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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 3 years

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Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 1

Thomas Shelby X Reader

2478 words

Summary: As Thomas Shelby enacts his plans to expand the Peaky Blinders, memories of Somme haunt him. A name he’s never spoken. A story he’s never told. A promise never kept. In desperation he tells a story, but stories only seem to haunt him.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

“I’m assuming you know who I am, Father.” The musty air of a church filters through the screens of a confession box. The air was heavy as if it waited with bated breath for what he might say. Ancient leather creaked beneath him as he shifted his weight, waiting for the reply of an old man who had no obligation to serve him. The change of pace was nice.

A chuckle filtered through from the neighboring box. “Thomas Shelby, I know who you are. I’ve been waiting for you all day, even cleared out my schedule for you.”

Thomas glanced towards the voice, even though they couldn’t see each other, “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or not.”

“It’s only once a year when I get to hear from you. It’s damn near becoming a holiday. Even though you don’t usually talk much.”

The gang leader let out a deep breath. “It’s because most of the time I don’t know what to say. But this time I think...I might have a story for you.”

The reverend’s voice was unsteady as he replied, “I can’t wait to hear it, my son.”

“Don’t get me started on fathers. No, today is the story about a girl who joined the army. And before you ask, no, she wasn’t a nurse.”

“She fought?”

Thomas nodded. His fingers twitched to reach from a cigarette. Something to fidget with that would keep him in the box long enough to get this damn weight off his chest.

“She died with a gun in her hand at the Battle of Somme. I held her guts as her blood turned dirt to mud. I…” His voice gave out. Can I even say the words?

The reverend's voice startled him, “Was she a part of your company?”

Thomas cleared his throat. “Yes. She’d um...She’d disguised herself as a man and joined. Her brothers were sent to the warfront and she followed.”

For the next couple of hours Thomas spoke. Each word felt as if it were torn from him. This tale had become the foundation of which he’d built his walls and now he laid it at a strangers feet brick by brick. Only the occasional gasps from the box beside him signaled that anyone was listening.

“This woman sounds quite extraordinary.”

“Yeah. Yeah she was.” Thomas took a deep breath as he summoned every fiber of courage to continue, “I asked her to marry me.”

A long pause filled the air between them. Thomas’ skin began to crawl as if all the statues that adorned the church were now peering into his soul. He wasn’t a man of God, at least not anymore. He mainly did this to satisfy his Aunt Pol; however, there were times that he couldn’t ignore the feeling of another presence in his life. Whether it was God, Fate or magic he really didn’t know, nor did he care.

Most of the time. Now he was baring his soul in front of a man who’d claimed to know the ultimate difference between right and wrong, led by some divine being. Thomas didn’t regret much in life. He couldn’t change the past, and he had his plate full with the present. This one moment, along with a handful of others, had scared something inside him. Did he even want to heal?

“Well now, Mr. Shelby, while I’d be honored to perform your nuptials , I cannot in good grace marry you to a corpse.”

Thomas couldn’t stop the wry smile. “I’m not asking you to, Father. I just needed to tell someone.”

He asked, “Is today the anniversary of when she died?”

Thomas didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Instead the reverend continued, “Would you have actually done it?”

“Done what?”

“Marry her.”

“In an instant.” Thomas blinked. He’d spent all these years being unsure of his own intentions that fateful day. But the words had sprung forth from somewhere deep inside him bursting from a locked box where he’d kept them safe for so many years.

The reverend gave a soft chuckle, “If you want forgiveness I would suggest-”

Thomas interrupted him as he finally reached for his cigarette, “Oh, I don’t want forgiveness Father. Never have, never will.”

“Then what was the point of this?” the reverend stammered.

Thomas’s voice came out in a low growl, “In case I die tonight, she deserves to be remembered by someone. Might as well be a holy man.” His voice fading into the night as he left to go face his demons.

〜

Grace’s hand slipped against the slick glass she’d been cleaning causing the glass to go flying and shatter against the wall. She silently thanked her lucky stars that Harry was out, but it wouldn’t be long before the missing glass was noticed. She reached for the broom to clean the damned mess when a knock came from the door.

“One moment!” She hurriedly swept up the worst offenders before rushing to the door.

There waiting for her was the only man who dared knock on the door before open, Thomas Shelby. He took off his hat the moment he came inside and nodded toward her

Thomas shuffled toward the bar looking for another bottle of whiskey when his foot came down on the rest of the glass Grace had forgotten about. He glanced down, making sure what he heard was in fact glass before casting a tired glance at the new barmaid.

“Trying to kill me already, Ms. Burgess?”

Grace’s heart leapt into her throat making it hard to speak as she rushed over to finish what she’d started, “I...I’m so sorry. I got distracted”

She swept up the remainder of the glass in a frenzy with Thomas standing all too close. So close in fact she could smell his soap beneath the stale cigarette smoke that clung to just about everyone in Birmingham. Once she was done she was grateful for the excuse to put some sort of distance between them.

In the mirror behind the bar she could see him watching her out of the corner of her eye. Something about the way he stood blended together the stalking of a predator and a tired man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Thomas’ voice easily filled the entire space leaving little room for Grace to breathe, “Do you know what I do to women who try to kill me?”

Grace steeled herself. If she showed him any weakness he’d walk all over her, just like he did with everyone else. So she spun around in a huff, her arms folded across her chest.

She raised her chin in defiance, “What do you do Mr. Shelby?”

“I take them dancing.”

Grace blinked slowly trying to wrap her mind around the words she just heard, “Dancing?”

Thomas nodded, closing the distance between them, “Yes. I might even be so inclined to let the lady choose where to go. It seems fair to level the playing field.”

Grace looked around as if the wood itself could tell her if he was joking. There was no smile, no tilt of the head or anything else to break the tension. Is he actually serious?

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t have a dress.”

Thomas let his eyes roam over her. Even he had to admit that Grace had a beauty about her that you didn’t see that often. Yet the thing about her that always drew him closer was her defiance. Not many people told him ‘no’.

He took out his wallet and started counting, “How much does a nice dress cost these days?”

“Are you serious?”

Thomas froze.

Dust assaulted his lungs as bombs threw rock into the air. Heat from a much smaller body curled against him gasping raggedly from breath as her brow furrowed, “Are you serious?”

“Meet me here in five days in your dress. Have a place picked out. “ He practically threw the money at Grace, probably too much. He spun on his heels stalking for the exit. She cried out after him but he didn’t stop.

He needed air. Alcohol buzzed in his veins. It dulled his senses, made the world around him less real but his attempts to bury the memories only made them stronger. Thomas glared at the world around him. Her laughter danced on the wind. A song he’d long forgotten the words to thrummed in his soul. Some tune that they screamed the words to in defiance of all that the Germans had done.

Today the memories were close. A blanket of fear and sorrow pulled close around his heart. Today was going to be a bad day.

〜

Danny "Whiz-Bang" was a tall man, some might call him gargantuan. A fancy word Y/N had used to scare away some drunk soldiers once. Y/N.

He'd been thinking about her a lot lately. Danny desperately raked the fragmented pieces of his brain. Today was… the day she'd died. A year ago. Or had it been two? He'd have to ask Thomas.

Last time he'd asked about her the look in Thomas's eyes answered all his questions. He'd gotten it wrong again.

Danny began to hum softly. Their song, an anthem really, that they played almost every night until that last battle. Where had he been while his best friend lay dying in the mud? Again the day played through his mind, the details muddled over the years.

He'd been switched with Freddie so instead of fighting with Y/N to distract the enemy, he'd been down in the tunnels digging. The tunnel had stretched for miles by the time they'd finished and began setting the charges. Vibrations gently shook the tunnel, forcing dirt to rain down into his eyes.

Nobody even knew they were there until it was too late. The detonation had destroyed the foundation of three turrets, which allowed the British to take back much of the ground they'd already lost.

Music interrupted his thoughts as the same tune he hummed to himself soon filled the street. A busker on the corner stood tall as he played a violin. Wood gleamed in the dimly lit night as hoards of people shuffled past. Rich brown contrasted brilliantly with the general grey dinge of Birmingham.

Danny couldn't stop the shaking. No one was supposed to know that song except for the 174th yet here it was in his home. He shook his head vigorously, the visions, they must be happening again. Danny began to turn, better he leave for London than have another episode in public. Just as the busker left his sight he heard something he'd never thought he'd hear again.

"Danny? Danny Whiz-Bang is that you?"

He froze. It wasn't real, she was dead.

The music stopped as something tugged on his sleeve. He shouldn't turn around, the ghosts would get him if he did. What would he see this time? A german strangling Thomas? Y/N's head gaping wide open? Or would it be himself?

Whatever was tugging on his arm was insistent. Danny took a deep breath. He couldn't hide forever.

Dirt crunched under his heel as he turned. Smoke left a rancid undertone in the air that filled his lungs. Stone buildings rose into the sky, impossibly tall while still leaning into each other. Roofs sagged under the weight of centuries and rain.

Danny didn't see any of this. The world itself fell away as his eyes landed on a small figure. Her curly mop of hair ended just below his collarbone. Wide tired eyes stared up at him, searching his features for some small hint of recognition. Her clothes weren't that god forsaken uniform or the dress of a lady. Just trousers and coat like any man would wear, fitted to her figure. Her coat was by no means threadbare, but still worn.

"Y/N?"

A smile spread across her lips and it was like watching the sun finally revealing itself after a storm.

Her voice was almost too loud compared to the low buzz of the street, "Hey Danny. It's...it's so nice to see you."

Danny shook his head as he reached up for his cap. Lines appeared on his face, etched deep as he squeezed his eyes shut. The large man hid desperately behind the clump of fabric, praying that he might banish the phantom before he lost control.

“You’re not real. Thomas says that whenever I see you, you’re not real.” His voice shook as he took a careful step back.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, “Do you see me often Danny?”

Finally he opened his eyes with unshed tears glinting in the sun, “Almost everyday. I miss you so much but y...you’re dead.”

Y/N gently reached out and gripped Danny’s hand in hers, “I’m not dead Danny. I was hurt, and they sent me home, but the Reaper hasn’t gotten me yet.”

“Why didn’t you come back?” he demanded.

She looked down, “They found out I was a girl. Kinda hard to hide your tits when you get shot in the stomach.”

Danny slowly lowered his cap, “The MP’s got you?”

Y/N nodded.

Without warning Danny scooped her up into his arms, violin and all, enveloping her in a rib-breaking hug. Y/N threw her arms around him. He buried his head against her shoulder, his body shaking from laughter.

“Alright, alright put me down before you break me.” She grinned, patting his shoulder. He set her down with a practiced grace, muscle memory from years past taking over.

“We have to tell Thomas you’re back. He was talking about you the other day, and he’d love to see you.” Danny practically bounced with excitement.

Y/N felt her cheeks flood with color. She blamed it on the cold wind, “He still talks about me?”

Danny shrugged smiling sheepishly, “Well, not often. I think it hurts him, too, but he mentioned you the other day. Said he was going to tell the Reverend about you.”

Y/N snorted, “Yeah, Thomas Shelby the devout catholic. Anyways where is he? I’ve been in town a week and haven’t seen hide or tale of him.”

“He’s either down at the pub or the races. He’s got…” Danny’s eyes widened. “We have to go now or we won’t catch him.”

“Go wh-”

Y/N was cut off as Danny lifted her off her feet and sprinted down the street. She clutched her violin to her chest for dear life as the streets whizzed by. Miraculously Danny hadn’t forgotten to grab her bag in the other hand.

“I can walk just fine you know!” Y/N screamed from beneath his arm.

Danny flashed her a smile. He didn’t do this because he had to. He did it because he missed doing it everyday in the army.

#peaky blinder imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #shelbys at somme #tommy shelby x reader #tommy #adventuresintooblivion

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velmalav · 5 years

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sister: part one {r.t.}

warnings: swearing, light angst.

synopsis: reader is brian may’s sister, and roger is secretly in love with her.

word count: 5.4k+

***

The cold nips at your skin as you shove your hands in your pockets, snow drizzling around your shoulders and down to your boots. The only thing getting you through the uncontrollable shivers and burning of your hands was the thought of seeing your brother, Brian, for the first time in months. He’d skipped last break to play for his new band – who you were waiting to finish up a gig now – and you’d been absolutely dying to see him. And to punch him for missing your eighteenth, since you’d so terribly gotten stuck spending it chasing around your little cousins instead of partying with him like he’d promised.

“Watch the case, mate,” an annoyed voice says, followed by the clicking of boots hitting the icy pavement, and then the trunk of the van you are standing against is thrown open. “Bloody freezing out since we got here.”

“I’ll start the van. Toss me the keys, would you?” your brother’s voice is suddenly there and you don’t hesitate to slide around the front of the vehicle, palms flat against the hood to hold yourself upright.

Brian is opening the driver’s side door when he notices you coming at him, arms already open by the time you trip and fall into his chest. “What the hell are you doing here?” he beams. Still slipping, you squeeze his torso and savor his warmth.

“Can’t stay away for too long, Bri,” you reply, grinning up at him. “Besides, I really can’t stand home when you’re not there to defend me against the mothership.”

“And they know you’re up here?” Brian asks, an eyebrow quirked.

You shrug, leaning away to hold onto the door of the van. “Dad does. Mom…was a little difficult, but I’m sure she’ll call.”

“Y/N,” Brian sighs, giving you the typical ‘she’s going to kill both of us,’ look he’d given so many times before, like when you’d run away from her in the store and Brian followed to make sure you didn’t get lost, or when you’d storm away at dinner over something she’d said and Brian had come to your defense. “Well, you’re here now, so I guess we shouldn’t worry about her. I missed you too much to care.”

“I missed you, too,” you breathe. Brian pulls you into another hug, resting his chin on top of your head when the voices coming from the back of the van approach. Two guys saunter over, both smoking and both sweaty from the gig. You back from Brian’s touch to stare, eyeing both up and down questionably. “This your band, Bri?”

The brunette gets to us first and outstretches his hand. “Tim. Lead singer,” in a slightly arrogant tone, causing you to raise your eyebrows and slowly nod.

“Y/N. Little sister,” you mock. You take his hand only to be polite and shake it once for good measure. The man behind him lets out a short laugh at your words, casting his cigarette to the ground and stomping on it. Tim doesn’t bother to move over to let you can greet him, so you take a step forward to do so. In all of the distraction, you forget about how icy the pavement is and immediately slide forward, knocking Tim against the van and tumbling into the stranger.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” you sputter out a nervous laugh as he holds onto your sides to steady you.

“Don’t be. Tim needs to be thrown around every once in a while. Keeps him in check,” he chuckles, returning you to Brian. You don’t even acknowledge Tim, and the man knows it, causing you both to laugh even harder. “I’m Roger by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smile, tucking hair behind your ear. You all loiter in silence for a few beats before Brian swings himself into the open van and starts the car, beckoning you to jump in. “You’re gonna have to help me out or I might crack my head open and die.”

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Roger quips from behind you now, hovering to make sure you don’t do just that. You simply nod and grab onto the sides of the van, hoisting yourself up. You feel his hand press onto the small of your back, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears.

“Understatement of the year, mate,” Brian says pointedly. “But you really can’t say much, considering—“

You fall back onto the passenger’s seat, ignoring the beginning of Brian and Roger’s bickering. Tim slams the trunk of the van and sits behind you, but remains quiet. Even though you’re not listening to a word the two boys are saying, you watch them with a smile, even letting little laughs slip out when Roger throws his hands up dramatically.

“And I thought we knew how to argue,” you interrupt Brian as he brings up some party where Roger fell off a pool table and had to get stitches, and – in Bri’s words – was still less dramatic in that situation than he is most of the time.

“Someone had to take your place up here,” Roger happily replies, lighting up another cigarette. You roll your eyes and pull a knee to your chest, resting your chin on it.

“Thank you for your service, Roger,” you eye him through the rearview mirror, giggling a little as he salutes you. You then focus your attention to Brian. “Keep him around. He’s fun.”

Roger always finds himself a little too excited when you come around. It isn’t often – you’ve started Uni somewhere hours from London – but you try your best to always come around when something big happens. In this case, Brian and Roger have started a new band without Tim, and they’re about to embark on their first global tour. You’ve heard plenty about the new lead singer, Freddie, and know of the bass player, John, but for the most part, have a lot of catching up to do. After all, it’s been three whole years since you’ve last visited.

When Roger catches wind of your arrival, he can’t ignore the eagerness simmering in his stomach. He’s always admired you; you keep him on his toes. You make him laugh. And truthfully, if you were the sister of anyone else, he have made his move a long time ago. So when Brian asks one of the guys to pick you up from the train station, he isn’t reluctant to volunteer.

“Got a lot of stuff for a few days,” Roger comments as he spots you absentmindedly glancing around the train station, bags wrapped around your wrists and strapped to your back. You turn to him with a knowing roll of the eyes, but a shining smile that he loves so much.

“Never get tired of you making fun of me, Rog,” you greet, allowing your bags to fall away from you so you can envelope him in a hug. He holds your waist, dipping his head to rest in the crook of your neck. You feel him smile against your skin. “Missed your hugs pretty boy,” you murmur softly.

“Missed your...,” Roger pauses to pull away, and you can tell he doesn’t want to, but also doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. “Bloody awful cardigans.”

You blink in shock, pushing his shoulder, “I’ll have you know my wicked mother bought me this, thank you. And how brave of you to say that with what you’ve got on!”

Despite your words, Roger looks as wonderful as usual. His clothes are irrelevant; he pulls them off no matter what, and both of you know that. Over the past few years; however, he’s definitely adapted his style to something more ambitious. Always looking like he’s about to go on stage, chest always on display.

“Hmm, well we know I won that, so let’s get you to Brian’s,” Roger winks. You send him a fake grimace, but help him get the rest of your things and head to his car. He tells you about Freddie and John and the tour and how excited he is.

“America? That’s huge,” you gush, putting your hands on your hips. Roger shuts the trunk of his car before grinning over at you. “Bri sucks at telling me things. You need to start calling and filling me in. I want to live vicariously through you guys.”

“Why don’t you take it a step further and just join the band?” he says playfully as you both pile into your respective seats. You watch Roger start the car, thinking over what he’s saying. Not like you ever could, but joining them didn’t seem like the last thing you’d ever do.

“I’d definitely have to invest in a perm,” you ponder, propping your knee up and placing your elbow on it. Roger suspiciously looks at you. “I mean think about it. I’m Brian May’s sister. The one with the curls. I can’t just go out looking like this.”

“The fact that that’s where your mind went is genuinely concerning, love,” Roger blurts out with a chuckle as he pulls out of the train station parking lot. Your cheeks flush at his pet name. He calls girls that all of the time – it means nothing – but you still find the word deeply intimate and you hate yourself for overthinking it, which you do every time he says it. As if Roger would ever look at you like that anyway, you think to yourself, watching the street move like a conveyor belt under the car.

“So tell me about being a rock star,” you wonder out loud, eyes trailing back over to Roger. He glances over at you questioningly at your choice of words, and then seems to accept it all in one motion.

“I don’t exactly know where I’d start,” he says, then shakes his head, as if saying ‘no, I’ve got it!’ “It beats Uni, that’s for sure.”

“Can’t all be musically gifted, Rog,” you shoot back, knowing he meant to get under your skin with that one. “Besides, I am very happy in the world of accounting. It’s a ball.”

“Accounting?” Roger replies incredulously, eyes widening. “You’re in – no way, you, Y/N May, study accounting? Scientifically proven as the most boring subject ever learned, most boring career ever had—“

You cut him off with a loud laugh, covering your mouth to stifle it. “God, no. I was kidding! But, I mean, I wouldn’t say ‘scientifically proven’ to be the most boring. You definitely pulled that out of your ass—“

“I did, but it still remains true,” a pause. “Can’t believe I actually bought that,” he grumbles as he pulls into the driveway of Brian’s flat. You’re still giggling when he stops the car and runs around to open the door for you. He sees you roll your eyes at that, and it makes him smile.

“Why do you have so much stuff?” Roger repeats his question from the train station, still a little startled at the many bags filling the trunk of his car.

“Just like to pack heavy’s’all,” you shrug, avoiding his eyes. You know that if he sees the look on your face, he’ll know that you’re lying. And while you love Roger to death, he has a bad habit of running his mouth to your brother. Hasn’t done that for anything important, but you still didn’t want to chance it on this one.

“I knew I heard a car door!” you and Roger both turn your heads to see Brian leaping down the porch steps and throwing himself around you, all of the bags in your hands tumbling to the ground. “God, I missed you, sis.”

“I missed you, too, Bri,” you gasp as he lifts you in the air. You glance over Brian’s shoulder and meet eyes with a smirking Roger. You stick your tongue out at him. “Mind putting me down, though? You’ve gotten a bit stronger since the last time I saw you.”

“Actually, no, you’ve got people to meet. Rog’s got this, haven’t you, Rog?” Brian raises his eyebrows at his friend, who merely waves you off. And just like that, your brother is pounding back inside the house with you over his shoulder. “Y/N’s here!” he announces.

It feels like the wind has been knocked out of you as Brian sets you down in the living area, where two men and a woman are lounging. The woman stands first, eyes gleaming as she captures you in an embrace. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Mary, Freddie’s girlfriend!”

“Nice to meet you all,” you awkwardly pull away and eye the other two. Freddie gets up and again, you are being lifted from the ground.

“I’ve heard so much about you, darling! Brian and Roger never shut up about their favorite sister,” Freddie gloats, but his words make you wince. This isn’t the first time someone has insinuated Roger was like a brother to you, but to have such a close friend of his say it definitely makes you cringe.

That last man – who you assume has to be John – simply waves at you from the couch. You can’t tell if it’s because he’s not a touchy person or if he understands the pleading look on your face at the expense of the suffocation you’ve been put through; you hope it’s the latter. “Name’s John, but they all call me Deaky.”

You nod and take the seat beside him. Brian goes out to help Roger as the others question you, clearly curious about whether or not you live up to the hype. You know they’ve got high expectations when even Roger’s raving about you. So you try your best to answer all of their questions – how old are you? Who’s the favorite sibling? Was Brian as annoying as a child as he is now? Do you follow our music?

You hesitate at the last one. “Kind of. Bri never really tells me much, so I check up every once in a while. Haven’t in a while, actually,” you feel like a fraud at the words, but Freddie simply brushes them off and struts to Brian’s record player.

“We can fix that,” he winks as music floods the room, the sound of carnival noise, actually. Mary and John observe you, which is a bit nerve-wracking, but you don’t mind the attention. “This one’s called Brighton Rock.”

You’re halfway through the song, tapping your fingers against the sofa when Brian and Roger appear. You’re leaning on the arm, eyes shut, fist against your cheek. Brian never failed to amaze you with his songwriting before, but this – you understand it now, why the band is taking off so quickly.

The song ends and you open your eyes to five expectant pairs of eyes, two of which you hadn’t even noticed enter the room. But out of all of them, Roger catches your gaze first, and the look on his face is unrecognizable. His features are soft, almost glazed over. When he sees you staring, he turns his attention the others.

“You guys have outdone yourselves,” you finally break the silence. Freddie claps his hands in triumph, Brian giving you his rare, but comforting ‘you’re too sweet’ face. “And I’m not just saying that ‘cause of Bri. It really is amazing.”

“I’m blushing, but do go on,” Freddie utters, causing John to roll his eyes.

“Do not feed his ego; it’s big enough,” he jokes, earning a chuckle from everyone except Freddie, who simply blows him a kiss.

The next few days are a blur of dinner parties, rehearsals, and recording sessions. You find yourself happiest curled up on the couch of the recording studio, blanket encasing you like a burrito, and a book in your clutch. Roger frequently comes to sit by you and beckon you from your story, never a dull moment passing with him. He always has something snarky to say, and whatever it entails, always makes you laugh.

But you like the night times, too, when Brian sits outside with you and stargazes. He has a thing for the sky, and you are always so taken by the way he throws out facts like they are second nature. Even though you always end the night calling him a giant nerd, he knows you mean well. Afterwards, he tucks you into your bedroom like you’re a little girl, despite the fact you’re a mere four years younger. It’s a nice, peaceful cycle, and you don’t want it to end.

It’s Monday afternoon when Roger is the first to get suspicious. You’re eating a late breakfast at Brian’s dining table when he arrives, all clunky boots and sunglasses. He notices you right away, tipping his shades down to make sure it’s really you. “Y/N? What’re you still doing here?”

You shoot your eyes up to meet his, a single finger touching your lips. He furrows his eyebrows and approaches, tossing his sunglasses on the table next to your orange juice. “Extended break for school. Thought I told you that,” you lie. But this time you’re looking right at him and he sees it clear as day.

“Is that so?” it’s a staring competition now, but not a playful one. Roger’s voice drops an octave, careening forward. “Wanna take a walk?”

Giving the circumstances, you nod, abandoning the leftover food on the table. “Yeah, just let me get my jacket.”

Minutes later, you are both strolling through Brian’s subdivision, neither of you speaking. It’s rare for you two to be awkward, but that’s all there is. You finally glance over at him and break the dreaded silence, “I dropped out.”

Roger stops. You follow suit, butterflies bouncing around in your stomach as you awaited his reaction. He’s angry for maybe just a second, until he sees the worried expression on your face. “Why?”

“Accounting sucks,” you try, but he’s still not amused. Huffing, you stare down at your shoes. “I hate it. School was never for me, and I feel like I’m wasting my time. So I…I withdrew. Haven’t been home yet.”

“So that’s why…” Roger chuckles to himself, but not in the way he does at jokes, but when he’s frustrated. “Well…what’s the plan? To live with Brian until he catches on? ‘Til you’re mum kills you?”

“Haven’t thought that far ahead, really,” you whisper. You can’t help the emotion that reaches your vocal chords; this wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. You were lost and confused and had no one to turn to that would just understand. “I hate dumping this on you, but just please don’t tell Brian.”

Roger’s frustration multiplies in the thirty seconds after you say that. He runs his hands through his hair, eyes darting around the neighborhood. He mulls it over until the tension is so tight you almost just burst into tears. “I-I…you have to promise me that you’ll tell him. Before tour next week.”

You wipe at your eyes, hoping that your fingers will somehow stop the incoming tears. Roger finally notices your cheeks beginning to flush and leans into you. “Yeah, I will. I just don’t know what to say.”

It’s the hug he gives you that breaks the seal and suddenly you’re ugly crying into his shirt. Roger’s hands rub large circles into your back, lips grazing the skin in front of your ear. “It’ll be alright, love. You’ll figure it out.”

“By next week?” you sob in panic. “My whole family is going to hate me and I’ll be stuck working retail my entire life.”

Roger hurriedly cups your cheeks in his hands, an extremely serious look on his face. You swear you’ve never seen him stare so hard at you before. “No one is going to hate you for this. And as for your overly dramatic back up plan, I’d never let you fold shirts for a living. Over my dead body.”

Your tears continue rolling down your cheeks, but you’re laughing now. Roger rubs some away with his thumbs, a smile appearing on his face. You rest one of your hands on his, glancing down at his wrists. “What do I do, Roger? I don’t have a clue, not even an idea of what I want. Brian won’t take that answer.”

“Nobody really knows what they want at 21,” Roger says softly, still rubbing at your cheek. You’re leaning into his touch now, knowing this isn’t normal for you two, but not minding one bit. “I sure as hell didn’t.”

“But Brian always knew. He used to pretend to be an astrophysicist when he was like nine years old. What nine year old even knows what the hell that is?” you ask, earning a laugh from Roger. “I’m just scared I’ll never figure it out. Not until it’s too late.”

“Never too late,” Roger murmurs. You meet his eyes once again, suddenly much closer than you thought you were. He’s flickering his eyes from yours down to your lips, but something in him switches, and he drops your face, coughing awkwardly. “But we should probably head back before Brian gets back and reports you missing.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, tucking your hair behind your ears and wiping the rest of the wetness trailing down your face. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Seven days roll by slowly, each hour agonizing as you ferociously try and plan how you’re going to break the news to your brother. Roger has been coming around less since, and although it bothers you, you try to push the tension aside to focus on the task at hand: figuring how the rest of your life.

You’re in the studio with the band, jotting down ideas you read about in a magazine the other day. Hair stylist? Makeup artist? Interior designer? Each one you cross out when you realize none of those things appeal to you, nor are you skilled at them. You huff, tossing your pen onto the table and staring up at the ceiling.

Brian and Freddie leave the booth, both eyeing your unforeseen red face. Don’t cry. It’ll be fine. Freddie picks up your pathetic notes, chuckling a little as he reads. The phone rings and Brian dashes to grab it.

“Thought you were studying…what was it?” Freddie searches out loud, tapping a finger to his bottom lip. “Uh…chemistry?”

“Econ,” Roger mumbles as he passes Freddie, shooting you a small smile as he falls onto the sofa beside you.

“Accounting,” you quip, cocking an eyebrow. He shakes his head with an eye roll, but it’s all playful.

Freddie is confused, so you rush to explain. As you do so, Roger watches you intently, arm stretching across the back of the couch. He likes to be as close to you as possible without it being completely obvious. He likes to feel your warmth. Likes the way you shift towards him when he sits beside you. The smallest things, the biggest things. He just likes everything you do, and truthfully, even if you hadn’t begged him not to tell Brian about your schooling, he wouldn’t have said anything either way. He wants you to know he’s loyal, even if it means lying to his best mate, and even the thought of that scares him.

It was getting more and more difficult to hold back. Every time he spaces out, his mind drifts to you. Laughing. Crying. Hugging him. Taking the piss out of him. Almost kissing him. And that’s the hardest memory to handle; he almost wishes he didn’t get that close so he would never have the urge to do it again. But here he is, simply witnessing you have a simple chat with a friend and he could barely keep himself together.

“Y/N,” Brian calls from the other room. His voice is feral, so unlike him. You tear your attention away from Freddie to see your now livid brother enter the space. Before he even gets another word out, you know he knows. “That was mum.”

You sneak a glance at Roger, who is staring sadly over at you. Even he knows what comes next, and knows he can’t help you. “She doin’ alright?” you pitch a fake smile towards him, but Brian is not having it.

“She asked me why you hadn’t called. Said school resumed last week,” he growls.

You sigh, “What did you say?”

Brian’s anger falters for a moment at your question. “That you made it back fine.”

Everyone is surprised at that, even John, who really isn’t paying much attention to the situation. “Why?”

“Thought I’d let you explain,” he replies. “Thought maybe Uni gave you guys another week off. Please tell me they gave you another week off.”

“Well…” you trail off, breaking eye contact as you stare down at your lap. “They didn’t. I dropped out before the semester started.”

“You what?!” Brian shouts, arms flying in the air in exasperation. You flinch and bury your face in your hands. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You tell yourself that like a mantra, but it’s not working as the tears escape your eyes. “Why the hell would you do that, Y/N?”

“Because it was a waste of time, Bri!” you cry, finally looking back at him. Brian doesn’t even acknowledge your tears, still so riled up. “I’m spending all of this money for absolutely nothing! And I knew if I told you or mum that you’d just tell me to suck it up!”

“You’re right, that’s exactly what I’m telling you!” Brian yells. “You have to think about what you’re doing—“

“Yes, I thought hard about it! I thought for a long time. I’m not happy with all of this; it’s not me!” you’re shaking now, not even realizing what’s leaving your mouth before it tumbles out. That is the only reason you say what you say next. “God, even Rog was more supportive about this than my own damn brother!”

The entire room falls silent, even Freddie is staring at Brian to gauge his reaction. You don’t dare look to Roger, you’re terrified of what you’ve just done. But he’s leaning against the back of the couch, hand across his eyes, a huff escaping his mouth.

“You knew about this, Roger?” Brian asks cautiously, trying to suppress the emotion in his voice.

“I…” Roger hesitates. “Yeah, Y/N told me last week.”

“Last week?” Brian questions. “Since when did you two have a heart to heart? This isn’t some primary school secret, this is serious!”

“I’m aware, but she promised to tell you—“

“Did she? Oh, well, lucky me, having a sister who will so graciously confide in me after she’s confided in you. Bloody lovely. Maybe you two can bond some more when you’re staying at Rog’s tonight, Y/N,” and with that said, Brian storms out of the studio, slamming the door closed behind him.

The entire first hour you’re at Roger’s, no words are spoken. You’re still soaking in you and Brian’s argument, and quite frankly, are terrified to upset Roger. You don’t know where is head is at. The last thing you need is for him to scream at you, too, your heart physically can’t take it.

You settle on the couch, using a throw to cover yourself. It’s only six pm, but all you can think about is forgetting this day, and what better way to do that than by sleeping it away? Tears still poke at your eyes as you stare at the cushions. No matter how hard you try, sleep won’t whisk you away, and you’re stuck in reality, playing Brian’s words in your brain over and over again. You huff and sit up, wiping your eyes with your wrists. The worst part is that they leave for tour in the morning, so regardless of how this all plays out, you will probably be saying goodbye to Brian while he’s still angry.

You hear Roger’s footsteps behind you, and without even locating him, you breathe out, “I’m really sorry about throwing you under the bus today.”

“Brian will get over it,” Roger says coolly. You follow his voice to the entrance of his hallway, where he’s leaning against the arch. His features ease at your expression, but he keeps his distance. “He just needs tonight.”

“Your last night,” you whimper. Saying it out loud hurts even more, and for the third time this week, you ball yourself up and cry.

Roger can’t help himself when he takes the two long strides forwards and wraps every limb possible around you. His fingers comb through your hair, other arm slung lazily around your back. You can hear his heart beating so fast, but the sound calms you. “Don’t cry, love. Please,” he says, and you swear you can hear his voice crack at the last word.

“I feel so stupid,” you whisper against his shoulder, eyes crusting over from all of the tears. “I just wish I knew what I wanted.”

“Don’t we all?” Roger sighs into your hair. He tugs you away so he can readjust you against his chest, both his arms now casually around you. “I was thinking about it earlier and thought of something we talked about when you first got here. It might be crazy, but—“

“At this point I’m willing to try anything,” you interrupt, playing with the collar of his shirt. Your fingertips brush the skin of Roger’s chest. He has to look away from you now, unable to fathom you touching him like that.

“What if you came on tour with us?” he offers lightly. You push up from his chest to face him, just to make sure he’s serious. And he is. “You said it yourself; you barely know anything about what we do. All the things we do. There is so much more to it than just us playing our instruments. There’s management and sound production and—“

Something in you, something you’ve been holding back for a long, long time surfaces in that moment. The seriousness, the hopefulness in Roger’s face is mesmerizing. You observe every crevice on his face, every small detail that you’ve always admired. You are so unbelievably sure of him. So when you lean forward, cradle his jaw underneath your fingers, and place your lips on his, it is not an impulsive, thoughtless act. It is a confident one.

Roger is in shock, but slopes into the kiss anyway. He thinks back to every time he’s wanted to do this, to have you against him, to have you kiss him like this. Every time he’s ever held back. And now, he doesn’t care, not at all. Because he finally knows what it’s like to have you, and it’s indescribable.

The tops of your fingers reach tangles of his hair, winding the strands around. Roger swipes his tongue against your lip, and the moment you open your mouth, he slides it in. Both of you go from sweet to hungry, letting go of all the tension from the day and just falling into each other.

“Love,” Roger hums into your mouth. You hardly hear him because of the blood thrumming in your ears. “Love,” he breaks you two apart, though your faces remain dangerously close.

“What, pretty boy?” an idle smile wanes at the ends of your lips. You’re already leaning into him, wanting so badly to have him again. Roger’s heart flutters at your nickname for him, but he maintains his stoic expression.

“We can’t do this,” he whispers. It’s so quiet, the confession, that it’s almost like Roger thinks that if he says it low enough, the words will evaporate into thin air. “You’re…”

“I don’t care,” you reply suddenly. Roger traces your face with his eyes, fingers reaching up to brush the hair out of your face. “Rog. Like you said, Brian will get over it.”

Roger shakes his head. “This is different. You’re his family. He’d never abandon you. But me…”

“Are you mad? You’re his family, too,” you say confidently. “He’d do anything for you, and I doubt that you and I could change that.”

“Say that again,” Roger breathes, forehead clamping onto yours. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “You and I…sounds right.”

You’re grinning now as Roger bites his lip, thoughts still racing. You press a hand onto his cheek and watching him lean into it is maybe the most precious, most attractive thing you’ve ever seen. It only gets better when he takes the hand in his and kisses it, eyelashes fluttering shut. “Yeah, it really does,” you plash.

“C’mere,” Roger exhales, capturing your lips with his again, fingers intertwining as he does so. “We’re not waiting to tell him this time, though. Don’t need a repeat of today, alright?”

You nod, “Tomorrow. I promise.”

***

part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // masterlist

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor blurb #roger taylor fic #roger taylor fluff #roger taylor angst #ben hardy!roger x reader #ben hardy fluff #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy #ben hardy angst #requests #brian may #sister #apseventy

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deathbyvalentine · 7 years

Text

Slayers Drabbles - Do Not Go Gentle

Untitled

One thought Just keeps cycling. ’I want to go home.’ Once, at a party. Once, in a dream. I do not know where I belong or where I’m running back to.

Waking Up

He was falling, falling, falling, until he was not.

The world was quiet here. There were no distant sounds of screams. There were no noises of sobbing breaking through his slumber. Only the soft sound of electronic beeping, and the murmur of a populated building.

Slowly, slowly, Thomas Madding woke up.

Reality is not gentle, but nor is it dramatic. It is a tsunami of mundanity, an earthquake of the expected. Panic caused by things being as they should be is more painful than panic of the unusual. Tommy saw the colours of the hospital walls, and began to panic. Hands pressed his shoulders back down, the heart monitor jumping erratically. He remembered everything, everything from the past few years. He remembered Lydia’s fire, David’s peace, Jones’s determination. He remembered a hand grazing his cheek, words murmured into his ear over endless hours. He remembered bleeding, so much blood. He remembered someone singing as bombs fell miles away, of failing over and over again, of a locket clutched in his hand. He remembered the beginnings of a life in which things happened, not just happened to him.

He wept at the loss, and his mother held his hand. This couldn’t be what he was left with - but it made too much sense to be false. Of course he was dreaming. In what world were vampires and time travel and demons real? And of course, his lover and friends weren’t real - why would a God even look at him twice? Who would want to be around him for longer than a routine check up? He was nothing. Small, boring, dying.

He shivered, and she stroked his hair. He didn’t understand, he was confused, bewildered, none of his questions got any answers, and when he called for A, he did not come. That was what convinced him. If he really needed A, and he called him him with his voice breaking and his heart cracking, he would have come. Which meant, here, now, he wasn’t real. He was falling, falling, falling, and he fell back asleep. When he fell back into his dream, he was relieved and terrified. He was going to wake up again, and when he did, he would lose everything. And if he didn’t, he was breaking his parents’ heart.

A Comforting Little Puppy

The small plushie was going to have to prove it’s worth to match the last one. Tommy very almost resented it at first, for not being Caramel, but then he realised that wasn’t fair, and hugged it as an apology. He named it Sooty, and it many stressful moments, realised he was squeezing him to sooth his anxiety. So that was a good start.

After the last weekend, he was a little closer to living up the legend. Becca had clutched it tight after she had realised the world was much more frightening that she ever could have imagined. And Dionysus had clung to it as though it was a liferaft in a sea of confusion. He had looked so small, so frightened, so painfully human, Tommy’s heart broke for him a thousand times over. By the end of the night, the puppy had found it’s way back into his pocket, and Tommy was grateful for it. And as he went to sleep that night, he held it in his own hand. There was comfort in the smallest things, once you allowed yourself to stop feeling silly for it.

Gauntlet

He didn’t want to hurt anybody, but by the time he had managed to stumble outside, dodging all the hands grasping at him and calling for him to stop, all attempts at diplomacy had dissolved. He called a few times, but they did not stop, this small sentry of angels with flames and swords. They were cutting down his friends, spilling blood into the garden of the hostel. Michael had pointed at his gauntlet, raised an eyebrow, and Tommy had realised. The first time he dashed forward, he was slashed in the side, blood immediately pouring down his ribs, staining his jumper and dripping into the waistband of his jeans. No problem. He’d had worse pain than this hundreds of times before. Next time though, Julie in place as his shield, he slammed his hand into the shoulder of one, and down they went, stumbling as the creature tried to find their feet again. Another sword strike later, they were gone. And then he heard one, the leader perhaps, calling for him to be taken care of. It was this one he approached next, in the midst of those carrying offensive weapons. He clasped her shoulder as though offering her a comfort, and she fell. He went with her, as the others stood above. “Why are you doing this? We’re trying to help you...” Her voice gasped and grated, and as Tommy moved forward to cradle her, her form flickered and disappeared, leaving him kneeling in the cold, wondering what exactly he had just done.

Too Perfect To Imagine I have a lover Who walks softly. I have a lover who talks gently. He isn’t sunlight he does not blind. He is not moonlight he illuminates. He is every moment where you realised you were good enough. He is every comfortable silence where words didn’t have to be enough. He is the ‘Happily Ever After’ at the end of the story.

“I Think He Said He Loved Me.”

There was stunned silence for a variety of reasons. First, the gaping wound that was the absence of Jones. Second, the fact that Asclepius had shouted, had very almost done some physical harm. Third, the reason why Tommy’s mind had settled into a quiet - what he had said as he had left. “Be strong. Be good. I love you.”

He had shown it in a thousand ways before now. Tiny gestures that added up to a relationship. Moments unspoken, the fizzing electricity between them. But he had never said it, not once, even when Tommy had let it spill out of him in the shadow of the hotel. And now, there it was.

And of course, Tommy thought that it wasn’t romantic. It couldn’t be. This fell into his usual philosophy of expecting nothing from Asclepius, because it was incredibly selfish to wish for anything more from the man who saved your life. Because then when you did get given something, it was a gift.

Loki was watching him, and they smiled. He smiled back, the three words echoing, making him feel a little braver, a little better. He’d make him proud. He would.

“We Thought You Were Never Coming Back and We Panicked.” + When A Took Jones Away Jones often felt like the center of their group. The soul, the one that could bring them all together, keep them from getting lost inside their own heads and worries and wants. And then she was gone, somewhere safe, sure, but gone nevertheless. Someone had to try to keep them together. To do her job until she came back and reprised her role. In addition to his own role, Tommy thought he should step up, and others seemed to too. Tommy tried to de-escalate every damn argument that Tori caused. People called him over to look at injuries, as though he had any experience whatsoever as he tried desperately to recall his first aid. He told others what to do, even as anxiety surged through him and every decision seemed wrong. He cared for Lydia, as best as he could with his clumsy hands.

It was too much.

The Greater Good/ You’ll Still Like Me When I’m Angry - Hypothetical Roleplaying Effect Exploration

Anger flickered into his mind, hot and irrational, unable to be swallowed down easily. His words came out sharp and unkind. Because truly? People’s feelings were always so irrelevant. They couldn’t see the forest for all the trees, the world for all their personal drama. He wanted to scream, who the fuck cares? Stop for two seconds and realise what is at stake.

And then there was the way they treated him. Like he was nothing. Like he was invisible. Though half the time he was the only one who knew what was going on, and had the sense to make plans about it. Or they treated him like he was only worth the information he had, and he would just keep working until he collapsed. These people didn’t understand what a burden he carried on his aching shoulders. And then there was Asclepius. The one he loved more than his pathetic body could take, the one he was obsessed with, the one he would kill or die for. The one who preferred Jones to him. He bristled at the thought, and such sudden violence crashed into him. If Jones touched him, even in passing, even in accident, he would hurt her. She couldn’t have his patron just because her’s was nothing but an unrepentant murderer.

Save the world, love his lover. Those were the two things he wanted more than anything. Everything else was merely white noise and distraction. And God help who ever got in his way.

“They’re not OK.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried like this. Maybe when Freddy died. Maybe when Orelin died. He cried as though his chest had been ripped open. He literally couldn’t stop, even when he knew he needed to claw it back, needed to get it back together. Every moment he thought he had caught his breath, gained control, the full force of grief, and tragedy, and loss would hit him all over again.

He was being selfish, he knew. He shouldn’t cry from other’s pain, even if at times he felt it deeper than his own. But this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. The back already loaded with the fate of Heywater and the four, with Freddy and Orelin, with his coma, with his curse, with a hundred different fucking things, and of course, with love. He wasn’t coming back today. Because he didn’t want to. It was as simple as that. It may be for his own good, it may be for the good of many things, but if Asclepius wanted to be here, he would be here. He couldn’t be in this room anymore, watching Jones weep, watching Lydia stand helpless, blood still sticky on his face. He walked from the room, shaking and shivering, and burst outside to see Avalon, who immediately asked him what was wrong, her voice soft and kind. The words spilled out in a blur but ended in:

“I just want my friends to be okay and. And they’re not okay. And they’re never going to be okay. And he’s not here. And he’s never here when I need him.” He was selfish beyond all measure, but his heart wanted and wanted. Like The Fool, his heart was a careless creature, it guided him, and it pained him.

Life On Mars - AU The final check up was over. The drip had been removed from his arm, all the appropriate brain scans done, charts ticked and signed. There were still things like muscle weakness and stomach strain to get used to. And of course, them not knowing if the illness was going to come back in a week or so, as it usually did. But right now, it was clear, and he was going home. His father fussed over him as he carried him into the car, still wrapped in a blanket, the cold January air biting at him. His mother seemed unable to stop glancing at him in the rear view mirror, obvious anxious at his silence. He had frightened them all with his rambling. He had frightened himself. They went home, and he had soup and pills for dinner. They sat on the couch and watched documentaries until he got tired. Rain splattered against the windows, and the sky got dark, and nothing happened. When he went to bed, there was no small altar. When he slept, he didn’t dream. When he whispered his name, he didn’t come.

The days blurred, and Tommy barely spoke. He barely did anything but curl up on the couch, eyes unfocused on the screen. His parents had hushed discussions in the kitchen about how depression was well documented after such a traumatic coma, even if he’d never displayed those symptoms before.

Tommy was deciding something. Something along the lines of, if this was reality, he didn’t want it. Something along the lines of he wanted his dreams back. True was not the same as important. He was going to get his world back. By any means necessary.

Lap And Letters It was embarrassing how much comfort this was bringing him. This moment of peace. His head rested in her lap, her fingers brushing through his hair, an arm slung over her legs as he knelt at her feet. The lights weren’t yet back on, a few candles providing the light. She had love letters, she told him. Saved from the library of Alexandria before it burnt. There had been more important things, maps and information, but Lydia had taken the letters. In Tommy’s view, they were the most important things. She began to read, translating as she went. The first was Hephaestion to Alexander, a simple thing of memories and fondness and a golden summer. He laughed as he imagined two boys pushing each other into a river, the sun shining, nothing but love and adoration. The next letter was different. It was desperation and fear, someone running from a horizon drawing ever closer. It was Cassandra, visions of the end crashing into her head, and desperate for somebody, anybody to listen. All because of the hate of a child who called himself a god. Fear gripped him, as he remembered his own blood, his own fever, his own visions. If Apollo ever remembered him, who knows what he could, no, would do. He was not at Troy. He didn’t remember it. But something in his bones shivered and cringed at the thought, as it did with so many of the ancient stories. Something in him belonged to that era, for better or worse, and it resounded in him. They were all tragedies waiting to happen. And he wept too, because what was it about humans that made them make the same mistakes over and over, in a hundred different contexts. When would they learn? When would they know better? Or, more importantly, when would the gods?

Telling Stories

He could hear the thunder, and see the giants, the way she told it. It was like she was painting a picture, drawing them into a world so very far from here. He longed to reach out and take her hand, but he didn’t. This was hers, her story to tell, and it had gone untold for too long. He loved her more than ever in that moment, watching her, listening to her. He did what he thought she would have wanted, and if he was being honest, what he wanted to do too. Dionysus was beside him, and sometimes, there were tears dripping down his cheeks. He was different, like this. Listening to his history, watching his cousin. Tommy wrapped an arm around him, providing what comfort he could. A day ago, he almost hated him. Now, his heart ached for him. The urge to protect, to care for, was almost overwhelming.

Everyone could be redeemed. Everyone. This was his chance, and Thomas hoped beyond all hope that he took it.

Napping

He half expected them to say no. It was barely even eleven o’clock and he was exhausted. The magic had faded from him, and the lack of sleep was hitting him like a brick. A nap was needed, but of course, he needed to be easily to hand for when things inevitably went wrong. He hated the thought of not being there if he was needed.

But they didn’t say no. They sat on the couch, Lydia tossing him a coat as a blanket, his head on a bag as a pillow. He wrapped his arms around the staff, not wanting to risk it being taken from him. There were too many thieves around, too much chaos. As he lay down, he could still see David and Lydia, sitting, not going anywhere, and for the first time in a long while, he felt somewhat safe.

How to Be a Shield

The first stage is to realise your life is less important than everybody else’s. If somebody has to die, it should be you. You’re living far longer than you expected anyway. Realise there’s things worth dying for. The second stage is to be reckless. Move quickly, move cleverly, but if you see someone else about to get hit, dive there first. If you can prevent more harm by protecting yourself until you can down the enemy though, follow this course. Least harm, to the least amount of people. This is in a fighting situation of course. If it’s quieter, if it’s more insidious then.... The third part is to wait for the ideal moment. Slide into position, bit by bit, don’t make too big a scene of it, or the other will form a plan around it. It may also warn off the violence, it may not. Either way, prepare to take a hit. Prepare to bleed. Prepare to die, if you need to.

“None of Us Get To Choose Who We Love.”

Oh darling boy, how he loves you. Look at the way he melts into your arms, how he arches into every touch, wishing it to last a little longer. Look at how he gathers the bravery to press a chaste kiss to your neck, and hides his face afterwards. Look at his blood splattering your shirt and tell me that is not love. “I love you so much I think it’s breaking me.” Tommy feels like his heart isn’t built to love something this deeply. It overwhelms him, it blinds him to all but Asclepius. As he sobs into the arms holding him, the rain still gently falling around them, he lets himself be selfish. He won’t have the conversations he needs to have, he won’t ask for favours on the behalf of others. He will take this for himself - after all, there will be countless more days and hours.

“I am so, so in love with you.”

He cannot remember what he was like before he loved him. He doesn’t want to. Just like he doesn’t give a damn if this world isn’t real, as long as it means he gets to stay with his god. It will be like this, for as long as he will let it. He will break his own humanity if it meant he got a little longer. He will chase the divine. Eternity would seem like too short a time with Asclepius.

“And I, you.”

#slayers #prose #drabbles #prompts #larp

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