with, but the problems of multiple monsters. Everything had to be considered, every detail counted, every action, every sentence... Killer who sought comfort from Color to forget Nightmare, Color who was dying of jealousy because of his one-way love, Dust and Horror who saw in Nightmare a support and a model to follow to overcome their doubts and weaknesses, Error who was terrified at the idea of committing himself with Ink...

Hundreds of gears that worked with each other. The gears of misfortune that had really failed when Nyx was born.

Nyx was not the cause, only the extra element, the drop in the bucket.

Dream would have wanted to tell him so many times, wanted to reassure him ... but he had never been able to do so. For Nyx didn't listen, Nyx was stubborn, Nyx was... was... was simply locked up, imprisoned by his parents' vision. That skewed vision that put all the blame on the poor little skeleton.

“I don't know what to do to help him...” he blew, sat on the floor, head down as he felt Error come over to him.

Error who was looking in the wave, hands in his pockets, smoking a cigarette with his teeth without really enjoying it.

“It's not by words but by actions that we'll have to change him.” he replied.

Dream had gently raised his head, to observe the Glitch in silence, before looking into the void in turn to address the Destructor again:

“... I still don't understand why you're doing all this... Why you took Nyx under your wing... Why you allowed me to come live with you, with Cross and Lux...”

The other breathed a puff of smoke without casting the slightest glance at the guardian of dreams, only to answer with a shrug that made poor Dream sigh. This did not help him any more in his questioning ...

“...would you try to redeem yourself because you think you are responsible for our situation?" insisted the young dream. Do you think that if you had been different with Ink, all this wouldn't have happened?”

He felt the Glitch tensing up, only half a second before he was suddenly grabbed by the pass to be pulled against Error, to meet his eyes crackling with a rage that he was struggling to control, to swallow as the voice of the Destroyer became low, terribly hoarse, broken by the many hardships of recent years:

“... You talk too much Dream. Don't make me angry.”

Dream felt electrified. Electrified by that aura, that look, that voice... By this being that he had cherished for so long, without ever daring to say anything about it. Because he didn't want to betray Ink... and Error would never love him anyway.

*** ***

Dream shook his head, clearing his memories to stand in front of the gate that was waving in front of him. This was no time to dither. He had to cross that blue whirlwind, go back in time, save his nephew - if he wasn't dead yet ... -

But he found himself frozen, unable to take a single step. He hadn't told Cross or Lux. He had left his family behind only to take responsibility for his own actions. For suggesting the idea of going back in time, for not realizing that the gate had to be closed, for... everything. Absolutely everything. The corruption of his brother and his friend ... the fact that he gave too much responsibility to Nyx ... and ... the death of Error ...

He shook his head, took a breath, tightening his grip on his bow. His cracked crown, with missing pieces in it, seemed heavy to carry today...

[He frowned]

[He went through the portal]

*** ***

Nightmare didn't know what to think as he roamed the AUs with increasing nervousness. Everything was in turmoil, seemed incomprehensible to him and at the same time terribly clear. A truth that he refused to admit but that kept biting his mind.

Nyx possessed changing pupils, tentacles, a pronounced taste for drawing, the ability to blend into the shadows ... Nyx knew them by heart, but he also knew an Ink who seemed to come from the future.

Nyx ... was his son from another timeline.

“... Damn it...!” he growled as he quickened his pace.

Nyx was his son... damn it... it was so hard to swallow, to accept! Of course, the master of misfortune had tenderness towards the youngest, but not to the point of considering him as his child! Insomnia was his child, not Nyx! Because Nyx... Nyx was...

Nyx was his friend. A precious friend.

A friend he'd pissed off in a fit of anger, when the cartoonist went out of his way to help them, to help them have a happy life. It was because of Nyx that Nightmare had the family life he had dreamed of... and Nightmare had acted like the worst kind of bastard.

Now Nyx was missing, as was PaperJam who had apparently fled the house. Ink and Error had found out too late and were now worried to death, actively searching for their son in all universes without any possibility of finding his magical trace, as if it was camouflaged.

Nightmare growled. The magic was hard to camouflage. Powerful spells had to be used, which didn't reassure anyone about little Jammy's fate. Was it this Ink from the future who had gotten his hands on the boy? Unfortunately, there was a good chance ... And shit, "Ink from the future" was so boring to pronounce! Especially since he shouldn't be alone, and Nightmare couldn't see himself saying "Ink from the future", "Dust from the future", "Killer from the future" ... or even "Nightmare from the future". It was repetitive, boring, useless.

“Ink is so borring over paint... Can't I find a nickname to go with it?”

Slowing down his run to think, he stopped suddenly at the agreement of a weak, very weak sigh. Or rather a whisper. A word carried by the wind, it seemed to him:

“Etsuko ...”

He frowned at the arches, looked around him suspiciously without seeing anything except the few echo flowers nearby. But it couldn't have been them, could it? The echo flowers were just repeating what they heard. But it seemed like a strange coincidence that they would repeat such a word right at the very mention of Nightmare, a word that sounded a lot like a name.

The master of misfortune shrugged his shoulders: he wasn't going to worry about that. It was worth taking the ...

“Etsuko ...”

He turned to the flowers. Why did they seem so insistent? Was he getting the wrong idea, just blaming poor, harmless flowers?

He sighed:

“Okay, let's go for Etsuko...”

He waited a while, to see what would happen. But nothing... Nothing at all. And this realization tensed him: why didn't the flowers repeat what he had just said?

Suddenly his mind twisted, encountering a sudden magical apparition. His eyes widened: PaperJam ... he was not camouflaged anymore ! And from what he could feel... he was in Underlust?

Despite the terrible apprehension that it was a trap, Nightmare had no choice but to rush there, knowing in advance that Error and Ink must already be there, having surely reacted faster than him.

He disappeared into a portal, not knowing that he should have lingered longer by the flowers ... because he could have heard the sweet laughter that escaped from there. A laughter that accompanied an amused voice:

“To think that I have to intervene for silly nicknames... !”

*** ***

Life had been good to him. The last few days had probably been the best of his life. Yes Ink was happy. Happy to finally be reunited with Error, to be able to live his love with him, to be united with him. To shake his hand, to embrace his body, to devour his mouth. Exchanging caresses, tender words...

And came PaperJam, his adorable child, so cute, so innocent, so sweet and gentle. The family he had always dreamed of ... accompanied by that truce with the Bad Sans, who had offered him new friendships. Horror, Dust, Killer... but especially Nightmare.

Nightmare... with whom he should have had a child? Who he should have had... Nyx...?

When did it escape him, the Creator? When only a short time ago he thought everything was 'normal'? That Nyx was just one skeleton among many, a skeleton with whom he had befriended?

Nyx held out a chip which Ink willingly accepted, stuffing it in his mouth as he sniffed it, wiping his tear-fogged eyes. The one with the black bones slid his hand over his skull and gently caressed him, in an almost paternal gesture that soon reassured him. Finally, he finally dozed off, far too comfortable in the bed that was not his, smelling the odor of Nyx that had permeated the sheets and which, it must be said, was not unpleasant.

Nyx lying unconscious on the ground, his head resting on the knees of a worried Plum.

“... He... collapsed? Just like that?” Ink questioned, having a hard time grasping the situation as his trembling voice testified.

Plum looked at him feverishly:

“Y-Yes... I don't understand... I don't understand ... he ... He seemed to have a panic attack, then he lost consciousness!”

It wasn't a simple blackout, Ink knew that all too well. For Nyx, besides breathing with difficulty, was sweating heavily, his body boiling, as if he was in the grip of a violent illness.

“... He would be sick ...? hesitated the Creator without daring to approach.

- He was fine only yesterday, said Error, who was standing next to him. He couldn't have gotten so sick in one night in ...”

But his voice died, interrupted by another which rose softly behind them:

“... Nyx is not sick ...”

Ink and Error turned around at breakneck speed to see their little Jammy in the doorway. Jammy's gaze was fleeting, due to his fear of being scolded by his parents but also the worry of seeing Nyx in such a state. Trembling with tears in his eyes as he felt his soul beating at full speed in his rib cage, he curled up on himself, ready to burst into tears:

“...A-a... a nasty Nightmare... he hurt Nyx... a-and Nyx kept falling asleep and waking up... like he was having a nightmare...”

Ink remained mute of stupor, to finally throw himself on PaperJam that he came to hug with all his forces, perceiving all the terror which lived in him, under the glance of Error who was divided between the desire to take his family against him and the desire to find this 'bad Nightmare' to explode his face.

“Calm down Jammy... the painter breathed, gently caressing his son's back. It's all right now...

- N-No, it's not true, it's not all right!" cracked the boy as he let out a sob. “I couldn't protect my big brother... and the bad guy's gone, he'll come back, he'll hurt us... !”

‘My big brother’. These words struck Ink's mind with force as his face became pale. So PaperJam had understood who Nyx was? No, the real question was... Had PJ accepted Nyx as a real member of their family? Without worrying about some timeline story?

Error grinned at the same words, but preferred to ignore them to concentrate on another detail. He came and crouched down beside Jammy and, timidly, caressed his shoulders in a clumsy attempt to comfort him:

“... PaperJam ... Do you know where this 'bad Nightmare' has gone?”

The child sniffed and shook his head as he came to curl up more against Ink.

Error remembered an insult when he saw how his son had been upset by the whole thing. He addressed Ink seriously:

“So there is not only an Ink from the future but also a Nightmare. And it won't surprise me that there are still others, which multiplies our enemies and therefore the danger. They must know the multiverse on the tip of their knuckles, probably better than we do.

- ... What do we do then? replied his lover. Do we prepare a counterattack? Do we hide? Do we wait? We skim the whole multiverse blindly?”

Faced with the painter's terribly rough tone, Error frowned on the arches:

“I don't know Ink. It's useless to take it that way!”

The Creator shot him with his pupils turned red:

“You give me a catastrophic summary of our situation without providing any solution! If it's just to depress me by putting me up against the wall, you can keep your remarks to yourself!

- I stated the facts and the possibilities! We've never been faced with such a danger, these guys probably know us better than we know ourselves! They can anticipate our actions and...

- And what? I'm well aware of it, who do you think I am?

- For a skeleton that seems to have already given up!

- How have I given up? I'm trying to take care of my sons here!”

Error bugged for a moment, before straightening himself up quickly by clenching his fists, pushing PaperJam to squeak with fear when he saw his parents arguing like that.

“Your sons?” repeated the Destructor coldly. “You have only one son, the one WE gave birth to!”

Ink gritted his teeth, closed his eyes to put his mind in order, imperceptibly squeezing PJ against him as if to give himself courage. He finally looked at his lover again:

“Nyx may come from another timeline... but I can't see him as anything other than my son.

- ... Are you kidding me?”

Error didn't know how to feel. Anger, frustration, jealousy, misunderstanding? He could accept that Nyx was Ink's son, but ... in another timeline, and only in another timeline! Not in theirs! Because in theirs, Ink was his, his and nobody else's, let alone Nightmare's!

“Yesterday you considered this guy a friend! And now you suddenly adopted him? Stop pissing yourself off!”

But if the voice that answered him was Ink's, it wasn't his Ink's voice. An evil, sadistic voice, whose sinister sneer shook the walls of the house and the monsters in the room.

“I agree, Error. This poor version of me is really infatuated with anyone!”

The yelp of PaperJam, thrown to the ground without the slightest softness, was nothing compared to the scream Ink uttered when he was hit hard by an ink tentacle that sent him waltzing against the wall.

Although Error was caught unawares, he didn't let himself be destabilized and received his son in panic, before catching Ink with his bluish threads while making bones to defend himself. His eyes filled with anger went to a corner of the room, and a shiver of hatred ran through him as he noticed the presence of this Ink of the future, quietly leaning against a wall with his arms folded.

“You bastard, you've got guts to bring your mouth here!”

His lover's double had a bad laugh before stepping towards him:

“Don't take it like that Ruru, I only come to free you from a weight.”

The magic of Error crackled, seething with resentment at his words, and the voice of Glitch sizzled with rage:

“I will smash you. I will destroy you for daring to touch my family.”

The future Ink raised his eyes to the sky before shaking his head with weariness, as if annoyed by such nonsense:

“Let's see Ruru... I'm your family.

- Call me 'Ruru' one more time... and I assure you I won't be in control.

- ... You're hopeless. Why can't you understand all the love I have for you? I probably love you much more than that old version of me. Do you understand that? Do you understand how much this version you're dating makes fun of you? He hasn't made the slightest effort to win you over, hasn't experienced the pain and sorrow that I have. He had outside help, and now that he's got you, he's turning to Nyx! Nyx that's not yours! Who's a stupid skeleton that came out of nowhere! What's next? Who's to say this Ink didn't turn away from you? That he won't leave you for Nightmare, only for the "good" of a son that isn't his?!”

The real Ink was recovering from the previous shock and was listening, with bitterness and anger, to the words of his double. This him of the future .... Did he even realize he was talking about his son? His son who was standing unconscious in the same room with him? Did this Ink from the future only realize that Nyx was at his worst?!

“... My Ink is an idiot, Error suddenly approved. But it's him and no one else that I fell in love with!!”

The two Ink hiccupped simultaneously, one deeply outraged and the other terribly moved. Before one of them recovered from his emotions, Error threw bones in the direction of the impostor, destroying part of the house in the process under the desperate gaze of poor Plum.

The Ink of the future just had the opportunity to leap backwards without dodging the entire attack. He grimaced when a bone was planted in his shoulder and had no choice but to retreat again, ending up outside the house, in the infinite cold of the Underlust Snowdine.

Error came to rest PaperJam, furtively caressing his skull before teleporting to his opponent and attacking him again. The child squealed, his face ravaged with fear and sobs, while looking terrified at the raging battle outside.

Ink hastened to his feet to draw Broomie:

“Plum, watch over my sons!” he ordered before throwing himself into battle.

An explosion sounded, followed by a burst of magic and the shrill sound of a blaster. The blast raised a wave of snow that fell with a crash, hiding the opponents under a smoke of ice. But despite the reduced visibility, Plum and Jammy realized that neither the Creator nor the Destroyer could defeat their opponent.

[Cause he knew them by heart, as Error had guessed.]

The snow finally fell, revealing more clearly the battle that was taking place. The threads of Error were sharply cut by vile tentacles, and the Ink of the future dodged an attack without difficulty by suddenly transforming himself into a puddle of ink, before taking a normal form just behind the Destroyer that he immobilized with his appendages .... So that these can be sliced in turn. By other tentacles.

“Wha...? wondered the one from the future.

- To think that I found Ink boring... But you're worse Etsuko!” cried the familiar voice of Nightmare, a voice of fun, defiance and anger. A voice coming from everywhere and nowhere, as if out of the shadows, out of the mind.

The three opponents stopped all movement to look around them while the Ink of the future frowned on the arcades with confusion and mistrust:

“Etsuko...? he repeated.

- A little nickname, so as not to confuse our mind. And specially to differentiate a stupid painter from a crazy painter.”

Nightmare finally appeared, standing between Etsuko and the two others, stinging an icy glance on the one of the future:

“But it doesn't matter, since you'll only be dust in a few minutes.”

The nightmare master's appendages agitated, whipped the air like a threat, while Etsuko stood staring at the guardian of bad emotions.

“... Ink... Etsuko... however I'm named... blew that of the Future. Anyway... That won't stop me from killing you.”

His face was torn by a terrifying smile... and he vanished.

Nightmare winked in disappointment and winked back to swallow a scream when he felt a pain twist in his arm. He winced, realizing that Etsuko had taken him as a traitor, and turned sharply to counterattack. However, he only hit the void, which made him growl.

“Bastard... !”

He jumped to the side and felt an ink puddle slip at his feet, and his gesture was not useless, for the next second his enemy came out of the puddle and threw sharp bones at him. Dodging, feeling one of the weapons brushing against him, he weighed himself down and teleported himself to the heavens, to make a Gaster Blaster appear, with which he shot Etsuko.

Etsuko who used his appendages as a shield, before materializing in his turn a Blaster. But instead of aiming at Nightmare, he took advantage of the other Ink's inattention.

Ink, still a bit stunned, who just had the opportunity to turn his skull before being dazzled by the powerful flash of the energy beam.

“INK!” Error and Nightmare shouted simultaneously as they watched in horror as the painter was about to disintegrate.

But it didn't happen. A golden light appeared for a second, accompanied by a loud sound of teleportation. The blaster wiped out where Ink had been, but not a trace of the Creator among the cloud of dust and debris.

Everyone was mute in amazement ... before Error was startled by the realization that there was a new presence behind him.

“Is everything okay?”

He turned around, opened his eyes, just like Nightmare who was unable to explain what they saw: Ink, safe and sound, gently carried in the arms of ... No... it couldn't have been... Yet there were very few skeletons wearing such a crown. But despite the appearance that didn't deceive... Nightmare didn't know if the skeleton that saved Ink was indeed Dream.

Ink himself seemed confused about who was supposed to be his best friend:

“... Dream?” he hesitated.

No, it couldn't have been Dream. Dream was a young skeleton, smiling and sparkling, with a soft warm aura. While this skeleton... this skeleton didn't have a smile on his face, not even a shred of joy. He only looked tired, exhausted... and deeply angry.

It was Etsuko who broke the silence again, his magic crackling even more angrily than before:

“Goddamn Dream! Always in my way !” he spat.

The three skeletons of this timeline freeze, having now the confirmation that the new one was indeed Dream. But so... the future Dream? This one rested Ink with a great softness, before patting his head amicably, but always without emitting the least smile:

“I will take care of him. Rest.”

It was not only addressed to the painter but also to Nightmare and Error. Finally he came to look into Etsuko's eyes and his face became harder, more implacable.

“Destroying our world wasn't enough for you, you also had to come and wreck another timeline?

- That you who gave me this opportunity.” Etsuko replied.

Dream sighed... and the arrow he shot was faster than the speed of light.

Etsuko hiccupped, screamed, fell to his knees and grabbed his belly, to turn his bewildered gaze towards his ribs, towards THE rib that the guard had aimed at and hit hard! Marrow was already starting to flow out of the wound to stain his clothing, but before anyone could really become aware of the situation, Dream teleported himself just in front of his enemy, to prepare his bow again and put an arrow in his face.

This time, the corrupt Creator did not let it happen and teleported himself in panic, several meters away from the guardian, to counterattack with his tentacles. Dream dodged a first appendage, contrasted a second one with his bow, but was whipped by a third one. This did not destabilize him, he kept an imperturbable face, and again used his bow to shoot a new arrow.

Nightmare twitched, his eyes clutching said arrow. His twin, guardian of dreams and good emotions, had always had this ability to generate arrows of light. But this Dream of the future... Its light was not pure. On the contrary, it seemed dimmed. Like... Like it was ready to sink into darkness.

If that made him pale, seeing his brother attack Etsuko without mercy made him even more unstable.

“Are you trying to play the hero? accused the corrupt painter. You, the guardian who gave up his title after abandoning his family? You're nothing but a Dream sub-shit! Don't come and stand up to me and play the Good guy !”

The Dream Keeper tensed up, to shoot a new arrow, this time missing his target.

“... I don't play the hero ... he blew trembling. I'm not, I never was... Unlike you. You were the hero of the whole multiverse, the Creator, the Keeper. But you chose to turn your back on everyone for a stupid one-sided love.”

Etsuko trembled, shaken by his words, and his anger was mixed with guilt and sadness that brought tears to his eyes. Yet he did not cry, on the contrary: his negativity gave him even more power, and in a hateful howl he knocked down his tentacles again.

Dream lowered his bow, his eyes exhausted, as if ready to submit to death ... to finally teleport at the last moment, dodging the attack before he sighed:

“... "Deep down... maybe I would have ended up like you, if you hadn't given me the counterexample. Seeing you sink into despair made me want to move on, to tell myself that I didn't want to end up like you.”

He sighed again while closing his eyes, as if to give himself courage, then raised his head, resting his golden gaze on the Corrupt Creator, this Creator who was once his best friend.

The golden glow of his pupils changed, sank, and became darkness.

Nightmare hiccupped with terror, as did Ink and Error ...

And the Dream of the future aimed again at his enemy, materializing at the same time an arrow darker than the darkness itself:

“I am no longer a guardian. I'm no longer a Dream.”

His voice had darkened as much as his gaze, and the icy air finished to petrify the group:

“... I am Yumerai, the vengeful dream.”

===

Next Chapter

You can support me on my Utip or on my Ko-fi account !

===

Credits =

Dreamtale -> Joku

Ink -> Comyet / Myebi

Error -> Lover The Piggies

Sugar Plum -> undertale Community (formerly NSFWShamecave ?)

Paperjam -> 7GoodAngel

#Guardian Angel #nyx #dream #ink #paperjam #sugarplum #alternate universe #alternate timeline #undertale #fanfiction #errink #nightkiller #inkmare #shipchild #nightmare #error #nightink #sans

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11jj11 · 4 years

Text

Confessions (Marissonshipping, Part 1)

Alain considered himself a scientist. Someone that asked questions, and sought answers. Someone that knew why things were happening, and how. He liked to understand the world around him, and the idea that there was always more to learn excited him. At twenty-one years old he was quite content with the life he had built for himself. Working as an intern for Professor Sycamore, and on the road to becoming a professor himself, he was able to do what he loved everyday.

So the fact that he had stumbled across something that he didn’t have an answer for was bothering him to no end.

“Hey Alain, the professor needs you upstairs,” Mairin said from behind him, and he found himself stiffening up. He didn’t turn around, just kneeling in front of his Unfezant with a thumping heart, a food dish in hand.

“Of course,” Alain said slowly after a moment, realizing that she was probably waiting for a reply. “I’ll be right up.”

He set the food dish down, Unfezant letting out a happy cry as he began to eat. Alain ran a hand down the Pokemon’s back as he ate, listening to Mairin’s footsteps as she walked around the greenhouse, waiting for her to leave. His heart was still thumping loudly from being startled, and it didn’t seem to have any intentions of slowing.

It took a minute, but at last Mairin left. He let out a small sigh, letting out a breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding in. He pushed himself to his feet, Unfezant shooting a glance at him, before continuing to eat. He wasn’t quite sure what the professor needed from him, his shift was over for today, but he was of course more than willing to help if needed. His eyes shifted towards the door where Mairin had exited, knowing that his mind would be elsewhere.

Because Mairin was the question that he currently didn’t have an answer for.

Something must have changed, something had to have caused all... this. But yet he wasn’t able to draw any conclusion for what could have possibly happened. Mairin was the same as always... but every time he looked at her it was as if he was seeing her for the first time.

Her amber eyes were as bright as ever, but yet whenever he even glanced in her direction they seemed to draw his entire focus. Her smile was as warm as he always remembered, but now it lit up the entire room she was in. Wherever she walked by he wanted to do nothing more than to reach out and touch her hair. And then her voice... her voice was the worst of all. Whenever she spoke to him his heart started thumping, and he found that he had to force himself to focus to catch what she was saying, or else he’d get lost simply listening to the softness of her voice.

What bothered him the most was the fact that nothing about her had changed– she was the same as he had always remembered– but it was as if his mind had just realized that she was... there.

It was getting annoying, because whenever she was in the room he simply couldn’t focus on the task at hand. He had found himself talking to her less and less simply so he could work, but yet he felt sick at the thought of treating his best friend that way. She was the kindest person he knew, and to pull away from her just wasn’t right. But he wasn’t sure what else he could do without every thought being pulled towards her. She was sweet, she was beautiful, and it was as if his mind had to tell him that over and over–

...Since when had he started calling Mairin beautiful?

Alain bit on his lower lip as this thought crossed his mind, standing in the doorway of the greenhouse. It wasn’t like he had never thought that she wasn’t beautiful, but he had just never particularly thought about that before. He didn’t look for beauty in a friend– it was her kindness and optimism that had made them become close. And her sheer stubbornness as well, while his younger self had once seen this as annoying, it had quickly become... cute. She was strong, fiery, and had been the first true friend he had made in many years.

He blinked, slowly realizing that these things were what was making her so beautiful. It wasn’t her smile or her eyes, but rather the person he had come to know was behind that wonderful smile and shining eyes. He wanted to be close to her just as he always had, even if now he wanted to take her into his arms and hold her even closer.

Alain was slowly beginning to realize that he was right– nothing about Mairin had changed. What had changed was the way he was seeing her.

“...Oh,” Alain said slowly as the realization came over him. “Oh...”

“Alain?” A faint voice was calling from upstairs, slowly shaking Alain from his sudden daze. “Alain?”

“I– um– c-coming Professor!” He called out, fumbling for words as he stumbled into the hallway, eyes slightly wide.

-----------

Alain had honestly never ‘liked’ someone.

He had gone on dates before– with Astrid and Kristen– but neither relationship had been anything he had been invested in. He had only gone out with Kristen a few times before it was quite clear that it wasn’t going anywhere, and while he and Astrid had gone steady after a few dates it had honestly never turned into anything serious. They had shared a few kisses, but they had been simple, and he hadn’t felt anything more behind it besides the fact that it had been his first kiss.

They had broken it off not long after that, both agreeing that this wasn’t what they were seeking in a relationship.

And for a time, Alain had wondered if he would ever feel an attraction in such a way. His past relationships hadn’t been bad, but he was well aware that he never saw them or anyone else as more than a friend. Those dates had almost been a test to him, to see if they could go somewhere, but they never had. Kristen had seemed genuinely interested in him, but he wasn’t even sure what returning that was supposed to feel like. While he had definitely considered Astrid pretty, he had never felt anything more.

But now Alain was quite sure that he had feelings for Mairin– and he had no idea of what he should do with that fact.

She wasn’t some girl he could just ask out– this was his best friend. Because this wasn’t someone he could just simply part ways with if things didn’t go right, because that would mean he would be losing one of the most important people in his life. Besides who would even say that she would agree to such an idea, she had mentioned in the past that he was like a brother to her. If that were still so bringing up this topic would most definitely only bring tensions between them.

He had a good relationship with Mairin right now. They were close, he trusted her more than anyone else, and their friendship definitely wasn’t about to go anywhere. So why was he even considering taking it a step further, especially if that meant he could possibly lose what he already had? He was happy with the bond that they had, did he really want to take it further?

Alain knew that it was pointless lying to himself, because he knew that he did. Whenever he looked at Mairin he just wanted to be with her. Not just moments when they worked together at the lab or casual greetings. He would just be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he wanted to wrap his arms around her. Yes, they had a good relationship, and the mere idea that it could become something more was so appealing. That the bond that they held now could strengthen. It wasn’t something he could ignore.

He argued with himself that it was so simple, that he should simply go up to her and ask. To find out if these emotions were something that they could pursue. He told himself that it was Mairin, someone he knew, and that it shouldn’t be difficult. But that very fact was what made this so hard. If this were a stranger he would have already gone up to her and asked– but instead this was someone he had known for many years, and that alone made the task impossible.

And so on with life Alain went, stuck in this turmoil he didn’t know how to handle.

-----------

Alain was stiffening a yawn as he headed down the hall, a tiredness hanging about him as he headed downstairs. He had always been an early riser, but without a cup of coffee to wake him up he was basically a zombie. He had stumbled out of bed only a few minutes before, having thrown a lab coat over his bare chest as he headed out of his room.

However as he stumbled past the bathroom he couldn’t help but pause, a small grunt of pain catching his attention. He blinked once, even through his tired stupor he instantly recognized it as Mairin. He hesitated, before making his way to the partially open door, pushing it open to see Mairin standing in front of the sink, running a brush through her tangled hair.

She jumped slightly in surprise, giving Alain an uncertain smile. “Um... hi?”

“Are you okay?” Alain asked, not quite sure of what he should do as he stood there in the doorway. “I thought I heard...”

He trailed off, not sure if he was too tired to finish his answer, or perhaps he was slightly embarrassed. Mairin did look flustered, uncertainly passing her brush from hand to hand, a slight red tinge spreading across her cheeks. However this was nothing new for Mairin, the simplest of things able to make her blush.

Her amber eyes regarded him for a moment, and his heart couldn’t help but skip a beat.

“Of course I’m okay...?” She replied uncertainly after a moment, and perhaps if he was a bit more awake Alain would be a bit more embarrassed for just walking in. “It’s just a tangled mess this morning I can’t even get a brush through it...”

She waved a hand at her hair hopelessly, letting out a sigh as she turned back to the mirror. Alain pulled up behind her, touching the ends of her hair. Even with it a bit tangled up Alain found her hair quite pretty, and with a slight frown he held his hand out towards the brush.

“Here, let me brush it,” Alain said, taking the brush from her.

She looked a bit surprised at this offer, but allowed him to take the brush without an argument. She tensed up slightly as he ran it through her hair, clearly ready for it to be run through all of the knots. He was careful to start at the ends of her hair, brushing out those knots first. He couldn’t help but smile slightly as he continued, fingers running through her red hair.

“Thick hair is the worst,” she muttered, wincing as the knots were brushed out.

“Maybe use more conditioner?” Alain said, and he couldn’t help but notice that her hair faintly smelled like Pecha berries. Her shampoo, maybe?

She let out a small laugh. “You don’t think I do? Besides, what would you know about conditioners?”

“Plenty, I’d say, I use it,” Alain replied, and Mairin stared at him in the mirror. “What?”

“You use conditioner?” she asked, raising a brow.

“Who says a guy can’t use conditioner?” he asked, immediately going on the defensive. “I have thick hair too, and it makes it much easier to take care of.”

“I never said a guy couldn’t use it,” she said, a small smirk on her face. “You’re just one of the last people I expected to,” she leaned her head back, grinning up at him. “I guess that’s just a side effect of growing up with Monsieur Marvelous Professor though, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” he said, a playful smile spread over his face. His heart skipped a beat as Mairin let out a laugh, her grin turning into that amazing smile of hers that was always so warm. He watched her reflection in the mirror as he continued brushing her hair, just beginning to realize how close he was to her. She was only a step in front of him, her back only inches from his chest.

He so badly wanted to wrap his arms around her, to bring her into his embrace and pull her close, and for a moment he wondered why he didn’t. This was his best friend, and there had been many times he had held her close. But this wasn’t a moment of her seeking comfort, or him trying to reassure her that he was there, but rather just a desire to be close to her.

“...Alain?” Mairin asked, a small frown on her face, and he then realized that he had gone completely still, brush halfway through her hair.

“Sorry,” he said swiftly, letting out an uncertain chuckle, continuing to run the brush through her hair. “Haven’t had my coffee yet, I’m still out of it.”

“You seem pretty alert for an Alain that hasn’t had his mandatory coffee,” She replied, again tilting her head up so she could look at him, and in the process she leaned back against him. Instantly Alain stiffened up, and he knew there was no excuse for this reaction except for she was pressed up against him. He stared down into her amber eyes, and for a moment he almost told her, almost blurted out the feelings that had been tormenting him as of late.

But instead his blue eyes slipped away from her, carefully stepping back, holding the brush out to her. “Here you go, I can happily declare that your hair is now knot-free.”

For a moment he swore that he saw her gaze fall, but he told himself it was just his hopefulness in his tiredness. She took the brush, running it through her hair once, before setting it aside. She gave him a small smile as she ran her fingers through her long red hair, and so desperately he wanted to do the same, to feel her soft hair between his fingers once more. His hand twitched, but he simply lingered near the doorway instead.

“Thank you,” she said, pausing for a moment. He knew that she wanted to say more, he could see that look in her eyes, but no words came from her. She just looked up at him, her expression soft, and even without a smile on her face she still seemed to radiate a light. Their gazes remained locked for a moment longer, and finally he glanced away.

“Coffee,” he grunted, not sure of what he should say. She nodded in understanding, as normally he refused to do anything unless he had drained a mug of the drink. Their gazes flickered towards each other one more time, and though it was the last thing he wanted to do he headed out into the hall, once again heading to the kitchen of the lab.

-----------

“Your lab coat looks nice today.”

Blue eyes flickered back towards Mairin as she spoke, blinking once. She wasn’t looking at him despite having just spoken, her amber gaze intently locked on the Fennekin in front of her. She was offering the young starter a variety of berries, the fire fox turning up his nose with each one he was offered. It was definitely one of the more difficult starters they had hatched at the lab, and he had a ways to go until he was ready for a trainer.

“...I wear it everyday,” Alain said slowly, not quite sure how to respond. It was the same old lab coat he always wore, small scorch marks covering it from Charizard’s sneezes and edges frayed from the Pokemon they looked after. It was far from what he would consider ‘nice’.

"W-Well yeah but it's just... nice,” Mairin said again, stumbling over her words. “Like you. You're nice."

...It was strange, because what he usually expected from Mairin was teasing remarks rather than compliments. And considering it was about something so routine rather than something new was strange as well, but he couldn’t help but hold his head a bit higher at her words.

“Thank you,” he replied slowly. “Your lab coat looks nice as well.”

Really? That’s what he said to Mairin? He wanted to hit himself, of all the things he could have said looked nice he commented on what was essentially their work uniform? Not on the things he always noticed? Like her smile or her hair or her eyes or her gentleness or the way she just managed to make his day so much brighter?

Not that she didn’t look nice in her lab coat...

“Thank you,” she replied, just as slow as he had. Neither looked at each other, both suddenly quite interested in their work. Alain was quite sure the Froakie he was washing had a spot on its head that needed to come off, and Mairin seemed very intent on offering the Fennekin a Pecha berry.

Alain had actually become quite fond of Pecha berries recently, finding himself eating them more often at meals and buying extra on his run to the grocery store. He had never really had a sweet tooth, but the sweetness of the Pecha berries had suddenly seemed much more appealing. They had always been Mairin’s favorite berry, and that fact of course had nothing to do with his sudden fondness for the berries.

“Naught!” A frustrated voice cried, causing both of them to jump. They looked up to see a certain Chesnaught staring at them, arms up in exasperation.

“Chespie?” Mairin asked, blinking at her starter. “Is everything okay?”

“Chesnaught naught!” He said, waving his arms about. He gestured towards Mairin, and then towards Alain, the grass type letting out several grunts. Alain shot a glance at Mairin in hopes she’d have a translation, but she looked just as confused as he did.

“Um, do you want me to help Mairin?” Alain asked, setting aside his rag and scooping up the Froakie into his arms and heading towards her. Chespie let out a frustrated groan, clearly this not being what he was trying to say, before he let out a defeated grunt. He waved Alain towards his trainer, before turning and lumbering out of the room with a heavy sigh.

“Sorry,” Mairin said, her eyes flickering towards the ground. “He’s been acting weird lately, nothing to worry about though, I got this...”

He noticed a red tinge spreading across her cheeks, but Alain didn’t comment on this. It never took much to get Mairin to blush, and if there was one thing she hated it was someone pointing this out. She would only turn redder, which was absolutely adorable, which made it hard not to tease her about it.

“I’m sure Froakie could use a little treat though,” Alain said, setting the water type down next to the Fennekin. “He’s done so well today he most definitely deserves a reward.”

The Froakie looked up hopefully at Mairin, who smiled and offered the rejected Pecha berry to the frog. The Froakie took it in his hands, happily biting into the fruit with a happy croak. The Fennekin shot a haughty glare at him, letting out a sharp yip and turning away.

“You just can’t eat only Custap berries,” Mairin said, tapping the Fennekin on the nose. “Those are expensive!” She pulled up a small container of Pokemon food, setting it next to the two Pokemon. “So about you try some of this, Fennekin? This is made especially for fire types.”

“It’s really good,” Alain chimed in. “It’s mine and Charizard’s favorite.”

“Alain, do you really not realize how absolutely disgusting that is?”

He replied by reaching into the container and snatching several pieces of the Pokemon food, taking a bite. “Everything in it is edible, and it doesn’t taste bad at all! It’s pleasantly spicy!”

“There is nothing pleasant about spicy food,” she said, pulling the container away. “And it’s still disgusting!”

“Kin,” Fennekin yipped, and the two humans looked down at him. He was sniffing towards the container of Pokemon food, eyes narrowed, but he yipped at it again. Mairin grabbed a handful of the fire type food, spreading it in front of the Fennekin hopefully.

The Fennekin carefully stepped forward, sniffing at the food again. He nudged a few to the side, looking over each one with a critical eye. They both held their breath as the Fennekin opened his mouth, carefully picking up a piece of the food. He chewed it slowly, ears twitching, and then he swallowed.

The Fennekin eyed the remaining pieces of food, and began to eat them as well.

“Yes! Finally!” Mairin cheered, earning a glare from the Fennekin as he continued eating.

“It looks like he just needed a guarantee that it was good,” Alain said with a smirk. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m not thanking you for eating Pokemon food!”

“You can’t say it’s gross unless you try it~”

He let out a laugh, ducking as she threw several pieces of Pokemon food at him.

-----------

“Flare!”

The Flareon bolted across the park, happily chasing after the Vivillon drifting through the air. The bug types danced about as the fire type attempted to pounce on them, letting out small chirrs as they darted out of the way.

Mairin was running after Kade, trying to reach the Pokemon before he decided to use an attack on the bug types. Alain lingered near one of the pathways that ran through the park, a small smile on his face as he watched them. It was early spring, the warm weather just beginning to settle into Lumiose. He was grateful for the shift in the weather, as it was nice to finally be able to take Kade outside without needing to bundle up.

He was a hyper Flareon, and it had become habit to take him to the park every Saturday to give him a chance to run. The lab had never been an effective place for him to play, and so without fail Kade insisted that he was taken to the park no matter the weather– Alain and Mairin having made their way here through several snow storms before. Even the rain didn’t deter the fire type, Kade was always more than willing to jump into a puddle or the mud.

Kade launched an Incinerate up at the Vivillions– who replied by spreading a Powder over him. The Powder ignited the moment his flames hit it, the attack blowing up right in his face. The Flareon landed on his back, blinking a few times as the bug types flew away, and Mairin scooped him up. He happily nuzzled the one he knew as his mother, before worming his way out of her arms– and bolting across the park once more. Mairin raced after him, and with a chuckle Alain made his way further down the path, making sure that he wasn’t left too far behind.

A small cart was parked on the path up ahead, which wasn’t an uncommon sight to find in the city park. People selling food and souvenirs to those passing by, usually to tourists, but it wasn’t uncommon for a salesman to try to get locals to buy as well. Alain was more than careful to avoid them, knowing the cheap plastic ‘souvenirs’ they sold were nothing but overpriced, and he knew of a dozen other places that sold better food than cheap hotdogs and half melted ice cream.

But this cart didn’t seem to have the usual scams– this one filled to the brim with beautiful bouquets of flowers. He paused as he reached the cart, eyes scanning over the blossoms. While the flowers were pretty, his eyes instantly were drawn to the Pokemon perched on the edge of the cart. Roselia weren’t necessarily a rare Pokemon, but definitely an uncommon sight in the city.

“Can I help you?” a voice asked, and Alain finally raised his gaze to the salesman. The Roselia brightened up as the man spoke, turning and hopping up onto her trainer’s shoulder. “Anything catching your eye, monsieur?”

“No, just looking,” Alain replied. “You have a very nice Pokemon there.”

The Roselia puffed up proudly, and the florist let out a chuckle. “She’s something alright, keeps all the flowers in bloom even after they’ve been cut– she’ll even help some bloom out of season.”

Many grass types did have a natural influence over plants and could help them grow, but he had honestly never thought of them being used in gardening– he always pictured them in a more natural environment. A clever use, though one that he’d never personally need.

“Well she’s done a nice job,” Alain said politely, before turning to leave– but like all salesmen they couldn’t let a potential customer escape.

“Sure I can’t interest you in a bouquet?” the florist asked, waving a hand over his merchandise. The Roselia released an Aromatherapy in response, the scent of the flowers and the move washing over Alain. “There’s no better gift for a lovely lady.”

Alain hesitated, his thoughts instantly going to Mairin. The florist seemed to notice this, a smile spreading over his face.

“Someone in mind, I see? I can promise you that flowers make a perfect gift for a girlfriend.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Alain said swiftly. “We’re just... friends. That’s all.”

Maybe he was just easy to read, though more likely the florist was just trying to get to him to buy some flowers. “You don’t want to be ‘just friends’ though, do you? Nothing’s going to change unless you make that first step.”

Alain stared down at a bouquet of roses, before sighing. How would Mairin even react if he handed that to her? It was too over the top, too out of the blue, and... he shook his head– why was he even thinking about this? Yes, he thought about telling Mairin about his feelings quite often, but he wasn’t going to waltz up with a bunch of flowers to do so.

“It’s not that simple,” Alain replied. “We’ve been friends since we’re kids, I’m pretty sure she just sees me as a brother, and saying otherwise would be nothing but awkward.”

“That’s a possibility,” The salesman agreed. “But so is her feeling the same way– and you’ll never know unless you tell her.”

“Is possibly losing everything we have now worth that though?” Alain asked, more to himself than to the florist. “We’re happy with the way things are and if I ruined that... I’d never forgive myself.”

“But what are you losing by staying quiet? You’re hurting now by not saying a thing, aren’t you?”

Alain didn’t reply.

“Rose,” The Roselia trilled, causing Alain to look up slightly.

“Look kid, life's too short as it is– and you’re too young to be wasting it,” The florist said. “There’s always a risk, and there’s always a reward– but wallowing in doubt is just as painful as anything that could go wrong, and when you look back on this you’re going to regret letting time waste away.”

Alain opened his mouth to reply, but a voice calling out cut him off. “Hey! Alain!”

A smile passed over his lips as he heard Mairin’s voice, and he looked over his shoulder as he heard her calling. She was running towards him, Kade curled up on her shoulder as she waved a hand over her head. There was a grin on her face as she charged towards him across the park, which slowly turned to a pant as she stumbled towards him. She linked an arm through Alain’s as she reached him, swinging around to peer at the cart in front of him.

“Whatcha doing?” she asked, Kade climbing from her shoulder and onto Alain’s.

“Just looking at the man’s Roselia,” Alain replied evenly, nodding towards the grass type. Mairin flashed a smile at the Pokemon, who happily waved in return.

“Grass types are the best, aren’t they?” Mairin said, her gaze turning to the florist, while Kade shot a glare at her. “You have some really pretty flowers, sir. Do you grow them here in Lumiose? I can’t imagine where though...”

“I grow everything just outside of Camphrier Town,” The florist said. “Everything from flowers, to produce, to berries. Fresh is always the best after all.”

“I have a Florges, but I left her back at the lab,” Mairin said wistfully. “Bébé would have loved to see these.”

The florist looked at Alain, a small gleam in his eyes. He stared at the man warily, but before he could say anything the florist clasped his hands together, smiling warmly at them. “Well, anyways, as I was saying before your lovely companion arrived– you are our hundredth customer today!”

Alain raised an eyebrow– knowing it was much too early in the day for a hundred people to have stopped by a flower cart, even in the heart of Lumiose. Besides, this was nothing like what they had been talking about, though Alain was grateful that the man hadn’t decided to continue their conversation from before now that Mairin was here.

He waved a hand over his blossoms. “As such you may pick any flower for free, so go ahead and choose, monsieur.”

“I don’t–” Alain began, but quickly fell silent as Mairin’s hands tightened around his arm.

“Ooo!” she said, amber eyes lighting up.

“I, um, don’t know much about flowers,” Alain said uncertainly, shifting.

“Peonies!” Mairin chirped. “You should choose a peony.”

Alain’s eyes flickered over the abundance of flowers– but he had no idea which one was a peony. The only flowers he recognized were the basic ones such as roses and daisies. “Er– a peony, I suppose?”

“Good choice,” The florist said with a smile, selecting a pink flower from the center of the cart. “Here you go, monsieur, your peony.”

Alain supposed it was a pretty flower, light pink in color, with the blossom much bigger than he was expecting. The peony had more petals than he could count, giving the flower an almost feathery look. He stared down at the flower for a moment, knowing exactly what the man wanted him to do with it. And if he had given it to him for free... then clearly his advice hadn’t just been an attempt for him to buy flowers.

“Here you go, Mairin,” Alain said, turning towards her, just barely able to keep a waver out of his voice. His blue eyes locked on her amber ones, not sure of how she’d react, but he didn’t want to turn away. At first he held the flower out to her, the woman staring at it for a moment, before reaching out to take it. “Wait.”

Alain’s fingers tightened around the stem, and he turned so he was facing Mairin. He wasn’t quite sure why he decided to do this, but he reached out to tuck the flower behind her ear instead, her soft red hair brushing against his fingers as he did so. He could instantly see the blush forming on Mairin’s cheeks, but he knew it was more from the contact than anything else. He pulled back after a moment, a smile tugging on his lips as he looked at her.

“...How do I look?” Mairin asked sheepishly after a moment, eyes darting to the ground. Alain studied her, her cheeks starting to clash with her hair, the peony tucked behind an ear.

“Pretty,” Alain replied, a bit quietly, because it honestly took effort not to say beautiful. Because that was exactly what Mairin was– beautiful. Her smile, her eyes, the way she gently interacted with those around her– everything about her was beautiful.

“...Pretty what?” she asked after a moment, hesitance in her eyes– as if she expected him to continue and say something along the lines of ‘pretty silly’. She fiddled with her hair uncertainly, and Alain reached out, pulling her hands away from her face.

“Pretty, Mairin,” He said softly. “You look pretty.”

She stared up at him for a moment, before letting out a hushed: “Thank you.”

Kade mewed contently on Alain’s shoulder, and that’s when they remembered that they weren’t standing there alone. His hand slowly pulled back from Mairin’s wrist, and for some reason as much as he wanted to look at her his eyes seemed to dart away from her gaze. No more words passed between them, Alain muttering a thanks to the florist, who gave him a wink. Kade hopped off of Alain, darting ahead of the two of them as they walked away.

They headed towards the exit of the park without a word, Alain caught up in his own thoughts as they walked. His heart was fluttering slightly, the action of giving her the flower having just been simple– but it was her reaction that was making his heart race. His eyes kept flickering in her direction, Mairin walking right by his side, a lingering blush on her cheeks. She didn’t glance at him, and her gaze seemed to be drawn towards the ground.

Meanwhile Alain’s gaze was drawn towards her hand, which hung at her side– and wasn’t that far from his own.

He didn’t know where this courage had come from, because only minutes ago he would have been panicking at such an idea. But without hesitation he reached out, letting his fingers brush against hers as they walked. Her hand twitched in surprise, Mairin’s head turning towards him, but he was careful to keep his eyes locked ahead.

After a few moments, Alain felt her fingers brushing against his.

He swallowed, his mind instantly telling himself that it was just an accident, but he shoved the thoughts to the side. He simply let his hand brush against hers again, this time letting them linger there as they walked. She didn’t pull away, the backs of their fingers pressing against each other. He didn’t dare look at her, mind racing they walked, their fingers just wanting to slip together.

And the moment Alain gathered his courage to let his hand hold hers, in the same moment he was about to reach out, he heard a small yelp. He turned in time to see Mairin toppling forward, her shoe having become caught on an uneven section in the sidewalk. Instantly he stepped towards her, arms wrapping around her as she began to fall forward. An arm went around her waist, the other grabbing her shoulder to keep her from tripping right on her face.

“Are you okay?” Alain asked, worry lacing his tone as he pulled her up. Mairin stammered out something, and it was in that moment Alain realized how he was holding her. Her body was pressed up against his, an arm wrapped tightly around her waist as he held her. For a moment he blinked, before loosening his arms and stepping back. “Um– sorry–”

“It’s fine,” Mairin said swiftly, shifting. “Th-thank you. For catching me,” She let out an uncertain laugh. “And here I thought I had moved past my clumsy self, heh...”

It was true, she didn’t stumble and trip nearly as much as she had when they were younger, but in a strange way it was almost refreshing to see that side of Mairin again. Her face was flushed once more, the woman trying to compose herself. Amber eyes kept flickering towards Alain, and in that moment he wondered if Mairin could possibly be feeling the same things as him.

His actions had been small, but clear, yet Mairin hadn’t pushed anything away. She seemed a bit uncertain, clearly recognizing that he was acting differently– but she didn’t seem frightened by it either. His fingertips tingled, realizing just how close he had been to holding her hand.

Was it too late to try again?

“Flare!” A voice called– Kade looking up at his ‘parents’ with an impatient look. Alain let out a sigh, and knowing that unless they wanted an Incinerate to the face they needed to keep moving. The Flareon happily pranced ahead of them as they continued on their way home, mewing happily.

Alain’s heart was thumping, his thoughts racing, and for the first time the possibility of telling Mairin how he felt seemed more real than ever.

#marissonshipping #marissonshipping fanfiction #alain #alain pokemon #mairin #mairin pokemon #alain and mairin #kade the flareon #kade

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duker42 · 5 years

Note

Levi's crush being with him while he's with Kenny during his last moments. After Kenny takes his last breath, Levi stays staring at him and happens to look somber. He then feels a warm and gentle hand on the back of his head, stroking his hair. "Let's go, Captain" Her soft voice calls out. He's never been touched so gently and spoken to that way, and her affection baffles him. Thanks, I'm so gay❣

Lol. Nah, considering during this scene I wanted so badly to jump into the SNK universe and just love that man up until those eyes lost that haunted look. 😭😭😭😭

💜Comfort💜

Y/N walked behind Captain Levi, her rifle ready in her arms as she searched the deep pit where the Reiss Chapel had once stood.

They found the bodies of the Interior Squad that Kenny Ackerman had commanded. Crushed beneath the rock and earth that had tumbled down on them when Rod Reiss had transformed into a Titan and emerged from the glowing chamber beneath the place or worship.

Y/N turned as she heard another Scout run behind them. “Captain Levi!”

“What is it? You look like you are about to shit.” The raven haired male turned to him and demanded.

“We’ve found Kenny Ackerman!”

~~~~~

She held his rifle. Levi had dismissed the other Scout but Y/N had stayed behind. The man that had spent days trying to kill the squad, most specifically Levi, was near death. He had been horrible burned and the injury from Levi’s blade from their earlier battle was still seeping blood.

“Between the burns and the blood you’ve lost, there’s nothing that can save you now.” Levi told the former Interior Squad Captain. He had dragged himself to a tree and was just sitting there when they had approached.

As he pulled a case from his pocket, Y/N brought the gun up, ready to take him out. She wasn’t taking any chances.

Levi listened as the dying man rambled, his last confession as it seemed. Talking about being a slave to something. As he coughed, getting weaker, Levi grabbed his shoulders and demanded answers about the First King.

“Don’t know, beats me. That said, that’s part of the reason that we Ackermans decided to turn coat.” He spit up blood, spraying Levi in the face.

Y/N saw Levi’s body stiffen. “So apparently that’s my name as well. Tell me, who are you? What were you to my mom?”

Y/N understood in that moment that there was a history between her Captain and the man dying in front of him. Her heart bled for him. She hadn’t missed the fact that he hadn’t known his last name. She had just always thought he had preferred to be called Captain Levi, not that he had no other option known to him. She had heard rumors of his background, but had always respected him too much to pry. He would share the information if he wanted. She felt slightly guilty being present at this emotionally vulnerable time for him.

“Ha! Ya dumbass! I’m just her brother.” She didn’t have to see his face to know that Levi’s eyes had widened like they normally did when he was surprised. Kenny Ackerman was his uncle.

“That day.....why? Why did you leave me?” Levi’s voice was vulnerable, the slight hesitation in his voice making Y/N want to cry. There was some backstory, some hurt that Levi needed to know about before the answers were lost to him forever.

“Because I just wasn’t cut out to be somebody’s dad.” Kenny closed the case with the serum and shoved it into Levi’s chest. As he grasped the case, looking down, Y/N watched as the man in front of him took his last breath, exhaling as he leaned back against the tree, his eye lifeless.

From what she had determined, Kenny had abandoned her stoic yet good hearted Captain when he was a boy. She wanted to hold the Captain and kick the dead man’s body for doing something so cruel. She watched his back as Levi’s shoulders slumped when he looked up to see Kenny was gone. He stayed there for a long minute, staring at the body in front of him.

She knew that he must have a flood of emotions coursing through him. Reaching for him she threaded her fingers through the soft, inky strands of his hair. She spent a few moments trying to comfort him as much as she could, gently stroking his hair. “Let’s go, Captain.” She called out gently to him. Her voice was soothing and low, like gentling a scared horse.

Levi had been lost in his thoughts when he felt her fingers begin to lightly caress his hair. He forced himself not to pull away. Every touch he could remember had always been rough, his early memories of his mom fading as the years went by and the rough existence of the Underground had worn on him. Why would she do this? When she spoke to him, it was such a soft, gentle coo. He thought that was how mother’s would speak lovingly to their babies, calming them down. He didn’t understand why Y/N would direct that tone, this touch to him. He hadn’t deserved it.

He wasn’t worthy of something like that. His uncle had abandoned him when he was a boy. Walked away without a backwards glance. He hadn’t even know it was his uncle, leaving him to always wondering if he was the man that had gotten his mom pregnant. And he hadn’t known his own last name. Something most children grew up saying had been denied him until he was a grown, middle aged man. Only revealed as that same family member, who had tried to kill him, lay dying.

He pulled himself to his feet and turned to Y/N. “Why are you touching me? Why are you speaking gently to me?” The emotional turmoil stopping him from keeping those questions to himself. He had been denied answer for so long, he didn’t have the strength to try and keep anymore locked away inside.

He watched as the woman he had admired from afar stepped closer and laid a hand on his cheek, not minding the blood as she gazed into his stricken ashen orbs. “I want to comfort you, Levi Ackerman. You deserve it and so much more.”

He stared at her in wonder as her words washed over him, a balm to his weary and battered heart. She thought he was worth comforting.

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theladylovingcrow · 4 years

Text

Forever (Sanny)

Author (As known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Deviantart and Wattpad, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @theladylovingcrow - writing/art Tumblr, @insannywestan - Sanny shipping Tumblr

Fandom: Greta Van Fleet

Pairing: Sam Kiszka/Danny Wagner

Length: about 2.7k

Warnings/tags: hurt/comfort, getting together, first kiss, mild angst, very sappy, happy ending

Summary: "He knew his neck was glowing like the coals of their nightly summer bonfires, but Sam's eyes matched the elation he felt at the prospect of being best friends but so much more. His bestie, his beloved Sammy, the holder of his heart - they were entering a new chapter of their lives going forward from this moment."

Author's Notes: I have been working on this piece for awhile, slowly building on the events of the story within it's hour timeline, but also working on my style as a writer; I think I finally have something worth sharing here. Its short, and similar in a way to the lovely story ("Beautiful") my dear friend @satans-helper posted, but I am very happy with it and I hope everyone enjoys. And thank you, Zara, forever (ha) my bro, my writing peer, an incredible force of imagination and inspiration improving me and my work. For you, dear!

-----------

Danny dropped everything and opened his arms when Sam came running to him.

His face was a blur, half obscured by his curtain of hair so Danny couldn't discern his expression, but the air around him eminated a grey sadness. Sam breathed out and wrapped his arms around him, clinging like it was the end of the world; face buried in his neck, only nestling further when Danny asked him what the matter was.

So Danny held him close, stroking his hair and his waist, determinedly, as if he could protect Sam's thin body from whatever he was running from with his own. He swayed them in a gentle motion, shooshing Sam and hopefully comforting him, while he ran the list through his head of whom he might have to kill.

After a while, Sam seemed to let loose some of the tension he had been holding in his shoulders. Danny asked him again, "What's the matter, Sammy? Are you okay?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just wanted a hug," Sam said flatly, pulling back.

The lie was palpable, even more so because of his ragged appearance betraying the turmoil inside. Sam's eyes were downcast and rimmed with red, focusing on the shoulder where his nose had been resting moments ago instead of Danny's face. Danny noticed his drained palor, as if all the life and joy that usually eminated from Sam was replaced with lead. That lead seemed to travel to his own stomach, smoking stack puffing out a concern that filled him to the brim: his Sammy was hurting.

"Nothing needs to be wrong for you to want a hug. But, are you okay?"

Sam sighed. He looked as if he was debating whether to tell Danny his problem, but, the matter was decided on its own when Danny gently brushed his hair behind his ear and tilted his head up, catching Sam's sad eyes.

"She left me, Danny. I don't know why. I went out to get us dinner - Vietnamese, and when I came back she was just in this- this rage. Something about me always being distracted and thinking about other things instead of her, but I don't know what I did. I just... I don't know what it was that I did."

Sam looked like he was about to break, both his heart and the wall holding his tears back cracking like old, brittle porcelain. Danny hugged him again, letting Sam sag against his chest as he shakily breathed out, obviously fighting back the waterworks.

"She said that I needed to prioritize her and our relationship more," Sam's voice came, muffled from his shoulder. Unproportionately large hands tightened around his hips. "I spend too much time with other people, and too much time with you. She says I'm obsessed with you. She thinks that- I'm in love with you! And that it would be better for both of us if she just left since I obviously don't love her enough. So she did."

Sam was crying in gasping sobs, finally breaking down and letting the waters flow without concern. Danny held him through it, calming and supporting him while pondering all the while at the situation; Sam's girlfriend had just dumped him because she thought Sam was in love with his male best friend instead of her, that being himself.

Still holding a sniveling - and now shivering - young man in his arms, Danny moved them over to the brown leather couch in the corner, trying to sit down with Sam heavily leaning on him. He wanted to manipulate them so that Sam was sitting next to him with Danny's arms around his shoulders, but Sam didn't budge, basically going down on top of Danny when he sat.

Danny decided to let him stay there, pulling Sam onto his lap more so he wouldn't fall off; it wasn't like he minded, all things considered. Sam needed comfort, so he was going to provide it the best way he knew how.

"Why didn't you want to tell me?" Danny asked, hesitantly, after awhile.

He wasn't trying to interrogate Sam, or seem offended, but he was desperately curious; this situation was bringing up old emotions Danny had always pushed away before. The thought of having Sam like a lover had skipped across his brain several times, but there had never been anything remotely serious or seemingly plausible about it. Until now.

Sam sniffed and lifted his head, looking at Danny with large, cool, brown eyes. He ran his hand over Danny's shoulder, worrying a lip inbetween his perfectly aligned teeth.

"Because I'm scared."

"Of what? You know I'll always support you and be here for you."

Sam's face twisted slightly, as if to say 'You don't know that, and I don't think I can believe it.'

Despite the heartache at the disbelief being expressed, Danny tried another angle. "You'll find another girl, one who really loves you and encourages your life like I know you tried to encourage her's. And she'll be so, so lucky to have you."

"Will you really stay with me, forever?" Sam asked, sounding almost like a child asking for love.

Danny nodded eagerly; an eternity with Sam was the only heaven he could ever desire.

"What if I told you that I don't want another girlfriend?"

"Then you don't need to get one. That's not gonna make me leave you. Nothing will. And why would I leave you for being single, that's ridiculous!"

Sam sat up straighter, looking Danny directly in the eyes with some sort of terrified fiercness that made him sweat with the intensity.

"But I don't want to be single, either. What if I said that I think she's right? What would you do?" He pressed, advancing on Danny until their foreheads were an inch from colliding.

Danny furrowed his brow and tapped his hands against Sam's shoulder bones, mulling it over. He understood what Sam was trying to convey to him. The essential question was, what did he want? Was he prepared to pour the last few drops of his love that were not already watering Sam onto him, and to have that returned?

The sentiment still stood strong, like he knew deep in his soul it always would.

"I'm not leaving you. We'll work it out together, and everything'll be okay."

Sam started crying again, shoulders drooping. He leaned forward onto Danny, clinging to his arms and sobbing into his sweater. Danny kissed his temple and let Sam ride it out; he was in obvious need to process the abundance of emotional events occurring in this short hour of his life.

It was an exhilarating and surprisingly welcomed notion, the thought of Sam being in love with him. Or, as much as he could be certain of in the moment, Sam having an attraction that was strong enough to be noticed by his now ex-girlfriend and tear them apart.

He hadn't thought that any other human would have been able to interfere with their dynamic; but, perhaps, he owed a thank you to this particularly catalyst who had managed to wedge herself into one of the few openings in the Kiszka-Wagner stronghold and then tear herself out again, gluing it closed behind her. Then again, she had made Sam cry more than Danny had seen in years, so, in all likelihood, he was never speaking to her again.

Danny knew that he and Sam had always been close, closer like all of them were closer than most brothers or best friends. After all, what siblings chose to spend every second of their lives in each other's presence years after not being obligated to? Not many. The love they all had for one another was what drove them along the road just as much as the music; it bound them together as a family deeper than blood or circumstance. It was written in the very essence of their beings.

Danny loved Josh and Jake more than anything: they truly were his brothers and his best friends in the whole world, and he would be completely lost without them in his life.

And, yet, Sam and Danny's relationship was different - somehow running even deeper, it sometimes seemed. Sam was very much so his kin, but also more. They understood each other at such a basic level that they had soaked each other up, built a bridge spanning from one chest to another, and, the pieces of Danny's soul that Sam now possessed, he could never get back - it was perhaps why it pained them to be apart for long: the gaping, desperate feel of incompleteness that couldn't be remedied until their partner was back at their side, putting each other back together.

Sam was Danny's brother, true. But he was also his rock, his muse, his soulmate and his heartbeat. Then was it any wonder to himself that Danny wasn't bothered by Sam being supposedly in love with him? That Danny would be more surprised to find he didn’t feel the same way--more surprised

to find he didn’t love Sam--than he would be if he were told he could make love to Sam

tonight?

It felt right to him, in this moment with Sam on his lap. It was right, the most correct amd true thing in the world - as it surely felt that way to Sam. They belonged together like they always knew, just maybe more intimately than anticipated by their younger selves.

Danny started speaking - slowly, at first, sharing his thoughts on the matter with Sam. He spoke softly and continued petting Sam the entire time, treating his other half with the tenderness he deserved, especially in the situation. The revelation that the lurking feelings which had resided in himself were, apparently, reciprocated might have come and swept them both away on a tidal flood of love, but the fact that Sam had just been rudely dumped was also still present in his demeanor.

Though, much of the fog had lifted, Danny was glad to observe; Sam was practically glowing, even the tears still in his eyes glittering like diamond rings. He had his hands hooked around the back of Danny's neck, underneath his hair, lightly pressing his fingertips to the pulse on the side of Danny's neck and matching his breathing to it.

Danny watched Sam's skinny chest rise and fall against his shirt, slowing to a calmer, steadier beat as the last of the sniffles subsided. He stroked Sam's cheek with the back of his hand, wiping away the sad residue still upon it and smiling when Sam nuzzled into the affectionate touch.

"I've always loved you, you know that?" Sam opened his eyes and smiled softly at Danny, tenderness shining out every pore of his already glowing complection.

Danny nodded and cupped Sam's face, studying him. He was glittering with love and satisfaction, not even dimmed by the deep tiredness that often resulted from crying one's heart out, though it showed in the bags beneath his eyes. Sam was perfect; crystalline beauty painted onto the vessel that housed Danny's own soul, that had full access to his heart and mind yet never mistreated the power.

"I love you, too. Since I first met you. I'll love you until forever."

"Forever," Sam repeated. "Sounds nice, doesn't it? You and me, together."

He shifted on Danny's lap, twisting his torso to fully face him. Sam tugged lightly on the hair at Danny's temple and grabbed the back of his head, bringing him closer until their skulls were touching.

"I hate to admit it, but she was totally right. I think about you a lot."

Sam blushed high on his cheekbones and rubbed his fine-boned nose against Danny's, lashes fluttering closed against his pink skin so he couldn't make eye contact. Danny knew, now that his tears had dried and the emotions had been hashed out, that Sam would revert back to a slightly more 'Sam-like' manor; more fiery and less contemplative, more bold action and less heartfelt words, needing some prompting from Danny to open up.

Danny wasn't bothered by Sam's nature, though. He knew now that Sam loved him, had even known before when Sam would make some brash joke and flick his eyes back to Danny to see if he liked it. Sam's affection was in his small touches, his attention to details, his fierce loyalty, and how he gave himself up completely, heart and soul, to what he loved, though he was loathe to admit it.

Danny was his opposite; attracted to Sam's absolute confidence in themselves and everything he knew, as opposed to Danny's own careful, almost too gentle nature. It was why they worked - in every sense of the word - so well together, and why Sam opened himself up to Danny despite his dislike of being vulnerable.

"This is gonna be fun," Danny grinned, squeezing Sam's thigh with one hand.

Sam raised an eyebrow, silently asking for elaboration.

"I mean, we're already together, like, all the time, and I always have fun cause I'm with you. Now we can do all that, but then we can, like, cuddle in bed and kiss at the end of the day and stuff. And I'm happy, since we get to do this now. Together, like you said."

He knew his neck was glowing like the coals of their nightly summer bonfires, but Sam's eyes matched the elation he felt at the prospect of being best friends but so much *more.* His bestie, his beloved Sammy, the holder of his heart - they were entering a new chapter of their lives going forward from this moment.

Danny wasn't scared of the coming changes; he was looking forward with barely contained glee. He didn't know what forest the path of his future forged through, but he did know that, as long as Sam was walking next to him, he could hike up the highest mountain and come out unscathed.

"Danny...."

Sam called him back to their mutual plane of existence with a soft breath of his name and a slightly chilled hand on his cheek. He rubbed their noses together again then tilted his head to the side, gently squeezing Danny's face as two soft, tentative, parted pairs of lips met in a sweet first kiss.

That small contact - so close to many things they had shared before, and yet, so breathtaking it shattered everything they knew - it opened the door to places within Danny that had been locked so long, he hasn't even realized. His blood rushed like a newly un-dammed river as his heart tripled in size, throbbing with elated desire. His fingertips hummed with the electric current being conducted from their points of contact on Sam's thighs, and his eyes, despite being closed, flashed with violets, golden sunshine, and glittering panes of glass like glancing at a castle atop a hill on a sunny day; Sam, the keeper of the key to his soul, had finally turned the key.

They attempted to break contact several times, but each fresh breath of air felt like an ocean of desperation filling their lungs to the brim, drowning them in it's anguish. Sam cupped the back of Danny's head and kissed him with all of his might, thumbs sweeping along his jawline and tongue licking up every drop of Danny's flavor as if he would never get the chance to again.

Finally, after Danny could scarcely perform higher thinking from the mass of delicious attention, Sam pulled back. His lips were shining in the low light coming from the windows, grinning around hurried gasps for air. He loosened his hold on Danny's face and curled his hands around his shoulders, adjusting his position on Danny's lap.

"Forever. We get to do that forever," Sam said, as excited for the development of their coming relationship as Danny was, he knew.

Danny smiled back at him and pulled him in for another kiss, welcoming their love and all that would come with it with open arms, much like Sam had taken him in all those years ago when they were still children, and just an hour ago when his love was in need if his help and comfort. Danny wrapped his arms around Sam, knowing that with each other - entwined with each other, body and soul - Was where they were always meant to be.

"Forever," he agreed.

@satans-helper @karrotkate @ryetheruler @lazingonsunday @bigthighsandstupidguys @okietrish @oblvions @mountainofthesunn @therealswanqueen @lantern-inthenight

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED

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caswellsbeck · 5 years

Text

“I just don’t want you getting hurt”

Tyrus Oneshot

He hadn’t really throughly thought through his plan. He didn’t know what kind of state Tj was in, if he could walk back to his house in one piece.

What he did know was he was finally going to see what a high school party was like.

Tj & Cyrus’s first I love you’s

————

It’s not that Cyrus didn’t want to learn what it was like to go to a high school party. He had seen it plenty of times on television. The music, the dancing, teens drunkingly making out in any corner they could. He was always curious of the reality of it all.

And for one split second, he considered caving into Tj’s offer and going with him to their first high school party.

He wishes it would be Andi’s party’s in middle school, him and his friends dancing, smiling in the moment, forgetting their problems for one night and coming together to get lost in the music.

But the reality was, while Cyrus knew the beauty of a party, he also knew the side effects of a high school one.

Alcohol.

He wouldn’t admit it, especially to Tj, but the thought of drinking, people being drunk, it terrified him.

Not the cheery, good times, just two drinks kind of occasion, that seemed just fine to him.

But the drink a whole bottle of vodka, getting into fights, puking on the bathroom tiles the next day situation did not seem appealing to him.

Nor did he want Tj in that situation.

And that’s why they were fighting, that’s why Cyrus was standing with his hands crossed, trying to look as intimidating as he could to convince Tj to stay in with him that Friday night.

But Tj was set on this party.

“Come on it will be fun, I promise”

“You can’t keep promises like that when you’re drunk, Tj.”

“I promise you we don’t have to drink, let’s just have fun, Cyrus” He said, slightly mocking him by using his name in the same manner Cyrus had used his own right before.

This back and fourth banter had been occurring for a few minutes, and neither of them were set on changing their opinion anytime soon.

“What if you get hurt, what if someone peer pressures you to drink and you end up fighting someone. What if someone else fights you? What if the cops show up and we get arrested and you can never play basketba-“

“You’re rambling, underdog.”

Cyrus softly took Tj’s hand, in an effort to persuade his boyfriend into agreeing with him, but also for comfort.

“I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“And I won’t, which is why-“

“We will be staying in and watching ocean documentaries all night, my place?” Cyrus smiled, assuming his planned work and Tj finally listened to his cries.

“I was gonna say we should go get ready cause the party starts in an hour.” Tj said, feeling defeated.

“Why Tj, why do you want to go so bad? So you can get drunk and not remember anything? What’s so cool about that” Cyrus’s mood started to shift, yet he was nervous to show Tj any emotion that wasn’t love, affection, and support.

They couldn’t have their first big fight, Cyrus thought to himself, not over something this minuscule.

“Because it’s the party to kick off the basketball season, my first season as the only freshman on varsity” Tj stated, putting emphasis on the word ‘only’

“And what, you need to do this to fit in? Tj you already have proved your spot on the team, everyone knows how amazing you are” He slightly smiled, and if he wasn’t so angry at Tj his smile would be much wider.

“They don’t accept me cause I’m younger, I just want to fit in- god cyrus why is this so hard for you to understand” Tj didn’t mean to sound aggressive. He hated when he grew mad at Cyrus, he hated the thought of the ‘old Tj’ coming back, even for a slight second. And when he heard his voice, the way he spoke to Cyrus in that moment, he became scared of himself.

“Why don’t you just listen to me Tj, do you even know who’s house your going to, who’s gonna be there, what’s gonna be there, are parents going to be home? These are upperclassmen? We haven’t even been to a freshman part-“

“And here we go again.” Tj let out a sigh, half admiration for how cute Cyrus was when he babbled on, half anger for him not understanding his side of things.

“You’re starting to sound like my mom,” Tj quickly said, lightly laughing, before Cyrus could start talking again.

“I’m just trying to protect you!” He exclaimed, his voice filled with more anger and force than he possibly wanted.

But Tj didn’t know that. He took it as anger and force, and used it right back, while slowly taking his hand away from Cyrus’s grip.

“Well don’t. I don’t need your protection.” He said, his voice colder than he wanted it to be.

But Cyrus didn’t know that.

“Then go to the party then Tj, just don’t call when it doesn’t end up going your way” Cyrus said, walking away. He walked as fast as he could, trying to get out of the park as quickly as he could to prevent any chance of him running into Tj’s arms and immediately apologizing.

He could hear Tj yelling his name, begging for them to make amends, but he ignored every last one, even if deep down, he didn’t want to.

He was mad, really mad. But he still cared about Tj more than he has ever cared about anything. And that’s what scared him the most. Not their first big fight, not that Tj might possibly never talk to him again. No, it was the fact that he possibly might of hurt Tj, or worse, that Tj might get hurt that night, that’s what left a few tears trickling down his eyes.

———

11:50 p.m.

Cyrus had been checking his phone, non stop, feeling as addicted to it as Amber was.

He tried to get his mind off Tj, putting on the Tv, trying to read a book, even a documentary about Dinosaurs.

However, none of those remedies helped his pain.

All he could think about was what he said to Tj, and what Tj could possibly be doing at that moment.

‘Showering’ he thought to himself, maybe taking a shower would cure the turmoil in his thoughts, at least make his inner voice less loud in the moment.

But as he reached to check his phone one last time, he got a call from Amber.

This can’t be good.

Reluctantly, he picked it up, scared for the news that might be on the over side of the phone.

“I’m closing at the Spoon tonight and I won’t get out of work for another hour but Tj just called and I need you to pick him up from a party” Amber spoke so quickly she dared to breathe in between her words. Cyrus had never heard someone talk so fast, so worried.

“I don’t know if Tj would want that, we-“

“Had a fight, I know, but Cyrus my little brother is puking in some random kids bathroom, please do me this one favor, baby taters on me tomorrow?”

Puking. Tj. Party.

All his fears quickly became a reality. It hit him like a truck, he quickly stood up with determination to find his boyfriend and take care of him. He was furious, his whole body filled with rage, sadness. But he wasn’t going to let his emotions stop him from going to Tj and giving him all the comfort he needed.

“What if he doesn’t-“

“Cyrus. My brothers a dumbass, I think we all can agree on that. But if there’s one thing that kid knows, It’s that he cares about you. And he needs you right now, so for me, please.”

Amber continued to convince him, but Cyrus didn’t need persuasion this time.

“Send me the address, I’m there.”

And with a quick text from Amber, Cyrus began his walk to take his boyfriend home.

——-

He hadn’t really throughly thought through his plan. He didn’t know what kind of state Tj was in, if he could walk back to his house in one piece.

What he did know was he was finally going to see what a high school party was like.

He could hear the music coming out of the house he stood in front of, shocked it hadn’t been shut down.

He was so nervous to walk in, intimidated by what may lay behind those doors, but he was suddenly there, standing in the party.

And it was not like he would imagine.

Sure, there was dancing, music, teens making out in every corner. But it wasn’t as romanticized as the films he had previously watched. There were teens talking, slurring their words, people who would clearly would be puking soon laying on the couch, laughing hysterically. But there was dancing, lots of sloppy, drunk dancing. And Cyrus admired that, how free they seemed.

But his thoughts quickly turned back to more important matters, where this bathroom was.

He was lucky everyone was drunk enough, preoccupied enough to not notice a random stranger walk in the front door. He tested his luck with that one, and didn’t dare test it again to ask someone where this bathroom was. So he searched, up and down, when he finally found his boyfriend, sitting on the floor of the bathroom, his head resting on his hands as he sat, using the toilet as a pillow.

“Hey, don’t get mad, I’m just here to see if you’re okay and bring you home” Cyrus said softly, not wanting to scare the blonde boy.

“You came! Amber told me you were on your way, I thought she was lying.” he said, before admiringly exclaiming “you’re really pretty.”

“Of course I came. But no time for compliments, time to get you home.” The anger he had for Tj increases as he saw the state he was in. He looked so pale, so sweaty, so weak. It was a side of him Cyrus never saw.

Cyrus was just relieved to see no sign of a black eye.

“I’m sorry” Tj apologized, as Cyrus helped him stand up for the first time in an hour. He felt dizziness and nausea through his whole body. He fell back down to the ground, and went right back into his previous position

“No standing up right now.” Tj crossed his arms, looking like a toddler who didn’t get their way.

“I’m sorry” those words left Tj’s mouth for a second time, another time where Cyrus refused to respond.

He didn’t know how to answer.

And when he didn’t answer, Tj repeated the words “I’m sorry” over. And over. And over.

Cyrus finally caved in.

“It’s okay, we can talk in the morning”

“I wanna talk now!” Tj insisted, as Cyrus noticed the spot of vomit covering the floor. He grimaced at the sight, but knew he had to stay strong. For Tj.

“Thelonious Jagger-“

“You don’t dare use my full name!” Cyrus laughed at how shocked he was when he used his full name, for the first time since he had told it to him.

If Tj could break a promise, he could, just this once, too.

“Thelonious. This is what I didn’t want, I didn’t want you getting drunk and puking all over a strangers bathroom! Why would you do this Tj, you know better. At least I thought you did.” Cyrus stopped his voice from getting loud and angry this time. It was silent as Cyrus reluctantly cleaned it up. ‘Only for Tj’ he thought to himself.

“I promise” he said, a wave of nausea hitting him before he could continue his next words. When he got control of himself again, he began to speak, as Cyrus stayed silent until he knew Tj was done speaking. “I promise I wasn’t going to drink at first. But then we fought and I just wanted to forget all about it. The thought of us fighting, worse- of us breaking up, I couldn’t handle it. All I could see was your cute, cute face in my mind” Cyrus could feel the emotions in Tj’s slurred words, and he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy drunk Tj’s words about him. Even if they had been dating for months, Cyrus got butterflies everytime the other boy complimented him.

“You did this because of m-“

“ I’m not finished!” Tj would be yelling if he had it in him to. “I’m sorry Cy, I know how much you didn’t want this. I did it to forget what happened. I know me, big scary basketball guy, scared to feel actual emotions, shocking!” Tj’s little laughs, his intoxicating behavior. It was too cute for Cyrus to not admire.

“It’s okay Tj. I’m sorry I made you so upset you thought you had pull something as stupid and idiotic as this. But that doesn’t mean drinking so much you puke your brains out! I trusted you.”

“You don’t trust me anymore?” He looked up at Cyrus with the cutest puppy dog eyes, so cute that the anger inside Cyrus started to go away.

“After this? Not really” he shrugged, trying so hard not to argue with Tj.

“So you’re breaking up with me?”

“No, of course not” Tj was currently playing with Cyrus’s hair as he sat next to him on the disgusting floor. Tj definitely owed him a lifetime supply of cuddles. And Amber owed him a life time supply of baby taters.

“But you can’t do this, you can’t drink this much. You could’ve gotten more hurt, I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.” Cyrus had to contain his emotions, as he felt himself on the verge of tears. “I forgive you Tj, I won’t forget this, but I will forgive you. Now come on let’s get you home”

Cyrus helped the taller boy up with every inch of strength he had in his body. They began to walk home, as Tj stumbled, swinging Cyrus’s hand that he held up and down dramatically and badly singing lyrics to random 80’s songs.

They finally arrived at Tj’s house, and luckily his parents were not home from their date night yet, or else Tj would of had two other people to worry about being mad at him.

Cyrus picked out pajamas for Tj to wear, shamelessly the ones he thought looked cutest on the boy, and prepared to say goodbye. As Tj began to fall asleep, Cyrus kissed his forehead, and began to walk away, being stopped as he heard three very unfamiliar words from his boyfriend’s mouth

“I love you, Underdog.”

Those words.

Those words hurt.

All the emotions of the day hit Cyrus at once, like a rollercoaster at full force.

They had never said those words before.

“I love you too, but you’re drunk, if you remember, tell me in the morning.”

———

And at 10:36 the next morning, Cyrus got a text from a, extremely hungover, Tj, saying

“I love you, Underdog, thank you for last night. Sorry I was such a mess.”

and Cyrus spent the whole morning with the boy he loved, googling random hangover cures and eating baby taters Amber had brought to him, as promised.

#andi mack #tyrus #tyrus fanfic #oneshot #listen this is my first fanfic ik its bad pls let me live !#im trying #of course i had to sprinkle some kippen siblings in there HAHHAH #my BRAND!#hope u enjoy :)))))#amhsoneshots

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bobasheebaby · 5 years

Text

In My Veins- Be Careful What You Wish For chapter 3

Pairing: Drake x MC; (past) Liam x MC

Written for @badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Choices (The Royal Heir Book)

Square filled: food/drink tampering

Word count: 2,100

Warnings: deceit, manipulation, threats, evil Liam

Summary: Stress is felt.

A/N: A huge thank you to @sirbeepsalot for all of her help and advice and being an ever patient sounding board. (MoE thanks DoE as well.) In My Veins by Andrew Allen is the song inspiration.

Series warnings: Evil Liam, dark!fic, deceit, manipulation, dub con, possible NSFW content, possible character death. This is taking the Liam from TRH to the extreme, he is not the Liam we know and love. By clicking read more you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters, I’m simply borrowing from PB for a bit.

“Allen, Rebecca, I wish you’d listen to me.” God I could use a drink. Why did I suggest I not drink in solidarity before we got pregnant. Drake ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

Rebecca’s sapphire eyes flashed with anger. “Listen to you? Like I listened to you when you said we had to name our child Liam’s heir because we owed him? Haven’t you given up enough for him? Done enough for him? Will I or our child be first in your eyes? Or will you always put him first out of some twisted sense of duty?”

“That’s not fair, you and our child will always come first!”

Liam stopped in the doorway. They are fighting already, perfect. Soon she’ll be coming to me for support.

“Really? Were you thinking about us when you agreed without talking to me?”

“We’ve been over this Allen! I’m sorry I didn’t discuss it with you first, I should have.”

“What if he says the baby has to grow up at the palace? Would you just blindly agree?”

“Liam would never ask that. But of course I would say no!”

“Okay.” Rebecca sighed. “You need to stop feeling guilty. You didn’t steal me from him.”

“I know I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “I’m just so frustrated.” She blinked back tears. “I know it takes time, but I don’t understand why it’s not happening.”

Drake took her hands. “It will happen. And when it does you will be an excellent mother.”

“I just wish it would happen already,”

Liam cleared his throat from the doorway, announcing his presence.

Drake and Rebecca turned in surprise. “Hey Li, we weren’t expecting to see you today.” Drake awkwardly greeted Liam with a forced smile as he joined him and Rebecca in the solarium. How much did he hear?

“I was passing by on my way home from business in the neighboring duchy and thought I’d see my favorite couple and see how you are doing.” He looks well, doesn't seem to have lost any weight, no hair loss, maybe I’m not using enough… “I brought you another bottle of your new favorite.” He held up the bottle of whiskey.

“Oh.” Drake swallowed. Crap all his gifts. “I haven’t been drinking.” He grabbed Rebecca’s hand over the table. “In solidarity, since she can’t drink just Incase.”

“As I told you Drake, I don’t care if you have a drink or too.”

Well that explains it. “Well since your wife doesn’t seem to mind, perhaps you can join me in a nightcap? One drink a night never hurt you.” I’ll just have to up the dose.

“He’d love to.” Rebecca vacated her seat, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Night. I love you.” She headed towards the door. “Goodnight Liam, try to convince him to loosen up.”

Liam forced a smile as he felt a tinge in his heart. “I’ll see what I can do. Goodnight Rebecca.” My love, queen of my heart and soon my rightful queen. “So should I pour us one?”

Drake hesitated, watching his wife’s retreating form. I really need one tonight. “You know what, you’re right, what harm will one drink do?”

“Excellent.” Yes drink, be merry, leave me your grieving wife to consol. “So how have you two been doing?” He asked setting down Drake’s whiskey, sitting across from him.

Drake arched his brow. “Since when do you drink scotch neat?”

Liam smiled as he brought the glass to his lips. “I don’t mind it now and then.” And I needed to be able to tell the drinks apart. Wouldn’t want to get the wrong one.

Drake nodded as he sipped his whiskey, relishing in the smooth burn in his throat. “It’s been okay, I just worry the stress is getting to her. She’s so tired and irritable, but every month the test is negative.” He shook his head. “I just feel like we’re letting you down.”

Liam sat his glass on the table. “You’re doing no such thing. Sometimes these things take time. Is the doctor worried?”

“No, not yet. She said the same thing as you.” He nervously ran a hand through his chestnut locks. “I just thought it’d happen by now.”

“It will happen Drake, when it’s meant to.” And it’ll be my rightful heir when it does.

“You’re right Li, thanks. Now enough of the baby stuff.”

Liam grinned to himself as he navigated the corridors to his royal chambers. One drink turned into more than half the bottle, for Drake. They don’t suspect a thing. Soon she will know she chose the wrong man. He felt his mind wander, taking him back to the day he first felt his heart crack, when he first realized he would do anything to regain her heart.

“Marry me.” Liam’s words hung heavy in the air, his smile wide with hope and joy.

Rebecca looked down at Liam, blue eyes shining with unshed tears. Liam smiled up at her, moved by her emotions. “I—I think I love someone else.”

Liam’s jaw dropped, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach. But what about? The ring slipped from his grasp, falling into the grass. Where did we go wrong? “Who?” His voice cracking as his kingly demeanor slipped.

Rebecca shook her head, her golden blonde hair shimmering like gold in the moonlight, any other time it would feel like a beautiful sign, a good omen. Today it felt like it was a cruel joke played on him by the gods. “It doesn’t matter.”

Liam carefully stood from the grass, his mother’s ring momentarily forgotten. Last time we were here she was talking about love at first sight and soulmates. All that mattered in that moment was what he lost and if there was anything he could do to prevent it. “It must be recent if I’m just hearing about it now.” His voice took on a biting edge. “I just want to know what happened since Paris when we placed our lock on the bridge. Since Shanghai when we went to the pond. I need to know what I did wrong to lose you now when we can finally be together.”

“Liam please. Don’t do this.” Her voice cracked, tears streaming down her porcelain cheeks.

His mind raced. He needed to know who took her away from him. Who has she been close with? “Maxwell?”

“Liam.” She pleaded.

She’s been close with Hana since the start… “Hana?”

“Liam, please stop.” She sobbed.

Only one name left. Please not him. Anyone but the man I’ve always considered a brother. “Drake?” Her head dropped forward, he felt his heart shatter in his chest. His jaw tensed and his hand curled into a fist. “Does he feel the same?” If he doesn’t we may still have a chance.

“Yes.” Her voice but a whisper, nearly lost in the wind.

Liam nodded, trying to pull himself back together. How could he do this to me? This night was supposed to be one full of joy and somehow it turned to one full of turmoil worse than the night he’d had to choose Madeline. “Did you ever mean it?”

She looked up, tearfilled sapphire blue locking on heartbroken chestnut brown. “Mean what?”

“What you said, that you loved me.” Why can’t I just drop it? Because I need to know. Was she simply playing me for a fool or did she mean it when she said we were fated?

“Of course.” She took a breath. “Maybe part of me still does, but you didn’t choose me when it mattered most.”

Liam looked down, trying to bury his anger and sadness, pulling back on his kingly facade. “Okay.” He nodded. “I would still like to name you Duchess.” Drake doesn’t want this life, he’ll back off. And this way you will see who you’re better suited for. If I keep you close I can regain your love, and once again possess your heart. “I know you would do so much good for the duchy I chose for you.” He paused. Act supportive. “Both you and Drake would both do so much good for them. I would hate for them to lose out simply because you fell out of love with me.”

“Liam...” She sighed shaking her hair, the glittering gold strands flying in the breeze. “I didn’t, you just didn’t fight hard enough for me.”

“Liam.” Her sharp voice cracked through the halls like a whip, breaking him from his thoughts, sending him spiraling back to the present.

“Olivia.” He turned giving her a tired smile. “I didn’t realize you were returning from Lythikos, I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

Olivia laughed. “Yes well, we need to talk and you’ve been ignoring my messages so I thought I’d come and see you in person.” Her tone tinged with agitation.

“Can it wait until morning?”

“It could, however you’ve worn down my patience.”

Liam sighed, eyes quickly darting in the direction of his royal chambers. “Let’s head to my study.” There’s only one woman I want to invite back there.

Olivia rolled her emerald eyes. “Fine.” Her heels clicked loudly on the polished marble floors, the sharp and shrill sound echoing through the halls of the silent palace.

Liam unlocked the door pushing it open. “After you.”

Olivia entered, crossing the room, taking a seat on the couch. “We need to talk.”

“So you said. What is this about Liv?”

“Sit.” Her tone strong and commanding.

Liam arched his brow, grabbing one of the chairs at his desk flipping it around. He sat with his hands folded in his lap.

“You need an heir.”

Liam chuckled. Where is she going with this? “I already have one, or will soon.” As soon as Rebecca sees she chose the weaker man. “I named Drake and Rebecca’s child, remember?”

“I remember.” She drummed her perfectly manicured French tips on her thigh. “I don’t understand why you put so much pressure on them when you had other options.”

“What options? I’m a single king without any prospects for a queen.” I would have a queen if Drake hadn’t stolen her from me!

Olivia’s features clouded briefly. “Me.” She straightened her back. “I could give you an heir by blood. You know I’d never say no to you.”

“Liv, I appreciate the offer but I won’t have a political marriage.” I didn’t expect you to want one after what your parents did.

“I said give you an heir, not marry me Liam. I’m being pragmatic about it. I know you don’t love me, and I can’t marry until I figure out how to get out of that damn agreement; but you need an heir and I’m willing to help.” She smiled. “Think about it, a child of Rhys and Nevrakis blood, no one would dare cross them.”

Liam fought to keep his kingly stoicism in place as the anger heated in his veins. There is only one woman I want to sire my heir. “You seem to be forgetting about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Legitimacy. A child of my blood would have to be proved legitimate. Since you can’t marry and I have no intentions of a political marriage, any child we would have would be unable to ascend the throne.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Her voice hardened as anger consumed her. “You know that’s an old rule that never gets enforced any longer just like your bullshit ‘I’m allowed to appoint a newborn of noble lineage’ excuse. You and I both know that rule hasn’t been used in over a hundred years and that you could appoint anyone of any age.” She stood up abruptly, in that moment she reminded him of a raging fire ready to engulf anything in its wake. “I don’t know why you insist on following that archaic law, or why you need to have her child as your heir. You are making it impossible to happen, they are under too much pressure and stress. It’s been months.” Any kindness on her face was gone, anger and hate taking its place. “I was simply making a suggestion to make it easier, give you a backup plan as you would.” She stormed to the door, wrenching the door open, the flurry of red silk only reminding him more of flames. “If you didn’t want Nevrakis blood on the throne, there were kinder ways to say it.” The slamming of the door vibrated around the room.

Olivia, please don’t become a problem, I would hate for you to become collateral damage.

Feedback fuels me, please like, comment reblog or send an ask. Feel free to scream, I promise I can take it.

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

Taglist will be reblogged.

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vegetacide · 5 years

Text

Whump●tober - Secret injuries

Veg-notables: This went in a direction I did not expect it to go.. As I woke up this morning inspiration hit me up the back of the head and I ended up rewriting the whole thing from a different perspective than I had intended. Scrapped over 1100 words as Kayo burst in the front door and demanded I write her instead of Scott and V… She can be rather scary and demanding..

Thanks @gumnut-logic for dealing with me filling your inbox through I know this is not what I originally sent you last night and well.. I am expecting various hard candies to be lobbed my way..

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning: Hospital room conversations, a little medical jargon and some emotional turmoil.

Characters: Kayo, Scott and a sleeping V.. yes he is out cold but only sleeping this time.

Whumptober - TaG’verse

Previous posts can be found HERE.

24.Secret Injuries

Enjoy…

oOo

When Kayo returned sometime later the room was quiet again, the only sound that of heart monitor and the ambient noise from the hallway through the door at her back. The shuffling of feet, the squeak of wonky wheel on an IV pole as it was pushed by, the laugh of a nurse.

Despite the lightening of the mood, the lessening of the dread that pulled the family down there was still a lick of something hanging like a fine gossamer shroud over everything. An inkling of apprehension that tickled up the back of her neck and had her checking blind spots and exits out of habit.

Drawing in a deep breath to calm her nerves, Kayo crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the thick wood paneling of the rooms only egress. Taking in the now familiar space and its two occupants with a critical eye.

A top-notch ICU room with all the bells and whistles that money could buy. Temperature controlled, recessed linear circadian optic lighting, drone docks hidden away behind remotely accessed ceiling panels, an alphabet worth of med scanners and monitor, heated gels filled bio-bed with anti-grav capabilities, the works. Helped that the family had made several large anonymous donations over the years.

If the donations had been anything but anonymous Kayo was pretty sure there would be a wing with the Tracy name on it but the Tracy’s weren’t the type to flaunt their charitable endeavors. Stroking egos was the last thing on their minds, their only goal was to save lives in anyway they could so they used their money. Considering they had enough to buy a small country several times over, the hospital had benefited greatly from their generosity.

Now the Tracy’s were benefiting for their own kindness and they had a fleet of some of the world’s top Doctors to go along with it which she was eternally grateful for.

Virgil; the man whom she had come inexplicable entangled with, was asleep again. Propped up amongst bleach white pillows and snoring softly. Her eyes instinctively watched his chest, counter the length of the rise and fall of his chest, the tightness in her own loosening as the information in her head computed back as safe, alive, still with her. Thank God.

She noted randomly that the bed had been adjusted, most likely in an attempt to alleviate the discomfiture he had been experience since rousing from his coma, that he was trying and failing miserably at hide from her. She was well acquainted with his penchant to spare those around him from worry but really, after everything that had happened?.. Men.

Shaking her head at her other half, she turned her attention to Scott.

He sat hunched over close by, eyes distant as he stared off at the middle distance in deep thought. Elbows braced on his knees, hands rubbing worriedly between his thighs as if trying to wipe something off them.

Kayo narrowed in on the movement, her mind conjuring up scenarios and only dark things came to mind as the bruised knuckles finally registered. She’d missed that in the drama of her world coming unhinged at the seams.

She pushed away from the door, stepped further into the room and Scott’s eyes finally shifted to her. No surprise on his expression at seeing her there. He hadn’t acknowledged her upon entry but he’d known she was there.

“The blockers are helping enough.” His voice though soft, was heavy with emotion but Kayo didn’t comment on it.

“I know.” She replied coming up the end of the bed and resting her hand on one of Virgil’s covered feet. A physical act of reassurance she couldn’t explain but viscerally needed.

“His speech..” He started and couldn’t seem to finish.

“I know, Doctor’s said there could be some neurological damage from the cerebral edema. He has no idea he is slurring or muddling up some of his words but it’s gotten better since he woke up. Swelling is still going down.”

Scott’s head bobbed up and down once. “Nurse came by.”

“I ran into her just outside, she filled me in. The neurologist will be by in a bit, she’s just getting out of surgery..” Kayo stopped, unsure if she should continue or not. Scott wasn’t doing so well and she didn’t want to burden him more. He already blamed himself for GlobalMax.

She needn’t had hesitated though, Scott already knew.

“They keep checking his pupil response every time they come in.”

Kayo closed her eyes, a despondent weight settling over her. The news she had secretly been dreading, fears that she had been right about voiced and confirmed by Scott with his concerned words.

“Did he say anything to you?” She asked, knowing that if Virgil hadn't told her about his sight the chances were slim that he would have mentioned it to Scott.

“Not a peep but I suspected as much. The Doctors did warn us.” Scott looked down, rubbed once more at his battered fists, flicked his glance at the growing medi-chart that hung off the end of the bed.

Kayo watched Scott worry away at his hands, his apprehension tightening his shoulders, distorting his usually impeccable posture. “Have you put any ice on those?” She queried, shock spearing through his eyes as they shot up to hers.

She leaned on the bed by Virgil’s feet, hands in her lap playing with loose thread of her sweater. “He might not be able to see the damage, Scott but I certainly can.” She waited a beat, “So can the others, mind you they won’t ask but they’re worried about you and so am I.”

Something flashed in his eyes at that, something she hadn’t seen in a long time as his vibrant blue gaze jetted up to hers and skittered away again.

Her own pulse kicked at the look but it was an instant only. Something that would never be followed through on or explored. It was from a childish youth years before she knew the truth of her adult self. The strength of her feelings for the sleeping man quietly snoring at her back. His leg resting against her spine, residual heat from his fading fever radiating through her clothing and warming her skin.

Had she known then what she did now, that wellspring of youthful emotion would have fizzled to non-existence but that was the journey of life. To experience its highs and it lows, and to see how far one could go in either direction without breaking or succumbing. She'd found her peak, the pinnacle of her high and it was interwoven intricately with the mind behind loving, steady, sable brown eyes.

Scott's athletic shoulders shrugged, not as wide as his brothers but just as able in a rescue. They carried many a burden, had sagged slightly under pressure but held firm time and again to whatever life threw at them. This time though she wasn't too sure as doubt glossed over their resilience, maybe this time it would be too much.

"You really should get them tended." She was well versed in the pain he was most likely experiencing having had her fair share of tussles over the years. Some she'd won, some she'd lost but the pain in one's hands was always the same. Bone deep and achy.

"I will..just…". His attention turned to Virgil. Scott hadn't left his side since his return from wherever he had disappeared to but Kayo had her suspicions. The haunted look in his eyes told her plenty.

"Scott," Kayo put a hand in his jumping knee, the one she was sure he hadn't been aware danced up and down when he was overly tired and distraught. It stopped its mad jitter, his piercing blue turned back to her. "When was the last time you slept?"

He'd comforted her during her time of need, now it was her turn to do the same in whatever small way he would allow. She knew it was hard for him to admit needing it, a task usually delegated to Virgil to suss out but he wasn’t up to it and it would be sometime before he would be.

"I'm doing okay, Tin". A childhood name, one seldom used and a testament to Scott’s current troubled mind.

"No, you're not."

His eyes shifted to the hand still on his knee and she lifted it, tucked it into the crook of her arm as she folded them again across her chest.

“I have to be.” For his family, for the commander he was forced to be in the absence of their Father.

"Grandma was asking after you, maybe you should go and see her. She’s gotten antsy since the Doctor’s veto’ed her access to force her to rest.” Kayo tipped her head towards the door. “I wont leave him.”

“She made you come in here to get me, didn’t she?” He knew the woman well.

Kayo’s lips perked, “You know Grandma, always looking after her boys.” She stood, offered Scott a hand. “It was either me or TI security and a tranq’ gun. I figured I was the better option.”,

Scott snorted, “You figured right since I could fire them all.” He took her hand, groaned as she dragged him up to his feet.

He stood in front of her a moment, close and she caught a whiff of his aftershave so different from Virgil’s but so Scott. An awkward beat and she stepped back swinging out her arm to gesture towards the door dramatically. “After you.”

A slight uptick of a smile, a flash of dimples before a quick glance over to his supine sibling. “You’re right.” He said as he stepped past her, long legs eating up the short distance.

He stopped at the door, back to her still. “Kayo…?”

“Yes?” Her fingers combing through Virgil’s hair, brushing the tangled mess back from his pale brow.

“..nevermind..” and Scott was gone, the door swinging shut quietly in his wake.

Not all injuries were visible but they hurt all the same.

oOo

Next post can be found HERE

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE

#whumptober2019 #whumptober #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fanfic #no.24 #secret injury #Kayo Kyrano #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #virgil/kayo #unrequited feelings #the prompt made me do it

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marsupials-of-mars · 5 years

Text

Coping (We Like Girls)

Thomas stood at a filthy counter in the middle of a poorly lit house. How he'd gotten himself into a house party was a cliche narrative and a poor life choice. He took a sip of his incredibly non-alcoholic drink and tried to block out the noise. Before long he felt a hand grab his arm.

"Hey Thomas, cmon we're playing spin the bottle! You coming or are you chicken?"

Thomas scoffed, ignoring his heart beating immediately faster it was something to do, and it felt more cool and spontaneous than standing around waiting for the party to end.

"Hell yeah, I can do cool things!" He was led to a group of high school friends in a circle around a card table. He scoped out the girls, though it was mostly guys, less than a one to three ratio. He focused on Lisa, a girl hed decided to respond with whenever he found himself in a discussion about crushes. She was a pretty redhead with a sweet voice and Thomas always enjoyed hanging out around her just to hear her talk, and not to mention sing. She had the voice of a Disney princess though she ironically seemed to always play the villain in the school's musicals. There were a couple more popular girls around the table but he hoped for her.

"Well, as the initiator..." The kid who had pulled him into the situation spoke. "I've got the first spin!" Thomas barely knew the guy, he talked to him in a couple classes. Robin, or something. He was sweaty like everyone at the party, the tacky and again, cliche, rainbow fairy lights lit up his face, only drawing more attention to the glisten. He was drunk, obviously, like more than half the people there. His almond brown skin and thick veil of black curls helped him gracefully meld into the night life scene while Thomas stuck out like a sore thumb, pale and sober.

He watched as Robin took the bottle and spun it, jokingly pretending to reach out to stop it when it passed a cute girl. It ended up landing on a senior, a tall, lanky guy Thomas had seen winning track awards every year. They laughed and made crude remarks, gagging sounds. The circle chanted, beating their thighs in unison and bursting out in laughter when lips met lips. Thomas looked away. The two pulled apart, track kid spitting and wiping his mouth on his sleeve and Robin mock flirting and taking a bow. Thomas pulled a knee to his chest.

A few more turns transpired, every girl on guy gutting a chorus of whistles and teasing, every girl on girl getting risky remarks from the guys, and every guy on guy being met with jeers and mocking laughter. Thomas was about ready to stand to leave when he saw the bottle land, neck pointing to him.

A blonde, a recognizable good friend of Lisa, and two grades above him. His face flushed and he leaned in awkwardly. She clasped her hands on the sides of his face and pecked him quicky, but long enough for Thomas to know it happened. She tasted like cheap lip gloss. He forced a smile over his mess of anxiety. She winked as the circle once again roared with excitement. That wasn't so bad.

Thomas had started to return to his seat when he remembered that he had the next spin. He took the bottle in a shaky hand and spun, praying for Lisa, good ole Lisa.

The bottle slowed, swooping, teetering back and forth with the uneven setoff. It landed. Thomas's eyes traced the neck of the bottle to his challenge. Dark brown eyes stared at him through a mess of stray black curls. Robin smirked. The blood rushed to Thomas's face. He watched Robin stalk, catlike, to the center of the circle. He once again felt his face taken in a pair of hands, but Robin's were less tactful. They gripped him by the nape of his neck and he was pulled in, for far more than a peck. He felt Robin's hair brush his shoulders, heavy and sturdy like the rest of him. The taste of lip shimmer on Thomas's lips was overridden by that of a badly concocted gatorade screwdriver. Strangely when considering the dynamic, Robin was the first to pull away.

"You're good at that." He smirked as the circle spat mockery.

"Th..." Thomas stared a moment before promptly turning and leaving the circle, leaving the living area, and barricading himself in the hallway bathroom.

~~~

Roman blinked rapidly as a rush of something wonderful flooded him. He beamed and shot upright, ducking into the sides usual meeting area. He summoned them quickly, Patton, Logan, and squealed.

"Now Roman, I felt something too but we gotta use our words!" Patton seemed almost equally giddy, fiddling with the hemming of his sweater vest.

"Love! Love is blossoming! I knew it was coming, Logan didnt I tell you I knew we'd get there?!"

"You have indeed informed me of your hopes many times and every time I've agreed, but count it as a win if it assures you stop doing all of...that." Logan motioned to Roman's fighting stance/happy dance.

"Cmon Logan, let him do his little victory hop, you know he gets excited!"

"So to my understanding you're both rather happy about this? Not what I'd expect in such a situation."

"A situation like love? Of course we're happy, our kiddo is growing up and onward, why wouldnt we be happy? Now who's the lucky gal?!" Patton looked to Logan expectantly.

"Ah..." Logan adjusted his glasses. "Now I understand the lack of concern. Have neither of you looked?"

"Why would we be concerned, Isaac No-fun? Love is blind! We love without looking!"

"Oh..." Patton made a sound similar to gashing open a beach ball. Utter defeat. Roman looked over in confusion.

"What? You too?!"

"Roman..." Patton seemed both disappointed and terrified. "You need to look."

Roman groaned and closed his eyes, letting the current Thomas events wash over him. Recent memories. He let them play out, grinning excitedly when he saw a pretty blonde senior lean in for a kiss.

"She's so pretty! Why are we upse... " he wrinkled his brow. Something wasn't clicking. No rush of wonder. She wasn't the one. He continued to watch, the second spin. The feeling washed over him again, pulsing, his throat went dry and he shook his head. Dark brown eyes, firm hands. He ducked out of the images. "Well something isn't right then!!!" He looked back to Patton and Logan with panic flooding his demeanor.

"Indeed something isn't!" He felt arms wrap his shoulders and a face by his. "But isn't that a lot more fun than some girl?"

Roman growled and wrestled his way out of his brother's grip.

"YOU! This is you isn't it?!"

"Me?" Remus stroked his chin. "What's me?"

"Roman's right! You did something awful to Thomas, didn't you!? Cut it out young man, it's not funny!" Patton's face was bright red with a mix of fury and panic.

"You're all the gross, lusty, icky, unwelcome thoughts, how could this not be you!?" Roman shoved his brother. Remus giggled knowingly.

"I may be, I may be. Can't say I'm not jazzed about this hunk of a specimen, did you feel those hands?! I wouldnt mind feeling em a bit more if we're going into it." He bit his lip and rolled his shoulders. Puberty was making him an absolute monster.

"So you ADMIT IT!" Roman jabbed a finger at Remus's face. "Our CULPRIT!" Roman looked to Logan for confirmation, only to be met with a subtle head shake.

"Remus is admitting to being lust. Was what you felt purely lustful?" He gently guided Roman's train of thought.

"Well..." He looked at Patton, who was gripping his chest as if to squeeze the emotion out of it, his eyes wide, softly mumbling to himself. Roman's eyes drifted down in thought, then up to a grinning Remus.

"I do the 'gross' thoughts... and you do the romance! Remember?"

"It's NOT! ROMANCE!" Roman tackled his twin to the ground, enduring bites and hair pulling before he dealt his own blows.

"BOYS! NO FIGHTING! We have enough problems already!!!" Patton choked out over his turmoil.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!" A low distorted voice bellowed from across the room. All heads turned and the room froze. Anxiety stood panting, his hood pulled far over his face and his hands hidden, bundled and crossed in his sleeves. He glared gut twisting daggers from shadowed eyes, though the rest of his demeanor was rather unintimidating. He swallowed his panicked outbursts, shaking. He stalked stiffly, every muscle tensed, up to the group. "What's HAPPENING to us?!

"What does it LOOK like genius?!" Roman shoved Remus off of him.

Logan nodded somberly. "It now seems possible with this newfound information... that we're more than likely homose-"

"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!" base distortion shook Thomas's mind, Virgil pressed his hands to his ears so tightly it seemed his head would burst. "WE ARE NOT!!!" He bit down on the cuff of his hoodie to control the rattling that disrupted the living space. At Thomas's joyful age of fifteen, Anxiety generally took the drivers seat despite his general reclusivness, making him all the more dangerous when it came to his meltdowns. He knew this, and of course, he hated the pressure. Despite their all being the same age, he was a child at this point, dependant, terrified, entirely unprepared to govern a life. So he did the only thing he could think to make them all feel better. "DECEIT!!!"

And he was summoned.

"Anxiety?!" He quickly located his friend and ran over, wrapping him in a hug, securing him, keeping him at ground level as his panic surged. "Shh... what's going on here?" He looked over Anxiety's shoulder to meet the light side's looks of uneasiness at his presence with a glare and a hiss.

"Deceit..." His voice broke. Now that Deceit was here he didn't bother keeping up his tough guy facade even if the others were looking at him. He knew he was safe. "Deceit?"

"Yes Anxiety? Take your time..."

"We... we like girls, right?" He looked at Deceit with a terrified, pleading, begging expression. He wanted to feel better. He needed to hear the words.

Deceit was silent for a while, looking at his best friend, someone he'd sworn to protect no matter what, who he'd never disappoint. He looked at the lights, all confused but waiting with bated breath. He pulled Anxiety tighter, letting him bury his wet face in his shoulder. He nodded.

"We like girls."

The room stopped shaking, slowing to a rattle then nothing. The statement wasnt spoken in a tone more emotional then if he'd said any other clear and obvious fact, but somehow it was loud, impactful, clear, understood. He felt Anxiety take a deep breath. The others looked amongst themselves, nodding.

"That... makes a lot more sense. To me. I think that makes sense for Thomas, doesnt it?" Patton smiled, fake, forcing himself to be convinced. He took Deceit's matter-of-fact statement as truth, the only truth. Roman nodded slowly, convinced as quickly as he could manage. Logan and Remus looked on, each with their own sort of disappointment as their hands tightened around their mouths.

Deceit took Remus's wrist, his other arm still wrapped tightly around a shaking Anxiety, and sank out. Logan let his hand down, but stayed silent.

Roman tightened his fists with a new resolve.

~~~

Thomas threw open the bathroom door, ignoring the odd looks. He hoped she was still there. He lit up when he found her, alone in the kitchen.

"Lisa!" She looked over and smiled.

"Thomas. What happened back there, you flaked out on us!"

"I was nervous."

Lisa giggled. "About what? Robin?"

"About you, I was nervous it would land on you, because..." Thomas averted his eyes from hers.

Lisa smiled, gripping her lip in her teeth as she began to understand his intentions.

"I like you." Thomas looked back up at her. "And here I am, trying not to be even more of a wuss, to ask if you want to hang out sometime."

She grinned. "Finally!" She leaned in and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, giving him his third kiss of the night.

~~~

Roman pumped his fist. "YES!" He felt something rush over him, some sort of love. He didnt care what kind. It was there, and it was for a girl, a really nice, pretty girl who loved theater and singing. It was perfect.

"Yes!" Pattons face was flushed with relief and exuberance. "My little boy!"

Logan was silent, watching with an unreadable expression.

Back with the darks, Deceit sat with Anxiety's head in his lap, petting his hair comfortingly. He was asleep. He needed it.

"You're okay." Deceit whispered to himself as much as his best friend. "I'll protect us."

Disclaimer: this is obviously character thomas in this, I do not claim to know @thatsthat24 s real experience.

I had a theory before the most recent video came out that it would be pride related, and about how the sides dealt with thomas's coming out, or realization of his sexuality. It didnt happen, so I decided to make it anyway but more angsty. This is also my current hc about what drove the divide in Deceit and Virgil's relationship. Deceit tried to protect Virgil through his developmental years but did so in an unhealthy way and ultimately hurt thomas to keep Virgil happy, and when virgil found out, he hated Deceit because it ultimately worsened his anxiety tenfold.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #fanfic #deceit sanders #virgil sanders

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years

Text

Chapter 13 - Come Sunday

I was in the back of an Uber on my way to the label when it came on the radio. I wasn’t really paying attention--more just mindlessly scrolling on my phone--when I heard words that sounded eerily familiar.

Hearing my songs on the radio wasn’t new--I’d grown used to hearing phrases that once felt intimate get cycled in and out of headphones, radios and stereos alike. But my mouth went a bit dry, though, when I realized that not only was this song mine and mine alone, but it was also on Capital FM.

One Direction had made it big, clearly. Their singles were on the most popular radio stations and played in every mall across the world. But my song, with a different artist, and not written with the help of four or five other people, this felt like a different accomplishment entirely.

I didn’t want to ask the driver to turn it up, so instead, I leaned forward and closed my eyes to listen more closely.

In aIl honesty, I hadn’t paid much attention to all of the meetings I’d had with Julian in the week since I’d been back from the States. I had signed on the dotted line like I always had--I’d get X percent, the label would get a different chunk, and a large piece to the artist(s).

I’d met the two girls, Bella & Rae--as they were calling themselves, and they felt like a good fit. They could produce harmonies that sounded chilling and beautiful at the same time, which definitely sounded better than my double tracks on protools.

But I hadn’t really prepared for the song to do this well. The group was new--they’d done some small tours around the U.K., mostly some songs they’d written and some covers. They were popular on the small club scene, and it almost felt safe to give my first solo song to them.

They weren’t huge--if the song was a flop, if they were a flop, no one would have to know.

Hearing the song I’d written on my couch about Harry over the speakers in my Uber felt as if people would know. Suddenly, what was once a private moment of uncertainty and heartache was suddenly public, accessible, and on the radio.

When the Uber pulled up to the label, I was surprised to see Julian waiting outside. I reached for the backpack I was bringing my computer in and gave him a wave as I climbed out.

“Hi,” I said, offering a smile as he stepped forward on the sidewalk to greet me. People rushed around us--it was a Friday afternoon, and the building we were heading into was sure to be buzzing with weekend-ready people.

“Have you seen the charts?” He asked, turning on his heel to join me as we headed for the door.

“For the song?”

“Yeah--Maggie, it’s number four.”

“Number four?” I asked, my mouth hanging for a second before I picked up my own jaw. It’s not like that song wasn’t any good--I mean, it was a good one. For some reason, though, I hadn’t expected my work to be so well received.

Writing for a big name like One Direction--even when they were getting started--provided a bit of a safety net. We knew they had a fan base. Even if they didn’t last long or if they weren’t a mega-success, there’d be a group of people from the X-Factor crowd that would definitely bring things home.

Bella & Rae--on the other hand--had no platform. They had a following of maybe thirty thousand on social media and most of their distribution before the label was through Soundcloud.

And all of that, more or less, meant that my song was making it, on its own, without the help of a big named star.

“I think it’s gonna be number one, Mags. There’s already been booking requests for Bella & Rae. I think they’re going to get an LP deal. They can’t not.”

Julian and I made our way into the lobby, my head still kind of floating from the news and the energy around us. It was a warm day--warmer for Spring, at least, and I couldn’t help but let my mind drift.

Should I ask Julian why he played the song for Harry? Should I ask him what they said about me? Should I ask him about Harry in general?

“But anyway, I’m meeting you out here because Peter Bouchard wants to meet with you. He really likes the song.”

“Peter Bouchard?” His name was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I didn’t meet with a lot of higher ups, maybe once in a while I’d deal with Mike--the Creative Director who seemed to have a knack for making me want to quit. That was, at least, until I got fired.

“He’s Mike’s boss.”

“Mike’s boss?”

Julian nodded, holding the elevator door open as we stepped inside. “He’s the one who gets to really make the final call about if the girls get an LP--Mike loves it, he’s totally on board.” The doors shut behind us, the elevator dinged to let us know it would fullfil our request to find the 17th floor.

“So why does he want to meet with me?” I asked, shifting my bag from one shoulder to another, suddenly nervous about the possible conversation. I couldn’t handle getting fired again. Twice in the span of twelve months? I’d be forced to move in with my parents just to deal with the emotional turmoil that would ensue.

“Dunno, Maggie, but Mike made it sound like it was good,” he could see the look on my face--the anxiety and the uncertainty that’d be sure to give me early wrinkles.

I didn’t reply. Instead, we stood in silence until the elevator dinged again, it’s doors opening to revolve a much nicer floor than the one with the writing rooms. We stepped off and I followed Julian down a carpeted hall--glass doors peered inside nice offices with dark wood desks and big apple computers.

He finally stopped in front of a door, turning the handle without warning to greet a man that I certainly recognized. He was old enough to be my father--gray hair on top of his head and a smile that seemed to make me only slightly less terrified.

“Maggie, come in, sit down,” he greeted, motioning to a chair opposite his desk. Julian landed in the one beside me, much more comfortable in Peter Bouchard’s presence than I was.

I slid into the seat, offering a small smile as I took inventory of my surroundings. A framed picture of three women--his wife and two daughters, presumably. A shelf of old vinyl lined the wall behind us--Peter was clad in a golf shirt, much less formal than I’d expect for Mike’s boss.

“We’re really glad that the song is having so much success--have you seen any of the numbers?”

I shook my head, looking over to Julian. I’d never seen any numbers for anything. I handed in my work, signed where I needed to, and got decent paychecks via direct deposit. I knew the percent of each song, each download, each album I’d be entitled to. I knew I signed away the rights to my songs when I started working with the label. They’d never really be mine again.

“Here,” Peter said, turning to his computer to open up the internet browser. He clicked open an email, typed in an address, and then shifted the monitor so Julian and I could see. “This is the live number of downloads from BPI. This is streaming numbers, so spotify, iTunes, the like,” he pointed at the screen, his number gracing over tiny zeros that lined up neatly.

“It’s number two now?” Julian asked, leaning forward to get a better look. “Jesus, Mags, even in the last half hour since I saw it it’s changed.”

I couldn’t help but smile--this felt much more personal than anything I’d written for One Direction or even for Harry. I’d written this song alone, it’d been born in my living room and it didn’t have a big name to ride on the coattails of.

Sure, I’d long been of the mindset that it was the writing skills of me and Chelsea and Kyle that really made the band what it had been. Take five good looking kids, slap them with good clothes and good hair, and sure, you’re bound to have some success. But if the music sucked, if the music was the same old simple pop that we’d poured out for the first album, they wouldn’t have lasted the way they did.

But then again, maybe there was a part of me that wondered if that was really true. Because here, in Peter Bouchard’s office, it felt incredibly reassuring to know that I could write good songs--successful songs, really--that did fine enough on their own without the name of the world’s most popular boy band.

“The reason I wanted to meet with you, Maggie, is because we’re interested in buying a back catalog, if you have one.”

If I had one? Of course I had one--of course I had a book of songs and endless iPhone notes of demos with shitty three part harmony done on Garageband on my Mac until I could get into the studio.

“Oh,” I said, letting his words take a second to settle. It was strange--I would have guessed that he’d want to buy a few more, get a little more information about the genre I typically wrote, hear more of my solo work. Instead, he seemed ready to write me a check. “Really?”

Julian let out a laugh, leaning back in his chair as if he were a proud older brother.

“Yes, really,” Peter nodded. “You did amazing things with One Direction and it was rather stupid of us to let you go in November.”

I bit at my lip, feeling a swell of emotion in my chest. He was right--and not in the sense that I was the most amazing thing they’d ever had or ever would, but he was right in the sense that I had a knack for shaping words into a story that floated above the melody.

“Will you at least consider it? Take a look at what you have--demos, finished products, really, and let me know what you think would be an appropriate fee?”

Oh, right, the money. I looked to Julian quickly. I had no idea what he meant. Me come up with the appropriate fee? Me tell them what I wanted them to pay me for my finished songs? Julian nodded in encouragement, so I spit the words out of my mouth.

“Yeah, sure, absolutely.”

Peter stood from his chair and reached his hand out to shake mine. “We’re thrilled, Maggie, really. Thank you for all of your hard work.”

I was sat on my couch, staring at the computer in front of me and the notepad I’d scribbled some numbers on. I had 43 songs that were whole and finished and polished enough to hand over to the label. Out of that number, 25 were actually good enough to be on someone’s album. I didn’t have the slightest clue how to come up with a price for the songs I’d given so much energy. There were the first three songs I’d written when Harry and I started spending time together, one that I wrote when the band broke up, another angry one that had been written sometime after Zayn left.

There were four or five from the summer of 2012 when I briefly dated a boy that Chelsea had introduced me to--stupid and romantic. There were plenty of sad ones--some about being lonely, about being hurt, about making mistakes.

Did I charge a price for each song? Did I add on a percentage I wanted if they got released and distributed on various platforms? I certainly didn’t have the answer, but I was hoping that Harry would. Maybe it was wishful thinking that he’d want to even discuss anything money related, but I figured he at least didn’t want me to get taken advantage of by a big name label.

I typed out a question and erased it three times before finally pressing send.

Do you have a few minutes to talk? The label offered to buy my catalog and I have no clue how to handle the pricing.

I set my phone down on the couch and heated up some food, picking it back up with a bowl of leftover pasta in my hand. Still nothing. I watched an episode of Jane The Virgin and then I finally heard my phone ring.

I pressed the green button and held it up to my ear, trying to calm the heartbeat that was slowly rising in my chest. “Hey,” I said casually, hoping he’d be less boundaried than last time.

“Hi,” his voice was low, I wondered where he was. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” I said quickly, standing from my spot on my couch to move towards the window that overlooked my street.

“So they want to buy your catalog?” He let out a little bit of a laugh, I pulled my head back in offense.

“Are you surprised by that? You sound surprised.”

“M’not surprised, Maggie,” he let out a sigh. “I’m happy for you.”

I cut to the chase, mostly out of fear that going off script would lead to an argument or more chest pain than I was already experiencing. “Well--do you have any idea how I’m supposed to come up with a figure? I mean, Pete Bouchard should know this stuff, right? Shouldn’t they give me a number?”

“You’ve got to up-sell yourself, Maggie. I heard that Paul McCartney sold a catalog once to someone for three or four million.”

“I’m not Paul McCartney,” I reminded him.

“I know--m’saying that you need to not be afraid to ask for what you think it’s worth.”

“I don’t know what it’s worth.”

He let out another sigh, and frankly, I was surprised that he was being as cordial and calm as he was. “How many songs?”

“Forty-three total, out of that, twenty something are decent.”

“M’sure they’re all decent,” he said, I could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

“How do I come up with it though? You’re missing my point altogether,” I accused.

He cleared his throat before replying. “Ten thousand each.”

“Ten thousand each?” I asked, unsure of how he’d even gotten that number.

“Yeah--I mean, if any of them are released it’ll be way more than that. You should ask for at least 10% of the final cuts. Albums, music videos, touring, et cetera.”

I let his words sink in for a second as I watched a couple walk hand in hand on the street below. Charlie, who was sat on the window sill, seemed to be peering up at the phone in my hand. Maybe I was crazy, but I swore it’s because he could recognize Harry’s voice.

“So you think I should walk in and ask Peter Bouchard for four hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” it was more of a statement and less of a question, but he answered me anyway.

“I do.”

“Why ten thousand each?”

He made an unpleasant noise and seemed to draw out my name. “Jesus, Maggie. You asked me to call and I gave you my answer.”

I pulled my head back, turned off by his sudden anger. “I just want to know where you got such a specific number from.”

“My head--I got it from my head.”

I was appreciative of the fact that Harry thought my songs were worth such good money--yet I was fearful that he’d be the only one. Peter Bouchard had no reason to pay me that much as far as I was concerned. Sure, I was in a business where people made a lot of money. In my time with the band I’d made more than the big figure already discussed, but that was over the span of five years.

“Alright, okay. I’ll do ten thousand each.”

“Tell Peter you spoke with me about it,” he said casually, as if that weren’t a big deal.

“What? No, I’m not telling him that.”

“Why not?” He sounded somewhat offended, I could picture the puppy eyes he had on as if I’d said he had a shitty taste in shoes (which he did).

“Because he doesn’t need to know that you and I,” I paused, wondering how on earth to describe what we were and how things were and what this was. “Talk,” I decided.

He let out a sigh, which was followed by an awkward pause as Charlie stretched his back and let out a loud meow.

“Is that Charlie?”

I let out a laugh, looking down at him as he cocked his head to look down at the people passing by. “Who else would it be?”

“How is he?”

I suddenly felt weird. I felt like Harry wasn’t allowed to ask how my cat was if he wouldn’t even have a conversation with me about our fight and our relationship. He didn’t get some type of double standard just because my feline companion had a strange attachment to him.

“He’s fine, but, I should go. I’ve got some stuff to do,” I lied.

“Yeah, okay, of course. Let me know, I guess, how it goes.”

“I will,” I nodded, wondering if he’d answer next time I called.

I met with Peter Bouchard on a Wednesday to discuss the financial compensation, which is the technical term he had used to describe it. It was rainy and cold for a Spring day in London, but Julian met me inside with a cup of tea and a smile on his face. It was all the encouragement I needed to walk into Peter’s office with the confidence to ask for enough money to pay for someone’s entire college education and first home in the state of Ohio.

Peter was friendly and excited that I was willing to make the deal, and he didn’t even flinch when I mentioned the number I had in mind. Maybe he was used to dealing with large sums of money, but he certainly played it cool when he took down more information to write up a contract.

So that night, when I was out to dinner with Kyle and Mark to celebrate, I gushed on and on about how I’d actually handled it all by myself (minus the input from Harry). I’d made a business deal, been responsible, and now was getting adequate compensation for something that I’d worked so hard on.

Bella & Rae’s song had been number one for a week straight, I’d already received a paycheck from that, so dinner, tonight, was on me.

“So what will be the next step? Can they sell your songs to anyone?” Kyle asked, picking up his wine glass to watch the legs drip down the side of the glass.

I was appreciative and grateful that kyle was happy for me--not that he wouldn’t be, but I did wonder if he’d feel strange that the label had brought me back and offered this deal. It wasn’t necessarily a stable gig, I certainly wasn’t a staff writer for them, but the money from my catalog would certainly hold me over for a while.

“Anyone signed to the label can record my songs,” I corrected. “Technically they own the rights and the royalties, but Peter said he’d work on a percentage of what I’d get from additional revenue--so tours, albums, stuff like that.”

Mark tilted his head to the side and let out a laugh. “Sweet deal, mate. Depending on how many they use, you’ll make money off of it for a long time.”

I nodded, taking a sip at my own drink. A pang of guilt hit me in the stomach--was I focusing too much on the financial aspect of this, exactly like Harry had accused?

I could understand his fear of me being with him for the wrong reasons, but that didn’t invalidate my need to be financially secure and responsible.

“You’re doing that thing,” Kyle laughed, reaching over to snap his fingers in front of my face. Mark reached for a piece of bruschetta and plopped it into his mouth. “Where you zone out and think about Harry.”

I rolled my eyes, thankful for the noise and the energy in the restaurant. We were only a few blocks from Kyle and Mark’s place--my uber ride home would be a good chance to call my mom.

“I’m not thinking about Harry,” I told them, waving a hand to dismiss his silly allegation.

As if on cue, my phone lit up on the table between us. It was face up, so there was no way to hide the name on the screen as a text message rolled in.

I looked down at it, then back up at them, both of whom were keeping their lips sealed together to avoid a smile. I reached for it before they could say anything, ignoring Kyle’s lazy attempt to small talk about the weather.

We’re having a wrap party for my album on Friday if you want to come.

I didn’t want to sound desperate or too eager, so I thumbed back a response slowly.

What time? I’m meeting with Julian that day.

It was a lie, but I doubted that Julian would out me if Harry ever mentioned it. I looked back up to my dinner dates, who were both munching on another bite of our appetizers.

“Things seem to be a little less hostile,” Kyle said with a smirk, bringing his wine glass up to his lips.

“Nothing’s happening,” I shook my head, still holding my phone in front of me. “He’s literally telling me something about his album. Relax.”

My phone buzzed again.

8pm. Hopefully I’ll see you there.

It wasn’t the fact that Chelsea had taken entirely too long to get ready for the party--it was more about the fact that now she was insisting on getting one more glass of champagne before we made our way over to the food.

She’d been in town for two nights so far, and she had me out and about all day doing the things she said she missed most about London (which, mostly, was just shopping at High Street shops). We’d had lunch and tea in the afternoon but that was four whole hours ago, and after trekking all over Mayfair, I was either about to throw up, or pass out. Both of which from lack of sufficient sustenance.

Pair that with the sweating that was occuring due to the proximity to Harry, and I was nothing less of a hot mess.

“There’ll be another waiter in one second,” Chelsea said quietly, completely annoyed by the way I was fanning myself.

“Just meet me over there,” I said, raising my hands in exasperation, stomping away and over towards the delicious table of finely placed miniature meatballs and fruit.

It wasn’t much of a selection, but I was starving and we weren’t likely getting a real meal any time soon--this seemed like more of a cocktail hour type of event.

I hadn’t even said hello to Harry. I saw Jeffrey first when we came in--he gave me a big hug and thanked me for coming. He greeted Chelsea and then brought me over to see Ryan and Tyler. I was grateful that things didn’t feel as weird as I’d expected, but I hadn’t yet seen everyone.

Chelsea, up until momentarily, had fulfilled her obligation of being my date. She stayed by my side and made small talk with people we didn’t know. She was the Queen of Humble Bragging about my catalog being sold to the label, which I think impressed Jeff Bhasker quite a bit.

Now, however, her heart was set on more alcohol and my stomach was set on food.

I forked four mini meatballs onto my plate and had just forked one into my mouth when I turned around and walked into Harry’s back.

“Hi!” I said, covering my mouth with my hand as I tried to swallow quickly. “Sorry--chewing.”

He let out a laugh and didn’t seem as angry as I’d expected. He was fine enough on the phone, but something told me that seeing him in person (without the barrier of technology) would be a whole different ball game.

“It’s good to see you,” he nodded, waiting for me to remove my hand from my mouth before moving in to give me an awkward side hug. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for--” I paused, unsure of how find the right words. “Inviting me?”

“Thanks for writing on the album,” he shrugged slightly, clearly running out of ways to make this as normal as possible.

The truth of the matter was that Harry and I had a lot of unfinished business. There were things that needed to be said and addressed and right now certainly wasn’t the time to do that. Chelsea sauntered up next to us, champagne flute in her hand, and held her glass up to clink against the one in Harry’s hand.

“Cheers, mate, to a great album. Haven’t heard it yet, but if Maggie wrote on it, I’m sure it’ll be fantastic.”

I rolled my eyes--but Harry found her toast amusing. He laughed and nodded in Chelsea’s direction. “She’s a great wingwoman, huh?”

“She’s something,” I tried to act as if I wasn’t completely overstimulated by the alcohol I’d drank, the noise in the restaurant, and the lack of food I’d eaten.

I didn’t have a chance, though, to plan my next move, because Peter Bouchard was suddenly in front of us and reaching an arm around Harry’s shoulders.

“You didn’t tell me just how involved you were on Harry’s album, Maggie,” Peter said, his head tilted in a way that communicated his affection towards the both of us.

I hadn’t told Peter much about Harry’s album or my involvement with it, because, frankly, I didn’t know if Harry would cut out every song I’d written on when I left Jamaica. I kind of imagined that he’d find new songs, suddenly grow to hate the ones I’d been a part of. I hadn’t yet seen the track listing, however--I did my best to keep my distance.

“She was very involved,” Harry said with a nod, his smile somewhat solemn as he looked from Peter to me. “She’s very talented. You’re lucky to work with her.”

I could feel heat rise to my cheeks, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the attention on me at someone else’s album wrap party.

“Well, Harry’s a great guy, Maggie. Really went to bat for you in terms of payment for your catalog.”

The room seemed to freeze and suddenly my feet felt glued to the floor. “What?”

Harry’s eyes--which had been watching Peter as he spoke--were now as big as silver dollars. His lips parted as if he wanted to speak, but couldn’t find the words.

Chelsea took a swig of her champagne and looked on in pure shock.

“He wanted to make sure you got the money you deserved. And the catalog is amazing, really. We’re very excited to see who will be the right fit for each song.”

Peter, whose intentions were pure, didn’t understand that he needed to just stop talking. Harry, whose eyes were still wide and whose lips were still parted, seemed to teeter on his feet.

I looked up at him, thankful that Chelsea had stepped right in front of me to compliment Peter’s choice of suit, and turned to head for the door.

There was no use--for some reason Harry and I would never be on the same page. I was a Monday and he was a Friday. No matter how many times the sun would rise and set, we’d be on opposite ends of the week. We’d be the same number of days apart, the same number of sleeps between us.

Because if he wasn’t mad at me, I was mad at him. If he wanted to be with me, I didn’t want to be with him. And if we were finally brave enough to stop avoiding each other like the plague, something always came in between.

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