#you ever get torn between someone you care about and nearly have forgiven but you keep getting caught on the fact it's such an unforgivable

[everymlmhybrid]

This is awesome just remembered I get to write the frottage scene soon assuming I actually write more than 4 words this week.

#.txt #long tags sorryyyyy #fellas do you ever offer everything you can to a man in a silent beg for forgiveness and let yourself accept that seemingly the only part o #you he's willing to touch now that he knows what you are is your dick but whatever you'll take what you can get. and it's selfish too but #it's also all you can offer short of turning your life upside down for him which you refuse to do. #fellas.......... do you ever fight against yourself for weeks because you want and need to forgive someone but can't figure out how. #you ever get torn between someone you care about and nearly have forgiven but you keep getting caught on the fact it's such an unforgivable #slight in the first place. so you take all that he offers but you can't bring yourself to forgive him until he's in front of you with his #hair sticking to his forehead and his hand shaking where it's gripping your bicep. #and seeing him be so open and vulnerable when he really shouldn't with you and really never should have AT ALL with you. makes it finally #click & makes it possible to wrap your head around ''I love him. he cares about me. he did one of the worst things possible. I forgive him. #OR WHATEVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! don't quote me on ANY OF THIS I'm always fucking around with motivations and wants and #needs and desires to make shit work how I think is best for all I know this is all useless #I hate posting my writing ever even when it's just set-up stuff like <- all that. BUUUUUT also I need a copy of all that for tomorrow to #remember . what I'm thinking abt basically. SOOOOOOOO YOU GUYS GET TO SEE THIS :3 hope u like what goes thru my head constantly while I'm #stocking shelves. sorry for long vague tags and endless talking yet again just need it written down #*that he'll touch is your dick. I have no idea how that typo happened what happened there

[noes-pillow]

✨️Vanoé Angst Week: Day 1✨️ @vanoeangstweek

What’s Left Unsaid

| 1k | read on ao3 | feedback appreciated |

Prompt:

Selfish/Selfless | Forbidden Love | “I couldn’t stop myself.”

Summary:

"If anything, I need to apologize.”

Damn right you do.

"I’m sorry.”

'Sorry’ doesn’t mean you’ll come back to me.

-or-

Noé reads Vanitas' last letter to him after his death.

...

“I couldn’t stop myself from writing to you.”

Noé’s hands quivered holding the pathetic example of a piece of stationary. It was crushed, torn in the middle, and nearly falling apart. The ink was barely decipherable. So much of it smeared with blood.

 “I realize this is more unfair to you than it is to me.”

You got that damn right, that awful human. How dare you. Noé told himself he didn’t want to continue. That was another lie.

 “I see you writing in your notebook all the time. You are so focused on your work. You are so dedicated to your purpose. It’s admirable. Because in a way I can relate.”

So, he was looking at him. Noé wasn’t just imagining the small glances thrown his direction. The little flashes of electric blue. His desk was on the side of the room where Vanitas could see a perfect profile of Noé’s candid face while he worked.

 “I hope you never stop being as dedicated as you are.”

Vanitas never spoke like this.

“I hope you find a new purpose after I’m gone.”

Stop. Where was this even coming from?

 “And I hope you are able to forgive yourself.”

Noé laughed. A fake giggle of disbelief.

 “Because Louis would forgive you.”

Damn you. Louis was dead. And now so was Vanitas. Noé wasn’t trying to make a habit of being forgiven by his dead friends.

So why was he saying these things now?

 “And I already forgive you too. Actually, there is nothing for me to forgive, really. You promised to hold up a deal I never thought you would agree to. If anything, I need to apologize.”

Damn right you do.

 “I’m sorry.”

‘Sorry’ doesn’t mean you’ll come back to me.

 “Noé, I’m so sorry, mon chéri.”

Don’t call me that. Noé would never get to hear him say that name ever again. It was torture for Vanitas to remind him of that fact.

 “I’m sorry about the secrets I had to keep from you and that I could never tell you about my past.

I wanted to.

I wanted to terribly.

But I do also know that you understand, as much as you wish it were different… as much as I wish it were different.”

Noé wished nothing more to be holding his Vanitas rather than the decrepit letter in his hand.

This should’ve been a love letter not a suicide note.

In some ways it was both.

“I’m leaving the book in your care. Destroy it, if you can. The tear stone should have shattered upon my death, but the book must also be forgotten.

Burn it, rip it to shreds, throw it into the void between the barriers, if you must.

The world needs to forget any trace of Luna.

The world needs to forget any memory of me.”

I don’t want to forget.

 “I know you can’t forget me. You always were a sentimental one. I know you wouldn’t even dare try. So that is why I must say this.”

Noé stared at the page. His eyes could burn the page to ash if he scrutinized the message with any more intent. His heart pounded with anticipation, trying to guess what words he would read next.

He tried not to be so hopeful, but that’s hard when you’re reading someone’s last words. Vanitas’ last words.

 “Noé…

My friend, and partner in crime.

Whatever words you are hoping to see me say, you will not find in this letter. Whatever confessions you are hoping I write to you will never exist. Whatever I have left unsaid should remain that way.

There are things I could say, things I might even mean, feelings that might even be true, that which will die with my last breath of sanity.

To be human is to feel. But I’ve never really been human, have I? I was born that way yes, but I don’t have the luxury of that now after all that has happened.

Noé, there are things I cannot say because I mean them.

But they wouldn’t be fair to speak into the world.

Wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Selfish human.

 “And the universe isn’t fair.”

That was one phrase Noé didn’t need to be told to know was the truth.

With a sigh that left his lungs feeling like they should be drowning, Noé finished reading.

He didn’t want to take another breath, but his body forced him. Everything felt heavy. Like his body was made of lead. He couldn’t move for awhile. He just sat at his desk, and turned to the right, looking at Vanitas’ empty bed.

Noé pressed the paper flat to dry and let his mind wander. Eyes unfocused, looking at nothing, but still facing Vanitas’ side of the room. A few memories replayed in his mind. He wished he could lose himself in them. Drown in them if he needed to.

But no.

Some time later, Noé folded up the dry, flattened words of his late partner. One, two, three, four folds in half, into the size of a business card.

That letter found it’s home in the left inside pocket of Noé’s coat, buttoned tight for safekeeping.

He never read those words again. He didn’t need or want to.

Years passed, and from time to time Domi would notice Noé press his right hand to his chest over his heart. She thought it was some routine he absentmindedly did when he was feeling a little more emotional.

What she didn’t know was that there was a little folded piece of paper in his pocket that Noé kept for when he was feeling lonely. Warmed between his hand and his heart for when he needed it to be.

Vanitas’ letter might have said nothing, but its existence meant everything.

Though he only saw the words once, the last line would pop into his mind more often than he was willing to admit.

Vanitas didn’t even have the sense to sign his message. He simply ended with…

 “Noé, I set you free.”

No, Vanitas.

You’ve just left me alone.

fin

#the formatting here is confusing for what i wanted it to be i HIGHLY suggest reading this on ao3 #here you go everyone #lil taste of whats to come #ya im a bit late its fine #not my best but still a piece i liked writing #vanoeangstweek2022 #vanoé angst week #noé archiviste #vanitas #vanitas no carte #vanoé #vnc #the case study of vanitas #dominique de sade #EDIT: i forgot to tag the account... OOPS #i added it now lol #what's left unsaid

[alcinadimitrescuwu]

This Woman's Work Part IX (Alcina x Female Reader Fanfic)

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII

“You’re almost there, Maman. You’re doing great. Just a couple more steps.”

You take a deep breath in through your nose and blow it out through your mouth and push forward at your daughter’s coaxing, your arms gripping the railing that had been set up in your bedroom. The wound in your side is in agony but you take another step, biting the inside of your cheek hard to keep from crying out in pain.

It has been three weeks since that horrible night. You had already lost a lot of blood by the time Karl and Alcina arrived at Donna’s place. In an incredible stroke of luck, Donna had surgical thread in her sewing kit and at Salvatore’s instructions (he was having one of his good days) sewed up the place where Alcina’s claws had torn through. You were in and out of consciousness, but every time you opened your eyes Alcina was there by your side holding your hand.

Alcina is sitting nearby in her chair now, gently burping Ecaterina after her feeding. She looks up at you and you see concern in her golden eyes and another emotion that has been a mainstay for the past couple weeks: guilt.

Things had been...awkward between the two of you since that night. No matter how many times you assured her that all was well and you had forgiven her, she refused to forgive herself. You had only been intimate one time since that night and it ended quickly after Alcina had forgotten about the wound in your side as she cupped your hip and you couldn’t hold back the scream of pain that came out of your mouth. Alcina had immediately gotten out of the bed and as far away from you as she could, as if afraid touching you would cause any more damage.

She had sunk into the chair and began sobbing brokenly. You had wished to go to her, but your Bath chair was already on the other side of the room. You braced yourself against one of the bedposts as you said gently, “Darling, it was an accident. The pain’s already subsiding. Please come back to bed.”

Alcina covered her face with her hands, but you could see the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I can’t even make love to my wife without causing her pain. What kind of wife does that make me?” The raw self-hatred in her voice broke your heart.

From that point on whenever you had settled down for the night, Alcina kissed your forehead and turned out the light and that was the end of it. She kept to her own side of the bed and you greatly missed the feeling of her muscular arms about you with your shoulder tucked under her chin, her curls kissing your cheekbones.You had the sense that if you tried to move closer she would move away so you didn’t even try.

You try to take another step and suddenly the room spins around you and you fall forward. Daniela, however, quickly grabs your arm and puts her arm around your shoulder before you hit the ground.

“I think that should be enough for today, Maman,” Bela says soothingly.

You set your jaw. You only have three more steps to go before you clear the railing. “No, girls, I can keep going.” But your ragged breathing and forehead shining with sweat give you away. You push your tongue to the inside of your cheek and taste coppery blood from where you had bitten into it.

Cassandra rolls your Bath chair over to you. “Maman, you don’t need to push yourself so hard. You’re not gonna be of any use to Ecaterina if you run yourself ragged.”

You smile at Cassandra’s brutal honesty as she helps you into your Bath chair. “You’re right, dearest.”

Alcina stands up, having finished burping Ecaterina. She looks affectionately over at her daughters taking care of you and you see one of the first genuine smiles from her that you’ve seen in weeks. “You’ve been so good to Maman these past few weeks, dears. She and I really appreciate all the help you’ve given to us and Ecaterina.” She rests the hand not holding Ecaterina on the back of your chair and you take her hand in yours, kissing her knuckles. Surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away this time. “It’s time for us to put Ecaterina down for her nap and for me to change Maman’s bandages. If you’ll excuse us, loves.”

The girls nod in agreement and vanish into their bug shrouds. Alcina turns around and settles Ecaterina into her cradle. Ecaterina gurgles, her eyes mirroring the gold in Alcina’s. Alcina gives her a tender kiss on the forehead before turning to you. She motions for you to stand up and you obey as she kneels down to your level and helps you take off your day dress. Standing there in your slip with her hands on you reminds you of how long it has been since you have last felt her touch.

Alcina lifts up your slip ever so lightly and peels off the gauze bandage wrapped around your waist. Alcina sets her jaw as she uncovers the gashes she herself had inflicted on you. She takes off her gloves, dips the pad of her thumb in a jar of salve and applies it to your wounds. There is an unreadable expression on her face.

You try to give her an encouraging smile. “I talked to Sal the other day,” you posit. “He says that even though the wound is deep,if I don’t expose it to too much sunlight it won’t leave a scar!”

“Not a physical one at least,” Alcina mutters.

Ok. You’ve had enough. You turn her head to face you. “Darling, we’ve been over this,” you say, rubbing her cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. “Are you going to keep punishing yourself forever?”

Almost despite herself, Alcina leans into your touch and interlaces her large fingers with yours. “I can’t imagine how much physical pain you must be in, my love,” Alcina whispers. “And all by my hand.” Tears begin forming in Alcina’s aureate eyes. “I nearly killed you.”

“You didn’t though, Alcina!” You move over to her lap and she gently almost tentatively wraps her arms around you and holds you close. You lean your head against her chest and resist the urge to sigh. It’s been so long since you’ve been held by your wife. “I know you were under Miranda’s control but something held you back from killing me outright. I know it.”

“You don’t know what it’s like being under someone else’s control.” You can almost feel Alcina’s body shudder as she recalls that night. “It was like I was outside my body watching myself. I was screaming at myself to stop when I kissed that woman.” The memory of your wife kissing Mother Miranda so passionately pops into your mind briefly but you shut it out as she goes on. “And when I stabbed you, I-” Her voice cracks. “I was practically begging myself to stop but my body just moved on its own.”

“Don’t you see, then, darling?” you ask. “You weren’t yourself when you were under Mother Miranda’s control. The person that kissed Mother Miranda, the person that stabbed me, that wasn’t you, so please.” You cradle Alcina’s face in your hands and stare into those beautiful discs of gold. “Please stop blaming yourself for this. Mother Miranda is dead. I’m alive. Our daughter is safe and healthy. That’s what matters now.”

Alcina kisses your forehead lovingly. “When did you get so wise?” she asks, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. You can see that you’ve finally gotten through to her. Her body posture is more relaxed, her jaw is loose, and her shoulders aren’t so tight. She carefully places the new bandage over your wound and you feel a pleasant tingle as you feel her bare fingers brush briefly over your tender skin.

She moves to pull your slip over your new bandage but you take her wrist before she can withdraw it. You hold her gaze as you take the strap of your slip off your shoulder and your slip coils in a pool of silk around your ankles. She takes you in her arms and brushes her lips against yours briefly. When she pulls aways, you see the same desire in her eyes. “Are you quite sure, ingeras?” Alcina asks, brushing the back of her knuckles against your cheekbones.

“Yes” you rasp. “Take me to the bed.”

Alcina picks you up as you wrap your legs around her waist, taking care not to touch your sensitive wound and carries you over to the bed. She gently, almost reverently lays you down on the bed. She lowers herself down to kiss you again and you bury your fingers in her curls. Alcina deepens the kiss, her tongue coaxing your mouth open as you unfasten the pearl buttons on the back of her dress. “I’ll go slow for you, draga,” Alcina murmurs against your lips.

“Alright, let’s see how our little patient is doing today- JESUS CHRIST! What the FUCK?”

It seems like Heisenberg has decided to check up on you today.

With a frustrated growl Alcina moves quickly in front of you while holding her own dress up. “Yes, Heisenberg, that is in fact what we were setting out to do before you arrived.” Alcina shakes her head at him derisively. “You seem to have impeccably bad timing, as always.”

Heisenberg’s face is beet red again, you note with amusement. “Well, excuse me for trying to check in on my sister-in-law and my goddaughter! Speaking of which, really Alcina? Getting down and dirty with the kid in the room?”

Alcina’s cheeks are also sporting a lovely red color. “Ecaterina was asleep.” Amidst all the commotion, Ecaterina has already woken up and is crying. “Well, she was until you came in.”

The girls suddenly materialize into the room. “Mother!” Cassandra chirps. “I thought I heard Uncle Karl in here and- JESUS CHRIST! What the FUCK!”

Alcina covers her face with her hands. Bela takes the book that Daniela is holding and holds it so it’s covering the image of you and your wife on the bed. “Really Mother,” Bela tuts to herself.

Daniela doesn’t seem to mind. She turns to the two of you, unperturbed by the state of your undress and asks, “Can Uncle Karl stay for dinner, Mother, Maman? Please? It’s been so long since we’ve all had dinner together!”

You smile indulgently at her over Alcina’s shoulder. “Of course he can, darling,” you say.

“Fine,” Alcina mutters. "Now if you please, will all of you kindly get out of our room?”

The daughters vanish into the bug shrouds, chattering excitedly about what Cook is making for dinner. Heisenberg leaves too, chuckling softly to himself.

You turn to your blushing bride and give her a chaste kiss on the lips before you both get dressed and join your daughters for dinner.

Together. As a family.

#alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x maiden #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x female reader #re8 fanfiction #re8 fanfic #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #karl heisenberg #mother miranda #re8 village #alcina x female reader #lady dimitrescu x maiden

[collisiondiscourse]

meet you in the middle // bkdk (ch. 306) fic

Katsuki meets him at the edge of the world.

Standing on the rubbles of a once-thriving city that his people had called home, Katsuki sees him at a distance. A lone figure, standing beside broken statues that overlook a cliff of failures and broken promises. Katsuki sees him at a distance and feels something inside him break like a dam of something unmentionable. The glass beneath his worn combat boots crunches and cracks like the remains of his heart, every step heavy with the weight of the world around him slipping unto drooping shoulders. He says nothing, knowing the other runaway could hear his approach all the same.

Deep purple bruises set themselves under dull viridian eyes, the mixture of color out of place but lovely all the same. His hair’s a mess--greasy in the way that tells Bakugou he hasn’t showered in days, yet Katsuki would love nothing more than to bury his face in the tangled mass of green. The suit and armor he wears is torn, dented, fractured, dirty; it’s scarred like the skin it tries its best to hide. Deku stands still and watches him approach.

The blond halts in his steps.

In that moment, when red and green meet at the edge of the world, time stops completely. The broken concrete beneath their feet feels like a vast and endless void of nothing, silence wrapping around them beautifully and painfully. Between them, the few meters feel like blocks, to miles, to lightyears apart.

It is endless.

Between them, there is pain and sorrow. There is a hurt so deep that neither of the boys could begin to comprehend it--old scars and fresh wounds mending and tearing open, pace akin to the shift of the weather. Between them, Katsuki can feel things that feel like they should be impossible but aren’t. Between them, Katsuki can feel the contradictions that ripple beneath the surface of their skin.

Between them, Katsuki can feel it all.

The distance is staggering. It chases after the two of them like they had chased each other, something like a curse that pulls them apart while simultaneously keeping them at arm’s length.

Katsuki used to beg for it, he knows. (God, does he know.) He used to spend day-by-day stretching that distance, yanking the string that kept them tied together in hopes that eventually it would snap.

Yet that same distance had become something he’d grown to hate. He hated it in the way that it caused Izuku to close himself to the world and nearly cost him his life when Shigaraki had pierced him in battle. He hated the way it shut doors and cuffed him to his hospital bed when he’d found out that Deku was in a coma.

And he hated that distance the most when it brought Deku all the way here.

“Kacchan,” Deku says, the old nickname leaving his mouth simultaneously like a prayer and a pained gasp of fear. “Why are you here?”

The ‘why’ rings in the blond’s head like the sound of a gunshot, piercing and painful at the audacity to even ask such a thing. Why? Why did I come here? Why did I leave everything I’d ever dreamed of in order to chase your dumbass here?

Because. Why the fuck wouldn’t I come here, Deku?

“I got your letter,” Katsuki grunts out instead. His hands clench and unclench, tired and a little bit pained from his journey to find Izuku as fast as possible. The stupid fucking paper rests inside the pants pocket of his hero costume, setting his insides ablaze and leaving the taste of battery acid at the back of his throat.

“You still shouldn’t have--”

“--Shouldn’t have what, Deku?!” He inevitably yet suddenly explodes. The green-haired boy startles from across the building’s roof, jaw shutting with an audible click. “Shouldn’t have dropped out of UA? Shouldn’t have left every single person that loves me and sent myself out on a suicide mission? Shouldn’t have left my fucking mother without even a proper ‘goodbye’?!”

Deku snaps, “You damn well know it wasn’t that simple, Kacchan--”

“It never fucking is! It never fucking is that simple, Deku! You think I wanted to abandon our class? You think I didn’t care about the fucking fact that I just dropped out of UA and will probably never become a fucking pro-hero because of it? I destroyed my own dreams, you idiot!”

“Then go back!” the other boy replies, furious tears welling in his eyes. Katsuki feels paralyzed, unable to move through the surge of emotion that overtakes his mind. Deku takes a step forward, shaking so hard that the blond fears he might pass out. “Go back, you ass! Don’t let me take anything more from you, Kacchan, just please don’t. I can’t handle something like that! Go back and become the number one hero like you always promised, please.”

(A dozen meters apart.)

Izuku’s voice trembles and wavers, desperation seeping from his figure as teardrops fall to the tarmac below. He stands firmly on his two feet, but Katsuki can feel the way his heart begs on its knees. Bakugou’s glare softens.

“I can’t do that, Deku.”

He sniffles. “Why not?”

Tentatively, Bakugou takes a step forward, pacing himself. He opens his mouth to answer, but can’t seem to find the right words and looks away with a frustrated snarl. Deku’s eyes, red-rimmed with agony, peer up at him through his unruly green hair and the wound on Katsuki’s abdomen throbs with heat.

“...Because. I nearly died for you, didn’t I?” the blond eventually replies. “Because I know you think that that means you have to go and fucking do things alone because you don’t want me to nearly die for you a second time, but that’s exactly fucking it.” Katsuki huffs. He takes another step further, watching Deku crumple to the ground as sobs rack his figure.

“Kacchan got hurt, but it wasn’t your battle. It’s mine,” he chokes out anyway, stubborn as he is in the way Bakugou had grown to admire. As much as the blond’s soul rattles with anger, with hatred at the society that forced his childhood friend to bear the weight of the world upon his shoulders, he forces himself not to shout.

(Five meters apart.)

“‘Wasn’t’, was the word. Now, it is. I’m not letting you do this alone whether you fucking like it or not, shitty nerd.” Katsuki sucks in a breath. “You never gave me a choice, did you? I didn’t have a choice into knowing about your cursed fucking quirk, I didn’t have a choice into you leaving us to fight Shigaraki alone, I didn’t have a choice in knowing whether you’d be okay or not in the hospital after I myself nearly fucking died--and now that I finally goddamn do have that choice, you better make sure you let me have it, Deku.” Another step.

Deku lets out an anguished gasp for air between his hiccups and tears, and wails, “But why? Kacchan, you have the choice to be safe and let yourself win without One for All getting away! Why would you let me bring you more harm like this?!”

“Because you never fucking let me apologize to you, shithead!” The blond succumbs at last, yelling in hurt and in pain. The distance between them is so small, yet every goddamn particle feels like a world’s away in which Kacchan and Deku were made to fall apart. His skin prickles, air buzzing with the energy of a feeling so big contained in something so small. The moment suspends itself in time, fragile as glass and broken shards twice as painful, “I wanted to say that I was sorry, okay?!”

“Kacchan--”

Bakugou growls, “No. Let me say this, Izuku.” He waited, so goddamn long, for an opportunity to say what he wanted--no, needed--to say. The distance that felt like a whole galaxy between them burned something fierce, a serendipitous inevitability that felt like it was reaching its boiling point as the world around them reduced to ashes. The blond musses up his hair and exhales heavily, letting his angry demeanour calm for Izuku’s sake.

“I used to resent you. So much.” Katsuki starts. He’s close enough to Deku that he can see the subtle way the shorter boy scrunches his brows together, letting out a shaky breath of incredulousness. “When we were in middle school, I tormented and bullied you under the guise of hating you for something that you couldn’t control.”

“The truth is, that wasn’t why I resented you.” He blows out a breath. Deku looks up at him in shock, so Bakugou ploughs on. “I resented you because I didn’t understand you. At that time, I couldn’t understand how anyone, especially someone virtually powerless like yourself, could somehow still be a better person--hell, a better hero--than I was.”

Ruby red eyes gazed at the horizon.

“I always thought myself to be the best at everything. Always knew I was destined for victory. That hasn’t changed,” Katsuki swallows as Izuku pulls himself back on to his feet. Now standing, Izuku looks at him as if he’d suddenly had the revelation of his life, (which, Bakugou assumes, was paramount to this in any case.) “What has changed now though… is that I think I finally get it.”

He coughs.

“... I think I finally get you,”

(Two meters.)

“Katsuki… I’m--” Deku swallows, eyes shiny again as he tries to compose himself. He nods at the blond and in that instant Katsuki knows he’s been forgiven a long time ago. The distance tugs at the pit of his stomach, feelings of something warm and strange writhing inside. What once was a flood of misunderstanding that crashed and pulled the two of them apart had dried into a lively valley. Deku takes a step closer.

“But it isn’t just that anymore,” the blond is quick to blurt out. He looks at Deku and for once instead of a regretful past or an ongoing development, he thinks he sees a future.

“If this were all for atonement, I wouldn’t have left UA like you said. It’s… deeper. I’m workin’ on it, but there’s just something that pulls me to do this. It pisses me off, but it also makes me want to keep you at an arm’s length.” Katsuki shakes his head at the bullshit that spews out from his own mouth.

“I don’t fucking know what it is, but I know how it makes me feel.”

Izuku stares into his eyes, wide and innocent in a way that used to make him angry but now only makes him… dazed. “And how does it make you feel, Kacchan?”

He huffs a laugh of rueful acceptance. “Fucking weird. Like I suddenly want to chase you to the ends of the fucking earth just to make sure you’re alive. Like I want to be close to you again and again and again even in our next fucking lives.”

Katsuki takes another hesitant step forward.

“I want a lot of things now. I want shit that I can’t name but I sure as hell know won’t relate to becoming the number one hero. I want to keep you within sight, keep you close and alive because of the fact that it’s you and nothing else. I want…”

(Three feet.)

The distance around them is reduced to a little less than an ache. Issues like theirs aren’t solved overnight, but for the small distance they have between each other it feels less like a curse and more like the moment before an inevitability. They can’t quantify all that they are to each other--can’t begin to measure it in fickle things like centimeters or miles or inches or lightyears--but in that moment Katsuki supposes one could label what they have as ‘love’.

He’s never spoken this much in such a short amount of time, never let himself be wordy when his concise speech was efficient and easy. Yet, something about freckles and scars and green hair makes him want to run his fucking mouth off and list his every feeling under the sun. The vice-like grip over his heart that had been there since the moment he’d woken up in the hospital eases a little, and Katsuki’s broken heart feels like it is coming home.

(Two feet.)

“You want…?”

Katsuki looks into Izuku’s eyes, really looks. He looks and he sees life and salvation and something that he’d been missing for so long that tasting it for the first time has left him wanting like a man in a desert. He reaches out an arm, now fully within reach and gives Deku a pleading and weak stare that says everything and nothing at once.

“I want everything that I can get. Everything you can give me. No matter what the cost.”

(One.)

Deku crashes into his embrace, pulling him close and meeting Katsuki somewhere in the middle as the chase finally fucking stops. To Katsuki, it feels like the birth of a star as the warmth engulfs him fully, setting alight to every one of his nerves. The feeling of holding Deku fills him with all the words he cannot name and it feels like he’s reached some impossible height at the top of the world.

The war has not been forgotten, and the road ahead of them is long, but the distance between Kacchan and Deku--Katsuki and Izuku--is now nothing more than a physical concept. The hug blurs the line between the two young heroes, shaping itself until it is indistinguishable where one ends and the other begins. There is a sensation, one that is burning like an inferno but comforting all the same because at this point in time, Katsuki vows to run after and find Izuku Midoriya in every lifetime after this, in every world that they’ll be in. He vows with all his heart that he’ll be the one to watch Deku while Deku watches the world, to protect Deku while Deku protects the others. Katsuki vows to take Deku for everything that he is and isn’t, wholly and unconditionally because the distance is gone and there’s nothing now that can stop him from following this boy to the ends of the universe.

Katsuki Bakugou vows all this because here, right now, on top of the ruins of a city he’d once known and arms full of a boy he’d been trying to chase for a lifetime--Katsuki comes home.

(Zero.)

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakudeku #katsudeku #ktdk #bkdk #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #decchan #bkdk fic #bnha 306 #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #codi.docx #DONT LET THIS FLOP ITS SO SEXY

[my-writings-and-musings]

oof,, now i wanna see a scenario where max actually ends up killing the tiny human for maximum angst,,, ur stuff is seriously so good.

The angst is real. These are real angst hours. I'm glad you like what I make! I enjoy hurting these bots I love and I have no idea as to why...

WARNING

THERE IS DEATH BELOW, ALONG WITH SADNESS, EMOTIONAL TRAUMA, GRIEF, AND A WHOLE LOT OF ANGST. THOUGH THE ENDING IS SOMEWHAT HOPEFUL READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

The level of guilt and grief had shaken him down to something in the depths of his core, and the onslaught of it all had nearly killed him, his spark all but flickering out when he was given the news. He'd still been in Rung's office, having ended the whole ordeal by pleading for help and promising not to hurt anyone so long as the little human limp in his hands received care. But of course it had been too late...

He hadn't remembered anything about collapsing beyond the incredible hope not to wake up again. Yet, despite everything he had done, Ratchet had put him on spark support and stabilized him. Why was a mystery he didn't have the energy to solve. Cuffed to the berth, he'd asked only to be taken offline for his transgressions, and had refused to eat. When the medics had put him on an energon drip, he'd wondered if his punishment had already been decided and would be the worst possible for a bot like himself; living with what he'd done. They even prevented the multiple attempts to terminate him from various members of the crew...

Rung had been his only non violent visitor, beyond the bots in charge. They'd all been stiff, but the sweet little phsychiatrist had been comforting, as if Max was the one who deserved empathy in all this. Nothing had occurred to him to say beyond how sorry he was and that he didn't mean for any of it. Primus bless his overly soft spark, Rung had forgiven him for what he could, assuring him that the trauma he'd suffered was capable of twisting any spark.

But, he'd also pointed out, it wasn't his place to forgive for the one who wasn't with them anymore. Such a thing could really only come from himself...

He'd cried when he'd heard that for the first time. Cried like a little sparkling after having an energon candy snatched away. The smaller bot had just held him, as much as he could with their differing sizes and positions, and gently encouraged him to let out the pain as long as he needed to. Had his body not been so frail he'd have likely wept for much longer. The pain was just overwhelming, as the phsychiatrist had just told him more or less that he'd never be forgiven.

Because he'd never be able to forgive himself.

Still, for reasons he didn't understand, he'd kept living and the others had refused to let him die. Most of it what you might call his "recovery" had been a blur. Between the grief and the guilt his spark had been determined to snuff itself out, but the skilled medics had refused him even that much, looking progressively less angry as they did so. Ratchet had actually appeared to pity him, something he found both unfathomable and at times infuriating. Regular sessions with Rung did little to soothe that desire to be hated.

He'd have probably continued that way for eons, even after being moved to the cells once his spark was strong enough to handle living on its own, but fate had thrown the entire ship down a very different path.

It had done so in the release of Overlord.

Like a warbeast, he'd been unleashed to take care of the rampaging monster, if only because death for all was guaranteed if the gleeful murderer went undefeated. With nothing to live for and everything to die for, he'd taken the opportunity almost gladly. There had been nothing to hold him back when he met his tormentor. Fear had stood no chance against his pure and unfathomable hate, but he didn't care at all for avenging himself, his spark burned for a life that had been lost in his own hands. It had been almost comically clear to him; he didn't need to be forgiven, but he hardly shouldered all the blame, for who had twisted him into what he was today? Who had caused nothing but suffering from the moment his spark had emerged from the Well? Who was smiling through it all?

The battle had been long and, even to experienced veterans, gruesome. He'd been torn apart, but pain had seemed so minor it simply didn't stop him. Pink energon had slicked up the floor beneath them, and when firepower had become unavailable the two had resorted to grappling with raw strength, fighting more like animals than bots. It had been agonizing due mostly to how desperately he needed to not die. Death wasn't an option unless this monstrosity went first. Looking into those twisted optics had been an excellent source of motivation, both at the beggining of the battle and towards the end, even as his vision began to fail from the strain of keeping himself going.

The final push had become possible when he saw what he'd wanted so desperately; Overlord was afraid.

Because he knew he was losing.

According to witnesses, the murderer had actually made an effort to flee in the end, but Max had finished him off by hunting him down and pinning him to the energon and viscera soaked ground.

A crack to Overlord's chassis had been his only target, one he attacked with primal fury using what remained of his arms and servos, clawing and tearing like a starving beast tunneling for a meal. As the armor had peeled back to reveal a sickly green spark, the former tormentor had actually begged. Max had heard none of it, taken no pleasure in the reversal of their roles, and had instead been unnaturally silent as he worked. This wasn't about his revenge. When his digits had secured about that spark, they'd actually burned from the heat of it, as if the accursed thing had come from the Pit itself. Yet he'd persisted, not even looking the now pitiful Overlord in the optics. The Phase Sixer was no longer a concern.

All he remembered before the blackness was how unusual a sound the heated orb in his hand had made upon being wrenched outwards, like the cracking of organic timber, only to collapse between his digits with the sound of thick glass shattering all at once. The explosion had taken his arm off, but pain had dissapeared from his being on every level. In fact, he'd known only that his battered face was smiling in what he believed to be the end. It was the small and content smile of knowing a job was done. Perhaps that was the closest someone like him could get to absolution, but even as his body had hit the floor, he hadn't minded whether or not the afterlife would deem him worthy of peaceful eternity.

Because if it didn't, he'd have the opportunity to do this again, and then perhaps Overlord would face a modicum of justice in eternity...

He could have sworn he saw you in the still silence, but that made little sense for a multitude of reasons. Though he could have passed it off as the effect of a million life saving treatments while he hovered on the edge of death, a state he apparently spent weeks in, he had decided to view the moments in your presence as an eternal mystery. You'd smiled and had assured him everything was fine, but had always been that way. Shushing any efforts at apology, you'd embraced his palm just as you'd done once in life, but this time the warmth of your touch seemed to fill his entire frame. It hadn't been enough for him to forgive himself, but he'd known peace. The one who'd started the vicious cycle of hurt was no more, and he promised it would end with him. Though he'd still fight, it would only ever be as a guardian. Wherever he ended up...

The soft beeping of countless monitors and the hum of just as many life supporting machines had replaced your voice when his optics had finally opened. Unable and unwilling to move, he'd been plagued by hurt in every solid inch, save for something far less unpleasant on his right hand.

Rung had been there when his optics finally found the strength to roll in his immobile helm, and the tiny mech had looked ecstatic to see him wake, calling for Ratchet as his small hand secured its grip on his. There had only been enough energy in him to stay awake a few minutes, but that had been all he needed to see the bursting shelf of Innermost Energon left for him. Apparently his victory and subsequent survival had redeemed him for most. That didn't really matter to him, nor did the assurance his crimes would be absolved in the wake of his considerable... extenuating circumstances and actions of atonement. Recovery had come impossibly slowly, and with all that quiet he finalized his plans for the future, finding endless companionship and motivation in his tireless therapist.

He'd live for you, every day that remained of his own life, to shape the galaxy into one as bright as it had been with you in it. Nothing could undo the past, but further wrongs might be prevented. The first hope he felt in forever was that you'd approve of his decision.

Support me here if you like my writing! Every donation helps me secure more time to create, and the same goes for commissions, which are always available!

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lost light #ll #idw #tf #my writing #my asks #anon #fort max #fortress maximus #human reader #im so mean to this robot guys #tw death

[polaroid15]

Febuwhump day 14 - “Run. Don’t look back”

Summary:  Peter and Tony escape into the forest after six days of captivity. They're being hunted.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138196/chapters/72401262

-----

It takes six days for them to escape.

When it happens, Peter can barely see straight through his relief.

Or, well, maybe that’s just his splitting concussion.

He’s not sure where they are. It’s dark, and they’re surrounded by trees. Peter is supporting Tony as they limp through the unfamiliar forest. Tony must hit a root, because he sucks in air between his teeth. “Jeez, kiddo. Slow down. My foot is broken, remember?”

“Sorry,” Peter pants, slowing their shared gait. It increases his anxiety, and he looks frantically through the trees, unable to decipher much through their shadows. His entire body aches, covered in burns, bruises, and cuts that sting in the cold air. He forces himself not to think of the pain though, no matter how badly his body begs him to recover, and focuses instead on getting Tony as far away from their captors as possible.

They stumble onwards, and Tony trips again. His mentor’s fingers dig into Peter’s shoulder to prevent the fall and Peter can’t help but wince at the pressure over his wounds. “Slow down!” Tony repeats, “they didn’t see us get out. They’re not after us, kiddo. Take a breath.”

“No. Can’t.”

“Peter-”

“They’ll figure it out soon,” he argues. He feels unpleasantly lightheaded and spacey like the time he had gotten stabbed and lost nearly half his blood volume last October. “Can’t- can’t go back.”

Rather Tony is silent, or his response is lost against the rush of blood in his ears. The older man’s limp has gotten worse, and Peter should feel bad, should offer that they rest, but he can’t stop moving.

He can’t.

They reach a clearing, the tall grass highlighted by the distant glare of a full moon. Peter takes three steps into it, feels the world tilt as the pain in his head suddenly triples, and comes back into awareness flat on his face and breathing in dirt. Distantly, he feels Tony’s hand on his shoulder. It pushes him onto his back, and Peter blinks away the darkness.

“Kid?” Tony’s voice is tight with worry, just as it has been for the past six days. “You with me?”

“S’ry. Got dizzy,” he murmurs, twisting to sit up. Tony helps him, and for a minute they sit in the grass and don’t speak. It’s quiet around them, but Peter can’t help but feel that they’re being watched.

Hunted.

He glances over to Tony, swaying a little when it upsets his balance, and takes in the man’s gaunt expression. “How’s your foot?”

“Broken.”

“Duh.”

Tony rolls his eyes, but smiles all the same. “It’s not me we should be worried about. You just collapsed.”

“Well, you’re heavy.”

“That’s uncalled for.”

Peter huffs out a laugh, and for some reason, feels tears bite at his eyes. God, he’s exhausted.

“We should keep going,” Peter whispers, though his body pleads with him to stay on the ground.

“Kid, remember that time when I said you just collapsed? Less than a minute ago? That’s still valid.”

“It was a power nap,” Peter counters. “I feel better now.”

Tony considers this, drinking in Peter’s expression with earnesty. There’s something pinched in his expression, something that Peter recognizes as guilt, but it’s not the time to address it. “Fine,” he says, “but only because it’s getting cold.”

Relieved, Peter stands, his fist clenched in the material at Tony’s shoulder to keep them both steady. They continue forward through the clearing and the embarrassment of his fall keeps him walking in a relatively straight line.

Stay focused, Peter. Keep Tony safe. Keep Tony safe.

They fall back into the trees, twigs snapping under their feet. Peter swallows when a sudden rush of nausea twists in his gut, and tries to ignore how his throat feels like sandpaper.

“Where- where are we going?” Peter asks, realizing now they have no idea where they are.

“Forward.”

Almost immediately after the word, a sharp gunshot rings through the trees. It startles Peter so badly that he nearly drops to the ground for a second time, though he’s too late to prevent the whimper that crawls out of his chest. He grips onto Tony more tightly, feeling his heart slam against his ribcage.

“That was close by,” Tony whispers. “Christ. Too close.”

“What do we do?”

Tony looks torn, so Peter keeps dragging them forward. It’s less careful now, and Tony grunts and hisses through the pain.

And Peter’s too numb to feel his own.

After another hundred yards, Peter’s vision flashes white as he hears steps through the trees. “T-Tony. I can hear them,” he gasps, tears of panic rushing back into his eyes. “They’re coming. They’re following us. They’re going to take us b-back-”

Tony swears, slowing them into a halt. He loosens his tight hold on Peter to grab at either side of his face, angling Peter’s eyes to his own. They’re both shaking, their past six days of captivity smothering them like a shadow. “Pete. Listen to me. I’m not fast enough. You have to go on without me and get help.”

“What? No!”

“You have to. God, Peter. Listen to me-”

“I’m not leaving you,” Peter says firmly, blinking away the moisture in his eyes and unsurprised when some of it falls onto his cheeks. He rips Tony’s hands off his face and pulls him into his side once more, pressing back into the trees.

“Peter! I can’t run. You have to go without me.”

“Just walk,” he pleads.

And then, just as Peter’s spider sense flares, the darkness off to their left gathers to form a shape. A figure.

Peter freezes, feeling everything in his body go cold. He recognizes the man, of course. This is the one who had burned his skin, had smiled when he had screamed.

“Peter,” Tony whispers.

He can’t move.

“Run. Don’t look back.”

The man walks forward, his hand on a taser. To bring them back.

“Peter, go! Run!”

Blinded by panic, Peter sets Tony against the ground, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he broadens himself, transforming his body into a human shield.

“Parker! What the hell are you doing?”

“You should not have left so soon,” the man calls out, getting closer, “the fun was just beginning!”

His half healed burns feel as if they’re being touched with fire again, stealing his breath and making his head spin.

“But no worries,” he continues, “all is forgiven.”

Peter hears the crackle of the taser being released before he feels the pain hit his body. It comes all at once, crashing into him like a tidal wave and drawing out a fractured scream. Somewhere, he hears Tony echo the noise, and he pitches over into the grass, twitching and convulsing.

And then, when he’s sure his eyes are going to melt out of his skull, it stops.

“Peter?”

He groans, trying to pull open his eyelids. He feels detached from reality, as if the whole world is outlined with static. There’s pressure on his neck that he eventually recognizes as Tony’s fingers, and turns his head in the direction to connect it with his mentor’s face.

“You with me, bud?”

“Mmm.”

“That was so stupid,” Tony snaps. In the background, their captor lies on the grass, unconscious. Peter’s not sure what had happened, though it’s obvious Tony is the cause of it. “When I say run, you run. End of discussion.”

“Not good at listening,” Peter slurs.

And Tony, despite it all, laughs. “That’s the biggest understatement I’ve ever heard.”

Peter smiles, closes his eyes, and drifts. When he opens them again, his head is pillowed in Tony’s lap. Tony is talking, though to who he’s not sure. Upon further investigation, he sees a cellphone in Tony’s hand, no doubt belonging to the man that had tracked them down.

Tony notices his stare and smiles comfortingly, giving him the thumbs up. When it falls, he brings his fingers into Peter’s hair, rubbing soothing circles against the ache of his concussion.

Someone’s coming.

Friendly, this time.

He doesn’t have to carry Tony anymore.

They’re safe.

#febuwhump #febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday15 #peter parker #tony stark #spider-man #mcu #irondad #spiderson #irondad fic #my fic #peter parker whump #hurt peter parker #hurt tony stark #kidnapping #protective tony stark #protective peter parker #bamf peter parker #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #febuwhump 2021

[reliciron]

Family

Anai Syrr, Sith Sorcerer, unfortunate victim of swtor's terrible Nautolan colors. He's supposed to be black with red spots and eyes, but it's hard to tell at the best of times in the game. Before the DNA splicing, his spots where light blue and his eyes were grey. As an Abyssal Nautolan, he needs a visor to protect his eyes from the light.

Basically Valkorian's words make him decide to re-open old wounds, and he gets way more than he bargained for.

“They told you they were dead, and you believed them?”

Valkorian is gone, but his words still prickle in the back of Anai’s mind.

The truth was that yes, he had believed them. He was a child, he’d had no reason not to, and after a time, it had been easier to think his family was dead rather than consider the other possibilities.

His father and sister had been at the station when it was attacked, so spirits only knew what happened to them, and his mother…

His mother had been taken from the ship along with him.

A shiver passes down his spine and his gut clenches at the memory. Outstretched arms, a shrill inhuman scream, a struggle as the guards fight to restrain the desperate woman.

That had been the last time he’d seen her: fighting literally tooth and claw to get to him as he was carried away.

When he’d gotten older, he’d understood what fate had awaited her. Worked to death in a labor camp if she was lucky, sold as a pleasure slave if she was not. It hadn’t been something he’d liked to dwell on, understandably.

So he’d taken what they’d said at face value, gathered all his hopes of being reunited, his memories of happier times, and stuffed them in a mental box for his own sanity’s sake.

But now…

Now he had the time, resources, and people to actually investigate. To prove if they really were dead.

The very thought had him cringing reflexively, torn between hope and despair.

If he got his hopes up only to discover that his captors had told the truth, it would crush him all over again.

But if even one of them was still alive…

He grits his teeth all the way from his chambers aboard the Fury to the command center where he finds the man he’s looking for.

“Theron? I need you to find someone for me.”

His voice is low when he finally asks. Perhaps if he speaks quietly enough then his ever present bad luck might not take notice.

Theron looks up at him quizzically, before picking up on his tension.

“Uh, sure. Who are we looking for?”

He hesitates, and the longer he tries to work the words out, the more concerned Theron looks.

“He… was a diplomat for Glee Anselm around the time the Treaty of Coruscant was signed. Gisan Syrral.”

Theron turns to the terminal behind him and the screen blinks to life at his approach, already showing line after line of garbled queries as his implants connect it to the appropriate databases.

He’d thought this would take some time, but as he watches Theron work, he realizes that this was happening now.

Spirits, was he really ready to hear this…?

“Are you alright, Commander?”

He jumps and nearly bites a hole in his lip when Senya appears at his side.

She looks concerned, and a quick check shows that his mental shielding has slipped a bit. Of course when he shores it up she only looks more worried.

“I’m fine,” he says. Even manages to keep his voice level too, but it’s clear that she doesn’t believe him. And now Arcann’s joining the party too.

This is too many people, he needs to figure out a way to get them to leave or ask Theron to get back to him later, or-

“Found him. Old timer’s still a diplomat too. Here.”

He hears the holotable hum to life, sees the glow on Senya and Arcann’s faces.

It’s a miracle he isn’t shaking when he finally turns to look.

The holo is of an old man. Medium-length lekku tied back in a simple yet elegant style, and the fine clothes of a statesman. Pale green with blue spots and large black eyes weighted down with wrinkles. One of the spots hangs low over his right eye.

He doesn’t realize he’s walking until his hip bumps into the holotable. It startles him a bit. Has him leaning on the edge to keep from collapsing.

His father was alive.

“What is the status of his family?” His voice sounds strangled to his own ears, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

Theron’s watching him with mild alarm at this point, and in the back of his mind he can feel Senya and Arcann are in much the same state.

“Theron?”

“I… ah… yeah, it says he’s married to someone named Enra. Give me a second.”

Too late to stop it, his father’s image is replaced by an old woman.

The second the picture sinks in, his knees all but give out. Something cracks. Several somethings. There are sparks and shouts and alarm through the Force.

The old woman wears a visor like him. Near-black skin and light green stripes. Tall, with long lekku tied and coiled together into one trailing tail. Two of them hang free, the majority of their length missing. Amputated. Burn scars peak out from underneath her tresses, barely visible on the back of her neck.

Something else breaks.

All at once the image disappears and the holotable goes dark. It takes an embarrassingly long moment before he realizes that it’s because Theron turned it off.

When he finally looks up there’s smoke pouring from two of the smaller consoles and several datapads are shattered and spitting sparks. He can feel the static laying over his skin like a blanket of needles.

The other three wisely refrain from touching him.

“They have three kids, two living and one-”

Theron goes deathly pale.

“Deceased male, son of Gisan and Enra Syrral this…” he looks up at him like he’s seen a ghost.

Or is currently looking at one.

“This is you isn’t it? Anai Syrral.”

He flinches at the name. It’s ridiculous how much of a difference that last syllable makes.

“Yes.”

The whole command center reeks of surprise and worry and sadness, and if someone even considers touching him right now he’ll break their fingers.

“Commander… I...”

“You said there were three children. Not two?”

Theron mouth closes with a click and he spares him one last worried look before checking his datapad.

“… yeah, a son Velen and a daughter Keela.”

A… son?

And-

“Keela’s alright?”

Theron’s staring at the datapad like it’s going to bite him.

“What is it?”

His jaw is clenched when he looked back up.

“Guess the Force runs in the family. Your sister’s a jedi knight,” he says with strained humor, “She’s still alive. Looks like she’s in charge of a small enclave on Glee Anselm, something about recruiting from the seers.”

If he had any breath left to speak of, it would have been punched out of him.

A jedi knight?

The sensitivity wasn’t a surprise, what with Lord Kallig kicking around somewhere in their ancestry. Perhaps it isn’t even a surprise that she was powerful enough to become a fully fledged knight. But somehow he hadn’t anticipated that she would be a jedi.

“I don’t know this Velen. Show me.”

He feels movement to his left. Nearly flinches when Arcann’s voice rumbles softly next to him.

“Are you certain this is a good idea, Commander?”

The worry is rolling off him in waves but somehow it only makes Anai angry.

He’s FINE.

“Please, Theron.”

The holotable blinks back on and the image of a young man hovers above.

Long lekku, dark blue skin with light green spots and black eyes. He’s tall, like Anai, but still carries the lankiness of youth, not quite old enough to have filled out properly.

A… younger brother.

“And Keela.”

The image shrinks down a bit and moves to the side to allow a new one. The holo of a woman.

Medium length lekku, heavier build. Green skin with lighter stripes. A scar on her cheek from their first trip to the surface when she’d fallen and split it open on the rocks. There are more than just the one now. A few visible slices on her lekku and a deep one across her forehead. It makes her look like a battered akla shark.

He leans on the holotable again, uses it to keep himself from falling as the world threatens to spin.

His father and sister survived. His mother was free and back with them. Keela was a jedi knight. And somehow he had a new brother.

Spirits, he needs to sit down.

Senya only falters a little at the ‘cities built on their shells’ part, which was better than most. The brief look on her face makes him chuckle, even if it comes out weak and thready.e holos herself, giving his shoulder a squeeze on the way.

“Where are they now?” she asks.

“On Glee Anselm, best I can tell. On the... Delaan gampasa? Uh...”

“Giant turtles. Migratory. There are cities built on their shells,” he manages to explain around the knot in this throat, before pausing. “The Delaan travels north of the equator, I think it’s where we lived… before.”

Senya only faltersa little at the ‘cities built on their shells’ part, which was better than most. The brief look on her face makes him chuckle, even if it comes out weak and thready.

“So they haven’t moved, then?”

He shakes his head and fights the memories that threaten to surface.

“Space is limited on gampasa, especially older ones. If they still live on Delaan, then they’re in the same home.”

“I don’t want to pry but… is this really the first time you’ve looked them up?” Theron asks.

He’s tired, his head feels like it’s spinning, and there’s a migraine brewing behind his eyes, so he feels he should be forgiven for snapping.

“I was told they were dead and I had neither the opportunity nor the capability to check for myself. And by the time I DID I was a bit too busy to investigate claims from years ago!” he snarls. There’s sparks crawling down his lekku and he shuts his mouth with an audible click.

Don’t get angry with Theron, he’s done nothing wrong.

Deep breaths.

He doesn’t look at Theron when he lifts his head, just focuses on the controls of the holotable in front of him.

“I should go, this is… I need to think on this. Before I decide what should should be done about it.”

When he leaves he can feel their eyes upon his back and it only makes him grit his teeth harder.

This was either horrible or wonderful and he honestly can’t tell which. It’s like his mind has shut down completely and there are no thoughts beyond, ‘LEAVE’ in big Nar Shaddaa neon.

He withdraws back to his ship, to his room that smells like him and the dark that feels like heaven on his eyes when he removes his visor.

There’s a warbling chirp and a familiar weight drops on his shoulder as Kesra finds her perch and nibbles at the base of one of his lekku. Her presence helps set him at ease. If she’s calm, then there’s nothing to be afraid of.

He pets over her bald head and scratches at the wrinkles on her neck. She croons happily and leans into it, nearly overbalancing with a surprised squawk.

When he sits she flutters down onto the bed, tucks her wings, and lays against his hip, almost immediately falling asleep.

She must have been lonely after he left.

He knows the feeling.

#swtor #sith inquisitor #nautolan #theron shan #senya tirall #arcann #tw slavery #i have his whole backstory planned out of course including ages and dates because i'm a masochist #i have no idea when this happens but it's post-kotet and before he gets together with Arcann #i feel like the ending is a little weak but i'm happy enough with the rest of it #this is probably the first thing i've written in a while that i actually feel ok about #kesra is his pet stoneray #relicwrites

[ownworldresident]

We Are Our Own Heroes. Chapter Two: Bayside

Book: The Royal Romance, seven years post-TRR

Premise: Six years after a tragic loss, Liam and his adopted daughter meet Cassandra, an artist with her own troubled past, and the three find in each other the friend they never knew they needed.

Disclaimer: Setting and some characters belong to Pixelberry. I am just borrowing them and will return them when they feel better.

Themes: found family, (power of) friendship, healing

The Master Masterlist (link) ---  Our Own Heroes Masterlist (link)

Liam

Saturday rolled around again. Nothing could lift the heavy circles under Liam’s eyes or take away his yawns, and the coffee could only do so much. He took solace in the fact that he could crash hard later that day. Emily had a harder time against this team. He kept score in his head, crossing his fingers and sending encouraging smiles whenever she glanced his way. The final whistle blew as they started from the centre of the court. Emily looked around to find her coach, then converged with her teammates. A moment later they cheered at the score. The crowd filed out and Liam waited for Emily to take her time with her friends. He nodded to the few spectators who looked his way. Today’s game was a late one, and the court was almost bare except for a few chatting kids and waiting parents. He yawned again, and when he opened his eyes, Cassie stood beside him. He blinked, too tired to conceal his surprise. “Sorry,” she chuckled, “didn’t mean to startle you.” “No, that’s alright,” he replied, “long week.” “Here I thought being king would be easy.” Cassie folded her arms across her chest. Liam breathed a laugh, but that was all he could manage. Something had happened, in the last few weeks, to throw him off balance.

“Challenging. But rewarding.” “A standard answer.” She smiled, then sighed. Liam watched her torn expression morph into resolve. “She’s lucky to have you,” she continued, turning to Emily a moment. Liam did not follow her gaze, but watched Cassie instead. “Thank you,” he answered, wary of the direction of the conversation. "My sister was really ill years back, and I moved in to take care of her boys for a while. I was only 24 at the time. I knew nothing about children, and they were so small.” Cassie smiled, and Liam waited to see if she would continue. He was glad the courts were emptying, and there was no one within earshot. “She was living out in the country, and I’d come straight from university in Amsterdam. No one really thought I should be the one to look after them, it was hard, but it… was the right thing to do, I think. They are such dear boys.” She looked down, a little heat in her cheeks, and Liam frowned. “You knew what they needed.” He found himself saying. “Where they’d come from.” She nodded, lifting her head again. “Maybe someone knew better. But I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I’d failed my sister when she needed me most.” Liam took in her words, feeling the memory come to him again. He blinked, and remembered where he was. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked gently. Cassie turned to him, then away again, cheeks a little redder. “I’m not sure.” She sighed. “I suppose I wanted you to know. It’s hard when no one believes in you. When no one understands.” Her voice trailed as she finished, but a moment later strengthened again. “I haven’t coached Emily before, but I have seen you around. I’m sorry if this is inappropriate, but if you ever need someone to talk to.” She lifted her shoulders, trying not to fold in on herself. “I’m here.” Liam pulled away from her, realising how unguarded he had been during the conversation. “Thank you,” was his final reply. What else could he say? Something more articulate if he was awake enough. Cassie nodded, then pulled something from her jacket pocket. As he suspected, the paper she handed him had her name and mobile number. “I’m not asking you to call me or anything,” she said with a more familiar cadence. “But if you need…” she smiled, “I’m here.” And with a nod, she walked away. Liam pocketed the note, and tried and failed to decipher whatever subtext he had missed. He didn't get much time to do so. A rush of colour preceded an impact against his side and he nearly stumbled. Emily wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at him, grinning, eyes shining with exertion. “Movie?” she said, leaning her chin against his stomach. Liam could hardly watch her insistence without laughing. “That depends.” He raised his eyebrows, and Emily frowned. “On what?” Leaning down, Liam gently detached her from him, kissed the top of her head, and stepped back. “On whether you can beat me to the car!” He ran, but not to win. Odd looks followed from those around them, but Liam’s focus was on the small shape darting ahead.

Cassandra

The last of the kids departed, and Cassie continued to pack up. The work took her hands to complete but not her mind, and she whisked herself away to some place colourful. Somewhere she could go to create. With everything packed away, she hoisted the ball bag over her shoulder and carried it to her car. She reflected on her interactions with Liam and Emily. Had she been too abrupt with her offer? She’d only known him a few weeks and spoken to him twice, and he had seemed concerned. That was the reason she had offered it, she reminded herself. All she could do was hope that her manner wasn’t off-putting, if a friend was what he needed. And if he didn’t act on her offer, like her mother had always said, at least she had tried. Back in her studio apartment, Cassie tossed her keys in a bowl by the door and the sports bag on the ground. “Back to work,” she informed no one in particular. Peeling off her clothes, she threw them in the direction of her bed. Then she changed into old stained things, and twirled a charcoal pencil between her fingers. With soft music as a backdrop, several hours and a glass of wine passed before she admitted defeat. The line work on her canvas was approximately complete but nothing in her usual colour palette captured the feel of it. The much larger canvas nearby was as blank as the day she bought it. It taunted her lack of inspiration. There was plenty of time, she told it, and pointedly avoided the calendar on her wall ‘with exhibition’ circled two months from now. Around dusk, a miasma of sunset shades began to leak in through the window and touch her other pieces. Her stomach growled on cue as she registered the time. It occurred to her that she hadn’t eaten since midday yesterday. As good a reason as any, she reasoned, to take a break. She grabbed her jacket and keys and headed out again.

---

After dark on a Saturday, the boardwalk came to life. Cassie reclined in the corner of her favourite establishment, drink in one hand, pencil in the other. Always carry a sketchbook. And when she wasn’t in front of a canvas her hand flowed freely. The din of the bar was chatty and friendly. Two and a half walls were open to a balcony over the bay. People meandered in and out or stood or sat in groups, waving their hands in animated recounts of their life events. Warm lighting like this was perfect for sketching. Her knees were nearly against her chest at a booth in the corner and hid most of her work from prying eyes. An easy sketch sat nearby. Rolling her shoulders back, Cassie drew his outline. He hunched over the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey, denim jacket concealing muscled arms and a t-shirt. He came most weekends, she noticed -detailing the perfect frown- but never seemed to be fully here. When she looked up again he was gone. “Having fun?” The low voice resonated from the same booth she sat at. Cassie hadn’t noticed his approach. She pulled her sketchbook against her chest as she turned to him. Too late, the regular had noticed his likeness. “What gave it away?” she asked, reaching for her cocktail. He shrugged. “You’ve hardly touched your drink.” He gestured to the almost full glass in her hand, ice almost melted. She grinned and took a sip. “Likewise.” She indicated his glass. He rarely took more than a shot at a time. “This isn’t meant to be rushed.” He gazed at his drink with reverence and she tried not to laugh. “Uhuh.” Cassie took another sip and looked back at her sketch as she put the glass down. “What do you think?” “Of your sketch?” He reclined. “You’re very talented.” “Not what I was going for, but thanks.” Cassie smirked, then turned her book so he could see the drawing better. “Did I get you right?” He shrugged, took another sip, then shook his head. “I don’t frown that much.” Cassie spilled her drink on the table as she laughed, which only made her laugh more. When finally she regained control, he was waiting. “Yes, you do.” The man turned away. His attempt at a severe frown fell short as the tiniest curve of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. She picked up her pencil again and started adding the new expression. “I’m Cassie,” she said into the silence, no longer able to leave his sketches unnamed. Leaning toward her book to focus on the detail of his lips, she waited for his response. Instead, when she looked up, he had turned to her fully, and intensely. “What?” “So you’re Cassie,” he said. She frowned this time. “What do you mean?” He blinked, glanced at his drink for a long moment, then shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, sticking out his hand, “I’m Drake.”

What Happened Six Years Ago

Drake

Drake found Liam in the hall of the children’s hospital. The day was more than over, and the quiet was eerie. He lowered himself to the seat beside Liam, and they sat in silence for some indeterminate time, receiving awkward glances from the few hospital staff that passed. “Li—” Drake started, realising with a cough that he hadn’t spoken in several hours. He cleared his throat. “Liam, I think…” But there weren’t any adequate words to come after that. “We should figure out what to do next.” Liam didn’t respond. He stared wide-eyed at the ground, fingers laced around the back of his head and elbows braced on his knees. How far into his mind had he retreated? “We should think about—” “It doesn’t matter.” Drake's chest tightened at the heaviness in Liam’s voice. Like he couldn’t intonate. He paused, and searched for what to say next.   “You can’t sit in a hospital corridor all night. You need to decide what to do. There’s the… her…” Drake turned from his friend, trying not to imagine the view of the night before in that old, musty room. He wasn’t successful. “I can organise our trip back to Cordonia, and you can send people back to investigate, but you need to make the call about her…” he swallowed painfully past the lump in his throat. “Anna’s body.” The words came out hoarse. “Coming with us. Bastien is organising it.” New information to Drake, but he nodded. “And the kid.” “Emily.” Liam croaked, then sighed. The door closest to Liam’s other side was the girl’s room door. “She won’t be here much longer. We need to organise where to leave her.” “Leave her?” Liam looked up, finally, and Drake struggled to keep focus when confronted with the red, grief stricken eyes of his friend. “Once she leaves the hospital, we need to find a home for her.” Liam balked, leaning away from him, and the sudden movement was jarring. “Drake she’s coming with me. How could you even suggest …” Liam stood and looked down to him. “I made a promise.” “You said you’d take care of her.” “At my home, yes.” “Liam you can’t be…” Drake stood as well to be on a level. “She’s barely three years old. You don’t know anything about children.” Liam stared at him. “You still don’t get it.” Drake made a sweeping gesture but continued in an even voice. “Then help me get it. What do you owe her, after what she put you through?” “I promised—” Liam halted as his volume rose, then sighed again and lowered his voice. “I promised I would protect her. Handing her over to social care or their equivalent here, however fortunate she might be in finding a family who treats her as she deserves, is not enough.” Drake grit his teeth, struggling to find a way to bring reason to Liam’s emotional argument. He was no more prepared to raise a child than Drake was. “Three years old,” Drake repeated, hesitant. “She won’t remember what happened. Taking her away from here isn’t fair to her.” “And what if she does remember? Do you think you will ever for… forget…” Liam slumped back against the wall and down to his seat again. He raked his fingers through his hair and groaned, and when he looked up again he looked paler and more tired than Drake had ever seen him. “As I said,” Liam drew in a long breath. “I made a promise. I won’t leave her fate to chance.” No matter his grievance, Drake couldn’t force Liam to consider something he was set against. Maybe in a few days, when his thoughts cleared, he could convince Liam that finding Emily a family was better than taking her in himself. After all, there was no way he would be able to move on from Anna while raising a child who looked just like her.

------

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[i-like-plan-m]

shades of grey, pt 2

[part 1] [Ao3]

A high-pitched scream startled the roomful of advisors in the Unclean Realm. Nie Mingjue sighed and watched as they tried to compose themselves while shooting questioning glances at the closed door. 

“A moment,” Nie Mingjue said calmly, rising from his seat. 

He stalked to the door, yanked it open, and bellowed out into the hall. “You had better not be doing what I think you’re doing!” 

He heard the pitter patter of little feet scampering away, the hushed giggles of Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang who were not nearly as quiet as they believed. A servant rounded the corner looking harried and paused at the sight of the Sect Leader leaning out of the meeting room. 

“Let me guess,” Nie Mingjue said shortly. “Wei Wuxian had another brilliant idea, and Huaisang is happily along for the ride.” 

“Wei Wuxian caught a small bird for Nie Huaisang, Sect Leader,” the servant replied with a polite bow. “Your brother was surprised when it escaped and flew into his face.” 

Hence the screaming, Nie Mingjue assumed. “And now?” He asked. 

The servant hesitated. “I… believe they plan to catch it again and keep it, Sect Leader.” 

Which meant they’d be climbing all over the damn walls and leaping off of rooftops, judging by past experience. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to keep his exasperation from bleeding into actual annoyance. 

“Fetch Nie Zonghui,” he decided. He didn’t trust the other disciples to wrangle both boys without help, and he couldn’t justify interrupting his disciples’ training to send more than one. Babysitting definitely wasn’t one of the duties of being Nie Mingjue’s right hand, but Nie Zonghui was the best bet for catching them both before someone ended up maimed or worse. 

His right hand and best friend deposited the boys at Nie Mingjue’s office shortly after the meeting ended, hiding a smile at their sulking expressions. “Your troublemakers, Sect Leader, as requested.” 

Nie Mingjue set aside yet another letter from Jiang Fengmian asking for an update on Wei Wuxian’s progress and glowered at them. “You disrupted a meeting with my advisors and made Nie Zonghui chase you all over the Unclean Realm.” 

“We didn’t mean to!” Wei Wuxian said, all big eyes and irrepressible energy. “Sorry, Chifeng-Zun!”

“The bird got away,” Nie Huaisang said despondently. His robes were torn and smeared with dirt, though he had fewer leaves in his hair than Wei Wuxian did. 

Nie Mingjue wished desperately for a drink. 

“Huaisang,” he said through gritted teeth. 

Nie Huaisang sighed heavily. “Sorry, da-ge,” he said in an obedient monotone. “Sorry, Nie Zonghui.” 

“You are forgiven,” Nie Zonghui said, patting them both on the heads. They brightened. 

“Stop right there,” Nie Mingjue said as they tried to make a quick break for the door. “You’re still being punished. Huaisang, no painting for a week.” 

Nie Huaisang gasped, betrayed. “No! Da-ge! One day!” 

“Six.” 

“Two!” 

“Four?” Wei Wuxian suggested, glancing between them. 

Neither of them looked pleased, which meant Nie Zonghui cheerfully interjected with, “Four it is. Thank you, shidi.” Wei Wuxian looked too pleased at the praise for either of them to argue. 

“Wei Wuxian-”

“Extra training?” He asked hopefully. 

“No,” Nie Mingjue said flatly. “You’d only enjoy that, and that isn’t the point of a punishment. Instead, you can scribe for me over the next four days.” 

“Scribing?” Wei Wuxian moaned, slumping sideways into Nie Huaisang, who stumbled and only remained upright because Nie Zonghui caught them both by the back of their robes. “But Chifeng-Zun, it’s so boring!” 

“Think about that the next time you two want to cause trouble,” he scolded. “Now go away, you’re missing dinner.” They scrambled out the door before he could add anything else to their punishment, leaving the two adults in sudden silence. 

“It’s not funny,” he said darkly. “Stop laughing.” 

Nie Zonghui just grinned wider. “They gave me quite the chase this afternoon. Wei Wuxian is getting quick.” 

“I’ll be sure to tell Jiang Fengmian,” Nie Mingjue said, tossing the letter across the desk with disgust. 

“Another letter?” Nie Zonghui marveled, scanning its contents with a growing frown. “What is his preoccupation with Wei Wuxian?”

“Something about being in love with one or both of his parents, if the gossip is to be believed.” His tone shared his feelings about gossip, but there was no direct way to ask Jiang Fengmian what his deal was without causing intersect strife that Nie Mingjue could not afford at the moment and definitely didn’t have the patience for, now or ever. 

“He asked for Wei Wuxian to visit again,” Nie Zonghui noted, setting the letter down. His voice was neutral, but the tightness around his eyes made the soft grey turn to steel. 

“If only the man would pay more attention to his own children,” Nie Mingjue muttered. Maybe then Madam Yu would stop glaring at Nie Mingjue like it was his fault her husband was utterly disinterested in his own family. 

“You won’t be able to dodge the question forever,” Nie Zonghui said unhappily. “Will he try to keep Wei Wuxian, if we let him visit?” 

Nie Mingjue scowled. “Wei Wuxian is officially a ward of Qinghe Nie. Fengmian would be a fool to try anything of the sort.” 

He wouldn’t necessarily threaten war if that came to pass, but there were many Nie disciples who were very fond of Wei Wuxian. Jiang Fengmian wouldn’t risk the ire of the entire Qinghe Nie Sect, not when there was proof that Wei Wuxian was cared for and thriving. 

“Perhaps Huaisang could visit, too,” Nie Zonghui suggested. Then he smiled with all of his teeth; it was not friendly. “And a few select guards, for the Sect Leader’s beloved little brother.” 

Nie Mingjue considered his friend, who had become attached to Wei Wuxian within days of his arrival at Qinghe. The dual sabers strapped to his back marked him as a formidable fighter even among the Nie disciples- few could stand against him in a fight, much less win. 

Nie Mingjue would trust Huaisang and Wei Wuxian to no one else. 

“You’re volunteering to spend that much time near Madam Yu?” He asked wryly. 

Nie Zonghui grimaced. “For them, yes.” 

“A devoted disciple,” Nie Mingjue said solemnly. 

Nie Zonghui rolled his eyes. “Have you eaten dinner yet?” He glanced at the piles of paperwork on Nie Mingjue’s desk. “Never mind. Let’s go, before the cooks track us down.” 

“I have-” 

“To get dinner,” Nie Zonghui interrupted. “I have been threatened, Sect Leader, into ensuring you are appropriately fed.”

“Threatened?” He asked, giving in and rising. He was hungry, he admitted to himself as he collected Baxia and followed his second out the door. 

“With cold and unspiced meals,” Nie Zonghui said with exaggerated sorrow and a shudder. “As though I’m the one to blame for your personal choices.” 

Nie Mingjue muttered something unflattering under his breath, but let Nie Zonghui lead him to the dining hall. He spotted Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang sequestered in a corner, a pile of food between them as they hunched over a stack of talisman papers. 

Wei Wuxian still ate like every bite would be his last, but at least he’d stopped stashing perishable foods in his robes and under his bed. He’d been found out a month into his arrival when the smell of rotten meat had wafted all the way down the hall. 

He’d been so guilty, so scared, but Nie Mingjue had just sighed and led him to the kitchens to introduce him to the staff, where he was allowed to go ask for food whenever he wanted. He’d been adopted on the spot by the cooks, whose stern demeanors dissolved in the face of Wei Wuxian’s wide-eyed awe and disbelief about being offered free food. They kept a stash of snacks in the kitchen just for him now, coated in bright red chili oil that made Huaisang gag. 

Nie Mingjue heard his brother whining about it now, bickering with Wei Wuxian about his chili oil-infested food touching Nie Huaisang’s. But for all their arguing, all their mischief and havoc, they were glued at the hip. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen them apart. 

Their bedrooms were adjoining, but most of the time Nie Mingjue found them curled up together like puppies in one room. He’d noticed fewer nightmares from Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian both, and thought their personalities were wildly different, they shared enough interests that it never affected their friendship. 

Seeing his little brother flourish at the heels of a gold-hearted trouble maker only made Nie Mingjue’s resolve harden. Jiang Fengmian couldn’t have Wei Wuxian, and that was final.

[Ao3]

#mdzs #the untamed #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #wei wuxian #wei ying #qinghe nie #nie sect #nie brothers #fic #ficlets #my fics #nie zonghui #nie sect wwx

[iwritefanfictionsometimes]

still growing up now

for @curlymcclain (and myself bc I’m nothing if not selfish)

AO3

Chapters: 1/1

The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky

Characters: Theodore Decker, Boris Pavlikovsky, James "Hobie" Hobart

Additional Tags: Someone You Meet at the Wrong Time Then Re-meet at the Right One, Post-Canon, Open Ending, Kinda, Fluff, Theo sorts out his emotions, Healing

Summary: It’s been six months since Amsterdam, six months since I’ve been home for any significant period of time and, six months since I last saw Boris. Maybe after not seeing him for eight years, six months should seem like nothing, but with the new clarity of my sobriety and the strange knowledge in the back of my mind that I would kill for Boris it's harder to ignore the pull in my chest when I think of Boris’ curls and the smile in the corner of his mouth when he’s about to do something definitely stupid and possibly illegal.

----

or, the birthday fic

It’s been six months since Amsterdam, six months since I’ve been home for any significant period of time and, six months since I last saw Boris. Maybe after not seeing him for eight years, six months should seem like nothing, but with the new clarity of my sobriety and the strange knowledge in the back of my mind that I would kill for Boris it’s harder to ignore the pull in my chest when I think of Boris’ curls and the smile in the corner of his mouth when he’s about to do something definitely stupid and possibly illegal. 

I’m home now, possibly for good. All the Changelings I can remember selling have been bought back, I’ve righted my wrongs. Or at least, most of them. There’s still the wide and horrible divide between me and Kitsey that I don’t think will ever be repaired. It hadn’t broken her heart when I’d called off the engagement, but it had ruined what stability her family had built. I'm not surprised she can’t forgive me for that. I don’t let myself think of what questions I have that continue to go unanswered. 

Popper barely moves when I open the door, I think it’s a wonder he’s still alive. I kept thinking I would get a call in the middle of Europe telling me I needed to come home right away. But it never came. I can’t help but remember the way he’d screamed and jumped around when Boris walked in with me only six months ago. But he’s always liked Boris better. 

Hobie appears in the doorway to the basement. He looks more tired then I can remember since I showed up at his door unexpectedly after Vegas. It’s not a good look. I want him to smile again like he did while business was doing well. He watches me silently as I drop my bags in the entranceway. I stand there unsurely for a moment —it’s not a familiar feeling— before he sighs and opens his arms. I’m not used to this, even from him, but the hug is good. It means I’m forgiven. 

“Go get cleaned up, Theo, I have to run out for a moment,” Hobie says gruffly once we let go. 

“Oh,” I say awkwardly, “I was just stopping to see you and get some of my clothes.”

Hobie frowns at me. 

“I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome here. And anyway, I thought it was time to start fresh.”

“What are you talking about, Theo?” 

“I’ve rented a place, an apartment, it’s not far but I thought I should give you some time.”

Hobie looks sad for a moment and he puts a hand on my shoulder. 

“I was never that mad, you know you are welcome to stay,” he tells me gently. 

I don’t know how to explain that this was as much for me as it was for him. I am, after all, a selfish creature. Very few things in my life have been done without any regard for my personal gain. 

I nod instead of trying to explain everything to him. He studies my face for a moment and then pulls away. “Tell me where your apartment is,” he says while putting his coat on, “I’ll bring over some things I’ve been meaning to give you tomorrow.”

Again, I nod. There isn’t really anything I feel I can say. He’s out the door with one last searching look and a flap of his coat. The lightness with which he moves still surprises me. 

I stand there for a moment, both at the bottom and the top of the stairs, before I shake my head and take my first step up to my room. Or I guess my old room. 

It takes longer then I thought it would to pack a suitcase. My room is a maze that my sober self doesn’t know how to navigate. Inevitably I end up standing in the doorway with a suitcase beside me and my home for the last nine years looking nearly as bare as it was when I first came. I only look at it for a second before leaving. I don’t put a name to the churning in my stomach. 

-

Boris is at my apartment. I stop halfway down the hallway, and my heart beats a frantic rhythm in my chest. He makes no sense in this hallway. Again, he is a magazine page torn from other chapters of my life. He looks so normal it’s strange, wearing a too-big t-shirt and jeans he looks like any boy waiting outside their friend’s apartment. He looks up when he hears my footsteps stop. There is the startling reality of his face, the paleness of his skin and then how dark his hair is against it, the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones. There’s a tentative smile in the corner of his mouth, not enough to crinkle his eyes but it’s there. 

“Potter,” he says, like this is normal. 

I would ask him how he knew where I was, but I didn’t really want to know.

“What are you doing here?” I sound more rude then I had intended, but Boris knows me well enough not to be offended.

He smiles a real smile then. My feet carry me over to him without a thought. 

“Do you not know what day it is?” he asks. 

I stumble over the dates in my head before oh. Oh. It’s my birthday. 

Birthdays in Vegas were never big affairs, neither of us had the money or the commitment to make actual plans. But the two I had with him were both memorable. I haven’t had one like that since I left. I wasn’t even sure if I’d ever told Hobie my birthday, although he must know. 

“You missed eight of them.”

I’m not sure what else I could say.

“Yes, but misunderstanding. It is all cleared up now,” he grins, “are you going to let me in?”

I can’t do much else but open the door. I’m hardly about to turn him away, not after thinking I might never see him again. He follows me in and kicks off his boots carelessly in the entryway.

“So, new place!” he observes, “it is very empty, Potter.”

I sigh and wheel my suitcase away from him. He follows me back to the bedroom chatting inanely about the weather and how loud New York is in the summer and ‘Potter! Remember how hot we were in Vegas? Always wearing sweaters!’ 

He wanders around my room as I drag my clothes out of the suitcase and get to work putting them away. I’m running on autopilot now, my mind too caught on —he’s here in my room his hands are on my things— him to make any good decisions about what I should be doing. He picks up the few trinkets I have with careful hands and studies them intensely while talking. I’m too caught up in the loop of Boris to immediately pick up when his voice stops. Then suddenly, I realize the room is too silent. I look up from my clothes to see him standing extremely still with his head bent towards whatever he’s holding in his hands. The line of his shoulders is tense. I stand up slowly, there’s a pounding in my chest where my heart is beating double time. I don’t know what’s in his hands, but whatever is coming feels inevitable. He turns to face me when I stand beside him. 

“You kept it,” he whispers.

I look down to see what he has clenched in his hand. It’s his father’s lighter. The heavy gold one he’d left in my bag a few days after the first birthday I spent with him. I know exactly how it feels in my hands. The swirling designs on the sides are worn down from years of my fingers rubbing them when I was nervous, and the lighter doesn’t even work anymore because of how much I’d used it, and yet, I’d brought it everywhere with me for the last nine years. 

His eyes are dark and startled when they meet mine. 

“I had not expected you would keep it.”

“It’s the only thing I had of yours,” I say, laughing awkwardly. 

It’s still difficult to be honest with him, even if I’ve almost gotten used to being honest with myself. 

There’s a silent minute where I have to clench my fists to stop words I’d regret from bursting out of my mouth, and then he lets out a shaky breath. We’re somehow too close. 

“Potter…” 

“Why did you come, Boris,” I interrupt to ask again, a little more desperate. 

“I missed you,” he mumbles, almost unintelligible through his accent.

His arm is under my hand, I don’t think about it too much. He’s warm. I can’t read whatever is in his eyes, but it leaves me a little short of breath. He’s fidgeting with the lighter still and I’ve never been more aware of the change in our height difference. I’m almost looking at the top of his head because he won’t meet my eyes. The fear from years ago creeps into my chest but I push it down. I worked for this, I didn’t sleep for this, I called a therapist a couple of times for this. Whether I take the leap or not it’s possible I won’t see him for years. I’m tired of it never being the right time. 

“I missed you too.”

It sounds like a secret, and Boris reacts like it’s one, jerking his eyes up to mine so fast it looks like it hurts his neck. There’s a defensive smirk just under his skin, I can tell, but he looks vulnerable like I haven’t seen since the night I left Vegas. I wonder what he would’ve said if I hadn’t refused to hear it. His study of my face must give him the answer he wanted because the fake smirk disappears and his eyes widen.

The lighter clatters to the floor. 

His hand is tight on my shoulder, almost painful, and his face is intense: filled with emotions I don’t understand, and fear.

“This is not a funny joke, Theo,” he hisses, and I know he’s serious because he uses my real name. It sounds odd on his tongue.  

“I’m not joking.”

“Are you high?” he asks, pulling away suddenly. 

“Boris!”

“Is a fair question, Potter.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath. I have to say this right. There’s years of misunderstandings and unspoken lies to try and explain. 

“I’ve been thinking,” I start, “I know there are things we never talked about.”

Boris’ jaw clenches and he stands a little straighter. The sun reflects in his eyes through the window. It reminds me of Vegas a little, the sun always too bright and too hot, leaving Boris’ skin red and mine brown. But before he burned and peeled he was stunning in sunlight, gold falling on the many high points of his face and making him look like he was glowing. I could never resist him when he looked like that. 

“I also know there are things I don’t remember,” I shift nervously, Boris is completely still. 

“I don’t even know if you have any interest in me, but I just. I’ve been thinking-”

Boris’ hand on my cheek causes my mouth to snap shut. 

“Potter…” he whispers, and that is a secret as well. 

I can’t stop myself from swaying toward him —he’s always had a way of pulling me into his orbit— but I know I need to say this in full. “I didn’t let myself think about anything,” I whisper like the air will shatter if I talk louder.

“Not us, not my mom, and not about my own feelings. I was too empty and too full. And you were dangerous.” 

The brush of his fingers in my hair is distracting, and I want nothing more than to let him pull me in, but I’ve done enough thinking that I know I have to tell him this. There has been too much avoidance in our history. Thankfully Boris is quiet. New York is loud outside, but that hardly matters.

“I still am not sure about most things, but I know there was something-” I still can’t say it.

“Something more?” Boris asks.

“Something I never said.”

He looks up at me and touches the edge of my lips gently. I know there’s a scar there from one of the times he punched me. My breath hitches, I remember his lips on my fingers after both our mouths were bloody, I remember the desperate press of his own lips against mine so long ago. We’re both deathly silent. 

“What was it?” He asks finally. 

I can’t say it. I’ve thought it more times then I can count, and it’s swirling around my head on a loop, but I can’t make the words come out of my mouth. Boris looks like maybe he understands. 

“Is okay, Theo. I understand.”

The air leaves me in a rush and then my lungs are burning because his lips are on mine and I can’t break away to inhale. 

There’s a sense of relief, like this was the inevitable ending to our story —although I’m not sure it really is an end— like if nothing else had been right in my life at least I had given myself this. One thing that was even more perfect for the disaster it started as. I couldn’t help but hate that it had taken so long, even as his hands fist in my hair and shirt, but I know it wouldn’t have been right nine years ago, or even six months. I couldn’t have done this sober and he couldn’t have done it with me high, not again. 

He feels right in a way neither Kitsey or Pippa ever did, no matter how much I made myself believe they were. I place careful hands on his neck and waist and just let myself sink into him. It’s more gentle then I had expected, I had half convinced myself it would be a frantic tumble much like our youth. But of course, when given the chance now he held me like I’d run away. 

It’s several long minutes before I break away. “Are you staying?” I ask quietly. 

He’s silent, stroking his fingers lightly over the lines of my face and staring at me like he can’t quite believe I’m here. I let him. 

“Do you want me to?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you to.”

He nods like he knew.

“You know I was always waiting for you, Potter,” he smiles slightly mischievously, “you were always the last to know everything.”

I laugh, because what else is there to do when he looks so happy and there’s something growing in my chest that tells me I might be as well. There’s more to talk about, but tonight I just want to sleep and remember what it feels like to have him beside me and not feel guilty about it this time. 

“Sleep?” I ask. 

He searches my face for a moment. 

“Yes, I think that would be alright.”

-

I look down at him the next morning. The sun is still rising —I’ve gotten used to waking up early for flights—  and it just barely shines through his messy hair, lighting it up to gold. The angles of his face are so familiar, even with years of being apart and the haze of drugs I’d been in. I think maybe I’d remember him even if I forgot everything else. I think I’d forget my own mother before him; maybe I already have. Her voice doesn’t sound familiar in my head anymore. In contrast, his had sometimes been the only one I recognized in my delirium. He clenches a fist in the sheets before his eyes open. Everything about him is startling. His dark hair and eyes against my white sheets, the curl of his lips as he catches me staring, the rasp in his voice from sleep. 

“Shall we just stand here tenderly and gaze?” He mumbles.

I fight the smile rising. 

“We aren’t even standing, Boris.”

He laughs and presses his face into the pillow. 

“Is the thought of it, Potter.”

I don’t respond. Eventually, he blinks up at me and rolls a little so he doesn’t have to crane his neck. I wonder how long he’s waited for this; how long I’ve waited for this. 

“Are you alright?” He asks softly. 

I don’t know. There’s an unnamable feeling bubbling in my chest. I remember waking up a thousand times with him, wrapped up together or across the room, and each time felt dangerous. Could I let myself have this? Even a year ago I would’ve said no, I wouldn’t have even thought of it. But a year ago I didn’t have Boris in my bed looking at me with so much hope (even though he tried to hide it). A year ago I hadn’t spent six months trying to fix the wrong I’d done to the world and to myself. Planes and airports leave a lot of time for self-reflection. Sometime in between Las Angeles and Phoenix, I’d come across the startling realization that almost everything I made myself believe about myself was false in one way or another. 

It wasn’t hard to accept now that Boris made me better. Better in the worst way, yes, but more myself -messy and angry and the opposite of what I’d built my life around- then anyone else ever has. He knew about the worst parts of me and just let me be broken. He was there, and demanded nothing but my honesty.

I’d called Pippa sometime in London. She’d told me one thing after I’d apologized for every misguided advance I’d made. She said that the only way she’d moved on was by letting it hurt. She told me that only once she’d cried and screamed and cut her hair did the pain start draining away. Her voice had been so quiet —like she was afraid of scaring me— when she’d asked if I ever had that. I hadn’t. I’d drowned it all in drugs and alcohol before I even felt half of the pain. So I’d tried. I lay in nameless hotel rooms and stared at the ceiling, will for the tears to come. They hadn’t. I thought about the things I’d avoided for so long because I was scared of how I would react. But my eyes stayed dry. I wondered if I was broken. If the drugs had numbed something inside me to the point of it being unfixable. 

Looking at the boy, man really, in my bed now though I can feel the slightest whispers of emotions squeezing in my chest. 

I lay back down and reach a hand out tentatively between us. His eyes meet mine across what seems like miles of pillow. His fingers slide to meet mine. I can’t look at him. 

“Theo?” his voice is soft and careful, his accent tripping messily around my name. 

I close my eyes. His hand leaves mine but I don’t flinch when his fingers brush my cheek. 

“Open your eyes, Potter,” he whispers. 

His hand spreads across my jaw. His thumb brushes under my eye. I know my eyes are wet when I open them. He raises his eyebrows at me, it’s almost familiar. But not quite. We’d never been this gentle before. I know there is much more to talk about, but I’m determined to ignore that knowledge for as long as I can. For now it’s just this, I can allow myself this without panicking. 

“Are you alright?” he asks again.

‘As long as you stay with me I will be.’ I think, but that feels like too much. 

“I think so,” I say instead.

I hope he hears the rest when I reach a shaking hand across to smooth away his frown.

#boreo #the goldfinch #tgf fic #boris pavlikovsky #theo decker #tgf #my writing #fanfiction

[wokeastroke]

Love

Tirian,

Your mother told me this letter was meant to have advice about feelings and shit. Love, she said. I would’ve set all of the letters ablaze if she hadn’t done that thing she does with her ears, pinning them to her head. She knows I like it, abusive little thing. If I catch you telling anyone about that, I’ll break your legs.

I imagine by the time you read this, you’ll be a man. More than what you are now, anyway. I’m glad you chose the right path, getting knighted. When you get knighted with that fancy fucking sword, I’ll be more proud.

Love is a broken and painful thing, Tirian. The benefits don’t outweigh how weak it makes you, but you can’t hide from it. I’ve seen how you look at some of the girls about this place. It’s the same look I gave your mother before I chased after her. We were more wild, back then. I remember stealing her from some fat, ugly ‘man’ one night and not again until ages later. I’d had other women in between, don’t tell your mother, but none seemed to stack up. Which was strange, considering how much I love a set of tits. Your mother only had tits when she was nursing you. Once again, if you tell you mother any of this, I will kill you.

I suppose that was love. Or whatever sort of love someone like I could feel. I wanted her again. Wanted to see her again, to see if this was something more than just a hunger for ass I haven’t had in a while. I had to find out why she haunted my dreams. I cannot call it love at that point. Lust. Obsession, maybe. But not love.

I don’t think I loved her until I saw her shout at my Lord Commander. The man spent his entire life, gods rest his soul, facing down beasts twice his size. Just the day before he went hunting with a noble family, the strange torturer one and a few others, and speared a boar twice his size. Didn’t flinch in the slightest.

But there she was, a small, waif of a woman, spitting the most venomous words possible at the man. He looked like someone was stepping on his balls. That’s when it hit me, when I realized I had to have her. A few months later, a few arguments, you were there. Little skinny spitfuck turning your wild mother into a proper Lady over night.

I still haven’t forgiven you, though she still managed to pass on a bit of that flame to your blood. Turned her to Ladyship, and she turned me into a gods damned Lord. The things we become for people we care for.

Anyway. I’m done with this topic, now. I thought it’d be harder. Hope you learned something, boy.

Anarian

My heart, my joy,

I can hear your father laughing in his little study. Perhaps to you it was always a place of wonder, adventure. I have only ever seen it as a painting of memories he misses. You may have never noticed the lack of swords or merits nailed to the rest of our home’s walls. You, also, likely did not notice his reluctance to tell you stories outside of his small cave of manliness.

I must sound bitter. Perhaps I am, in a way. Jealous of the way a man can love the past, can delve into memory and relive only the golden moments. My life before your father was nothing to be proud of, nothing to remember. I made it clear to you from the day you could understand that I came from the class of working-women. Courtesans and dancers and harlots and whores. Though we merely called each other ‘sisters’ in the business. Many wished to think that the definition of the work changed the higher you went, but, and excuse my language as I have little patience for the ignorant, it as all merely sex for money.

I remember much of that night, but will spare you the embarrassment. I lost the customer, but I fear he had neither the gall or the men backing him to say anything when he took his leave. But my heart was all that mattered from then on. We danced and danced and kissed for what felt like years beneath the moon. And then the party was over. It would be months before I met your father a second time.

I am, above all things, a woman, my dear Tirian. I demand the respect of such a status. Whore I might have been, but I would not stand for disgrace, for insult. Perhaps this is why I was sought after by the higher echelon of the courts. I seemed a Lady, but would follow them to their chambers. A man in the same armor as your father came into the hall I worked, and I must have caught his eye. In mere moments he was against me, ensuring that he could show me a side of the bed that no other could. I regret to show it, but your mother’s temper got the better of her, and I spent nearly half an hour berating the poor fellow for all to hear.

I neglected to speak of it, as he is your uncle Emrik. Do not go fighting him, he has become a wonderful man since, a wonderful uncle, and a wonderful father.

He was soon saved by your dashing father, who made a spectacle of throwing me over his broad shoulders and walking me around the gardens until I had calmed.

His kiss, that night, sparked a flame that ended in you, a marriage, and my rise to Ladyship. Perhaps I have droned on about my love for too long, but you must understand why. Your father will denounce it, call it evil, call it sick. But love is the only reason to live, my son. Love is your shield, love is your sword. This single emotion sparks so many more, I can scarcely explain it to you. Hold any you gift your heart to close, and let none harm them. And if they are, indeed, harmed, gut them. Enjoy the rapturous feeling of protecting what is yours.

Your loving mother,

Yvresse

P.s. I love you, my son.

<The next words are dug deeply into the page, as if written with great strain. Possibly while under great distress, or fear.>

This is your father. I love you as well. You may think your mother is forcing me to write this, but she is -

<the page is torn, the words unfinished.>

[gold-eyes-vengeful-heart]

Prompt #1: Voracious

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

((Runya mulls over friendship. Or: Runya has dysfunctions and wishes to show you them. Takes place a bit after ShB 5.0′s MSQ.

Mentions: @semper-miles‘ Angerona and @aetherstitch‘s Sorin! As well as Brannon, who is not on tumblr much anymore, but still.))

=====

More than one person who had figured out about Angerona thought his attachment to her...odd.

(He knew that Sorin would never say it out loud, but something in the other Miqo’te’s tone of voice betrayed some of his deeper thoughts and feelings on the matter.)

But he didn’t think that any of them would really understand, when it came down to it. None of them had been quite so alone as he had--not just during the experiments, but even before that, after his parents had fallen prey to the same meat-grinder of the Empire’s military machine that so many others had, savage and pureblood alike. He had always been too reclusive, too glib, too unusual in manner and affect for most to care too much about him, and in turn, he made no effort to know them either; he found their acceptance of their lot, ranging from weary to hopeful, to be an insult to the tales his parents had once told him of a much prouder and fairer nation than the one currently trapped with the Empire’s bootheel on its throat.

(So many of them so easily believed complete lies, some of them so much so that they happily acted as a foreign nation’s enforcers against their own kith and kin. It was disgusting. Of course he didn’t care to extend a hand of friendship to those who would eagerly chop it off for daring to believe that the glorious Empire might not have their own good in mind--or that the Empire’s idea of their own good might be a terrible thing, indeed.)

He didn’t have friends, really. The other soldiers in his unit were all turncoats or cowards, and though no one around him would believe it, he was certain, he had some pride at the time. He had some will to carry through what his parents had always wanted--freedom from the terrors of a marauding nation that thought all of them little better than animals. He had the urge to see such a callous and cruel system overthrown.

(He and Daeyona had much alike, as much as dear Daeyona refused to admit to it.)

But just because he had all of that, just because he had no friends, didn’t mean that some part of him that was still more than human enough didn’t still want them. Some part of him still looked at the clusters of obvious friends joking and laughing with one another even in the depths of the Empire’s machinations of violence, and felt a vicious stab of something that could only be described as envy. He looked at even the worst of people jesting at each other and having visible care for one another, and he couldn’t help but burn with jealousy. 

(If even the nastiest torturers who took active glee in tormenting people could have such things, what did that say about him? As much as he tried, he couldn’t shake the thought.)

He had felt it all the keener when he threw himself into the jaws of the so-called research divisions, when he had foolishly believed that he could simply take some of their technology under the guise of being a “helpful” experiment and start to destroy them with it. He hadn’t heard how bad it was; he hadn’t expected even baser cruelties than he had ever experienced in the barracks of the military, and he hadn’t expected to have his body warped and his very mind stretched and twisted all too close to breaking. 

(The depths of their secrecy was only matched by the depths of their depravity in the name of science.)

A more cynical individual might point out that of course the one woman who had tried to keep such things to a minimum would lead him to feel too much affection for her; he had undergone quite a lot already before she had been assigned to him midway through, and even the slightest relief would lead him to think too highly of the person who had given that to him.

(Maybe even some small part of him that was wary of everything insisted that was what it was.)

But that changed little. He had found the one person who actually seemed to care about him, in all his strangeness that had only grown more strange under the strain and stress of the terrors inflicted on him; she actually showed some humanity towards him, where most others had simply written him off. And what was more, even though she was in part of Garlean blood--and very respectable Garlean blood at that, with her father as a General--she seemingly agreed with him, on the rare occasions he had dared to speak his mind on the Empire to her. She had been keen on proving herself, yes, when she first came here...but she was not nearly as blind as the others to what she was doing. She saw what this division did, and she was shaken by it, and by her first contact with one of the savages that her country had so bent under its heel. She understood. She actually tried to understand him and his ideals instead of writing him off as a danger to her continued existence, or as a savage who needed to be put in his place. How could he not feel something about that?

(But this was not something as petty and asinine as romantic intent. Far from it--he wondered sometimes if he was capable of feeling it at all, anyway.)

He had hungered for so long that he devoured every onze of it that she could give him, even in the positions they were in as experimenter and experiment. It might have been a little twisted of them both, but there was no denying the utter devastation he had felt--still felt--when he had been dragged out and shown what they had done to her in retaliation for the kindness she had shown to him. 

(Or so they told him. It might have merely been a side-effect rather than the initial purpose...But unless he found the men responsible himself, he might never know.)

Even her supposed death had done nothing to slake the hungering for something as simple as affection and understanding, even as his original ideals corrupted and bent under the sheer hate he held for those who had ripped her mind from its socket to replace it with something--someone--different. His entire personality warped into something more snide and underhanded, and yet even something as drastic as that had never stopped the acid loathing in his gut that bubbled at seeing those responsible having something so simple between one another that he had been denied at their hands.

(He hated it he hated it he hated it so much)

Maybe it was no wonder, once he changed his name and even his species and escaped, no longer Aeglius but Runya now, he found himself attached to Brannon as much as he had been. Maybe it was no wonder that he panicked at the realization, some moons on, and had done his best to dedicate himself to his work in bringing down the Empire’s sick rotten society, even going so far as to attempt to murder Daeyona in the process, to gain himself more and more power--and remove the possibility that she might try to stop him for being too extreme about his wishes.

(Maybe in some sense, it was to give him no way to go back, failure or success. No one would have forgiven him for that, he was certain. But funny how things turned out, and how things worked out so soon after--or so it felt--and he found himself unable to run again.)

Yet...he could no more outrun his own inner desires, the ones that spoke on a primal level that he could not ignore, than he could outrun the sun rising in the morning. Sorin had happened; even if he had intended to double-cross him too in the end, he had missed feeling like someone cared, even if it held an edge of frustration and annoyance sometimes (though not for no reason). 

(A starving man would not turn down even the faintest scrap of a meal, he knew from bitter experience. Apparently it applied to the heart as much as the body, whether he wanted it to or not.)

Some days it hit him so strongly that he could have torn even the smallest piece of that affection apart, licked up its blood from the most disgusting of charnel-house stones; he could have unhinged his jaw like the void-serpents he kept and swallowed whole the entirety of what was between them, and still felt hunger for more more more of what he had gone without for so much of his life. He even could have crawled over broken glass, after everything that had just happened, to get Brannon to show that he cared again, even in the most wary of ways. He could have carved his own leg off with his teeth if it meant that he would never be without what little positive feeling anyone had shown him ever again.

(Those who had never been there, had never felt such bitter hunger for so horrifically a long time would never be able to understand just how horribly he thirsted for it; sympathize, yes, but understand? Never.)

Even dear Maebh, who had never been Angerona and never would be and yet sort of was, drew his eye and his heart sometimes. Even Maebh, however warily, treating him with some grudging respect over the help he had given Daeyona had served to take the edge from the constant voraciousness that plagued him day in and day out.

(Maybe it always would; he had lost over two decades of his life to this, had he not?)

But as long as any of them tolerated it--Maebh, Brannon, Sorin--he would take and take and take whatever friendship they would give him, no matter how great and small. No matter how badly it pulled him into halves between his hate and his friends, he refused to give up quite so easily on this, now that the constant burning in his heart had eased if just by fractions, if just for moments.

(He would devour it just like the serpent some people (not falsely) still claimed he was at heart. He needed it, even if he had tried to deny it for so long that his spirit had atrophied into something vicious and twisted.)

But even something so vicious and twisted could get so starved that he couldn’t take it anymore, even if it meant ripping his heart between two duties, friendship and destruction, to sate it. Now, after everything? So be it.

#; writing #FFXIVwrite2019 #HOO BOY okay time to stop staring at this for ages

[wildroseofarran]

Winter Ball, Part II || Jaidan & Letcher

June: June felt like Cinderella. Ice princess Cinderella. Dressing on theme wasn't a requirement for the gala, but why wouldn't she? This was something that only happened once a year, and if she could go crazy with the stars and stripes on the Fourth of July, she could be ice princess Cinderella for the gala.

Now if only she wasn't worried about her men abandoning ship before they got there.

She pulled up Fletcher's name and hit 'call'.

Fletcher: June would be greeted by a cough, a muttered curse and something falling on carpet. Nothing broken, at least.

"Hey, Junebug. Sup?"

June: She laughed. Those were not very encouraging sounds. “Well hello to you, too. I can practically feel your excitement for today.”

Fletcher: "Right. Today." Luke wouldn't pass up this opportunity to see him especially dressed for the occasion.

"M'not runnin' away if that's what you're worried 'bout."

June: “I’m not worried. Just making sure you’re still on board. I know you’re not a fan of these kinds of things.”

Fletcher: "M'not gonna lie t'ya 'bout somethin' like this. M'still goin'. Luke, too."

June: "Okay. Is he excited? Are you excited?"

Fletcher: "Well, I get t'see him all dressed up. That's kinda, ya know, hot."

June: June laughed. "Yes, it is. And he gets to see you all dressed up. It'll be very romantic."

Fletcher: "Ehhh. If ya say so. Are we meetin' ya there, or am I pickin' y'all up, or...?"

June: "I figured we'd meet ya'll there. Aidan is picking me up."

Fletcher: "Yep. Still a gentleman. Y'all feel free t'drink. I'll be sober for it."

June: "You're volunteering yourself as designated driver? You don't have to. If we're in no condition to drive home we can call someone to pick us up."

Fletcher: "I wasn't gonna be drinkin' anyway. Really, the two of ya have a good time. Luke too, if he can even get trashed on wine."

June: "Okay, thank you. But if you change your mind, tell me, okay? I want you to have a good time too."

Fletcher: "Drinkin' doesn't equate a good time, Junebug. I know workin' at a bar the patrons have fooled you," he laughed.

June: "You at least have to have a glass of champagne in the honor of the season."

Fletcher: "Fine. One. Right when I walk in with ya. Okay?"

June: "Deal! I also demand at least...two dances."

Fletcher: "Two?! Ya get one."

June: "Aw, come on! What's two little dances?"

Fletcher: "Luke's also gonna want dances n'I don't dance."

June: "Then we'll space them out. One at the beginning of the night and one toward the end."

Fletcher: "...Maybe." Easier than saying no. "What time is the party?"

June: "Six-thirty."

Fletcher: "Wanna do anything 'fore then?"

June: "My sister is coming over at three to help me do my hair so I'm free until then. Whatcha have in mind?"

Fletcher: "Shit I meant from today till then. Like ya wanna hit the gym?"

June: "Oh, today! Yes, I'm free and yes, I wanna go to the gym!"

Fletcher: "What we gonna work on today?"

June: "Arms. Got inventory coming up."

Fletcher: "Want some boxin'?"

June: "Yes. Been a while."

Fletcher: "I'll come pick ya up in an hour."

June: "Sounds good. See you then!"

Fletcher: As that time rolled around, June was given a text at a red light. Just a few blocks away.

Luke: As he drove, Fletcher would be receiving multiple pictures of Luke in different outfits.

Which one? they'd ask.

Like this, or like that? This colour, or that? That, or this?

The process also included him switching between genders, trying to figure out what would be more comfortable for them both, or if it made any difference at all.

He knew Fletcher wouldn't care as much as he is making out Fletcher will care, but he's stressing! The gala's a big deal!

Fletcher: The sudden switch in genders left him at the red light a few seconds too long. Should June know? What about Aidan and the rest of the Archers? It had been something intimate between them. The idea of others knowing hadn't crossed his thoughts.

{Text: Angel} What are you feelin more a dress or suit?

Luke: Fletcher: {Text} Almost to June's I'll call you then baby

He pulled up to the side of the road and sent a quick message to June. He'd be waiting outside talking to Luke. She could take her time.

The phone was pressed to his ear, elbow on the window as he counted the rings.

June: {Text to Fletcher} AHH I'M SORRY I GOT DISTRACTED TALKING TO MY BROTHER

{Text to Fletcher} I'LL BE OUT SOON I PROMISE

Luke: It would only ring thrice before Luke answered. He sounded exasperated immediately.

"Fletcher!" he exhaled. "Hi, Beautiful. Are you with June now?"

Fletcher: "Hey, baby. Yeah, she's almost out. So..." He turned up the A/C. "So ya wanna be Light for the gala?"

Luke: "It... it isn't so much a want as it is... I don't know the people who will be there. What if being a woman with you would be easier? But then Aidan and June... I'm... I'm torn. I don't know what to do."

Fletcher: "I know m'the first t'fuckin'...not want somethin' 'cause of...the shit in my life. I know I - but a lotta people know m'with ya. I don't think m'explainin' this right. M'not afraid t'be seen with ya at the gala as ya are."

Luke: There was silence on the other end of the phone. Some rummaging, material moving. "Alright, then. I trust you."

Fletcher: "Ya wanted t'be in a dress, didn't ya?"

Luke: He laughed shyly, "It wasn't that, I just started to wonder whether things would be easier for us."

Fletcher: "Us or me?"

Luke: "Us."

Fletcher: "Things ain't been easy 'cause I'mma guy?"

Luke: "N-no but things like... like sexual things and general homophobia and... I..." he sighed and rubbed his forehead, "I just mean more convenient."

Fletcher: "... Elaborate on that first part. D'ya like sex more as a woman?"

Luke: "I thought you might, given we... clash less."

Fletcher: "I uh..." He cleared his throat. "I like - I like both." Too bad Luke couldn't see the blush.

Luke: "Equally?"

Fletcher: "D'you like both equally?"

Luke: "I wonder if such extremely different things can be compared in such a way so as to be considered equal."

Fletcher: "Thank god you're so good with words."

Luke: "What... do you mean?"

Fletcher: "'Cause you're in love with an idiot that can't talk right. I love ya male or female, baby. I can do both."

Luke: "Don't call yourself an idiot." his soft retort while Fletcher finished speaking. "That's nice to hear... but perhaps strange for anyone who might be eavesdropping."

Fletcher: "She's just comin' outside. Wanna pick this up after the gym?"

Luke: "Sure. Tell her I said hello. See you later, love you."

June: June's first word the moment she got in the car was "Sorry! Blame my brother. And me a little bit, but mostly him."

Fletcher: "Love ya, too, baby."

His phone was tossed onto the dashboard. She was given a smile. "S'fine. Was talkin' t'Luke. Ya ready?"

June: "Yep! How is he? Excited?"

Fletcher: "Ehhh a little... nervous? Two men... Uh, he also says hi."

Fletcher pulled out to the road and turned down the radio.

June: "I hope you told him no one will care. And if someone does, I'll just beat them up."

Fletcher: "Ya got the skills to," he smiled.

June: "I should hope so, by now. But seriously, tell him not to worry."

Fletcher: "I'll let him know." Miles down the road, and the ugly concrete building came I to view. This was a part of his week he looked forward to. Through the grunts of determination and twinges of pain, despite the slams of gloves against gloves and bags his mind could be quiet. A momentary sense of peace waved over his paranoia.

June: June's mind was the opposite in a way. Her mind was racing, but not in the way it usually was. It was like her thoughts were...organizing themselves.

In her head she was doing her makeup and hair and picking out jewelry and thinking up a timetable getting ready.

She had her look complete in her head by the time they were finishing up.

"God," she sighed, nearly inhaling water. "Whoever decided humans should sweat should be kicked in the shin."

Fletcher: "C'mon. It feels good. Keeps ya cool n'pheromones," he grinned. "Go home t'Aidan n'just get naked."

June: “That’s just what someone who doesn’t have to deal with boob sweat would say.” She inhaled more water.

Fletcher: "I've got tits."

June: “You’ve got pecs. Big difference.”

Fletcher: He looked between them jokingly. "Okay, so, they were bigger than yours before we started this."

June: She laughed. “Now you’re all ripped and unrelatable.”

Fletcher: "Unrelatable? You're a lioness."

June: “A lioness with uncomfortably sweaty boobs.”

Fletcher: "They got lockers n'showers here. Girls' side probably better than what I step in."

June: "I wouldn't be too sure about that. That's why I only rinse here and shower at home."

Fletcher: "Like I said, give Aidan a surprise," he laughed. "M'really feelin' them right hooks from ya. My fuckin' wrist!"

June: "If I ever do give him this particular surprise it'll be with much cleaner hair. Also thank you! I'm really excited to kick someone out of the bar. I'm gonna go rinse off."

Fletcher: "I'll be watchin' n'takin' pictures t'hang."

His gloves were stuffed back in his bag. "Same. See ya in ten minutes."

June: "You're such a good friend."

Ten minutes later, June was no longer sweaty and much happier.

"I'm so ready to get ready."

Fletcher: "That excited, are ya?" His hair still very much damp, Fletcher was in the middle of arguing with his bag for the keys.

June: "Yes! It's going to be so fun and magical."

Fletcher: "Just hope s'somethin' Luke is gonna enjoy."

June: "I really think he will."

Fletcher: "Pretty much every big event now's gotta be more elaborate n'memorable for him."

June: She tilted her head. "Why?"

Fletcher: "I did somethin' shitty on New Year’s Eve a while back."

June: "Did you apologize and make it up to him?"

Fletcher: "Tryin' all the time. It ain't what the whole relationship is or should be, but it ain't somethin' m'ever gonna, ya know, let go of."

June: "If Luke has forgiven you or does forgive you, it's okay to forgive yourself, Fletcher. I'm sure he wouldn't want you to feel guilty for the rest of your lives, especially if you've tried to make it up to him and improve. And maybe I'm wrong, but Luke doesn't seem like the kind of person that needs or demands grand gestures."

Fletcher: "Ya ain't gotta demand em t'deserve em. Aidan should be givin' ya the same."

June: "That's true but what I'm saying is, you shouldn't feel pressured to make every big event or big thing a Big Thing, you know? Aidan took me on a walk to the ice cream place and remembered what flavor I like two months ago and I haven't stopped thinking about it."

Fletcher: The Samsa snorted, wiping his mouth in an attempt to remove the smile and very much failing.

"That's all it takes, huh?"

June: She smiled. "It really is. It's not about the size of the gesture. It's the love and meaning and thoughtfulness behind it."

Fletcher: "Well, he's lucky t'have ya."

June: "I'm lucky to have him. And you and Luke are lucky to have each other. Tonight will be memorable."

Fletcher: "Alright," he jiggled the keys, "lemme take ya home t'turn into a princess."

June: "Yes, let's go. I can turn into a princess and you and go turn into a price."

Fletcher: "Ha." But he could watch Luke transform, and that would be arousing and plenty of other things.

June was dropped off just outside of her house. A quick kiss to her cheek later, and he was well on his way home.

June: June watched Fletcher drive off, grabbing her phone from her bag as she made her way inside her house.

{Text to Aidan} Hey Prince Charming :)))))

{Text to Aidan} Just got back from the gym, about to start getting ready for tonight

{Text to Aidan} You excited?!?!?!?

Aidan: Aidan blinked at the messages which seemed to come one after another. He'll never understand why people send multiple texts, but he'll endure it for her.

{Text} Why do you have so many mouths?

June: {Text} What???

#Winter Ball Pt. 2 #junelujano #fletchergoodman #mournus

[atopearth]

Shall We Date? Ninja Shadow Part 7 - Kagura Route

Can see why everyone is surprised that Kagura will be watching over the heroine since he changes into a completely different person when he’s fighting. Most of the time, Kagura is very nice though. Let’s see how he came to be like this… Aww Kagura caught her when she fell off her ladder or whatever, I love how instead of the usual cliche where they would notice how close they are and immediately get off each other, Kagura instead tells her that’s it’s okay and she can take her time (getting off him) just in case she’s still hurt or shocked I guess lol. He’s considerate! Wow though, does Kagura take care of the whole Meiko Salon himself in terms of customer service, bookkeeping, ordering stuff etc?! Does he even sleep..?

It’s difficult for Kagura to warn the heroine about how crazy he gets when he takes off his eye patch, so I really felt that the other guys should have warned her, I mean it’s a sudden change and that Kagura even said that her being backup for Kagura meant having to stop him from going on a rampage once he changes, so I think the heroine should have been prepared about that. Especially since that Kagura nearly killed her. It felt kinda terrible to see Kagura go back to normal and blame himself for having done such a thing to the heroine though… Nice of the heroine to offer Kagura her lap so he can sleep better😊 Hmm so some kind of mission nearly broke Kagura mentally and that’s what brought about his second personality “Homura” who now takes care of all the killing and violent things that the normal Kagura can’t, so really, Homura is there to protect Kagura’s fragile heart that can’t take all that. I’m so glad the heroine scolded him for giving his life away so easily when Suetsugu wanted to kill them for being rude, Kagura needs to learn to treasure himself more! I’m so glad she stopped him before Kagura killed himself because he felt like he deserved to die since he can’t keep Homura at bay anymore and he thinks that he’s done too many bad things to ever be forgiven. I don’t know what Kagura is talking about, but just as the heroine said, she was already so torn over her brother’s death, she definitely doesn’t want to see others she cares about die ever again. Also, she’s right, Homura is just protecting Kagura, he may be a bit crazy and eccentric but that doesn’t mean he is a bad “person”.

It’s difficult to see Kagura and Homura changing between each other haphazardly since it shows how unstable Kagura is, does that mean Kagura destroyed Wakasa’s village or something? Homura is actually kinda amusing though, he’s very laidback but definitely genuinely cares for Kagura. It’s hard for the heroine to refute Homura on how they should be living to atone rather than yearning for death when her brother was killed by Suetsugu and she’ll never forgive Suetsugu for that. As someone who destroyed a whole village, how could Kagura bear the burden of all those lives and how it had tormented Wakasa to this day? How could Wakasa ever forgive him, whatever the reason was? It seems that Wakasa is more okay with it than I thought as long as he gets to know why. I guess that makes it even harder for Kagura to take it.

Not surprised that Homura waving around the dagger trying to hurt the heroine eventually made them realise she’s a woman when they slashed open her kimono, luckily Makoto came in time to protect her, but now Kagura is confined to his room. At least the heroine visits him every day giving him food and a daily update on what’s going on, maybe he’ll calm down a bit more and understand the heroine’s feelings better this way. She would never want to hurt Kagura. So, he was a part of the legion of ninja sent to destroy Wakasa’s village and he was one of the key ninjas… Glad Makoto picked him up when he was dying on the road, but I guess we should be glad for Homura’s existence because at that time Kagura told Makoto and them to kill him, so he was planning to leave him but when Kagura’s different coloured eye had tears and his hand clung to Makoto’s coat, how could he not save Kagura? I just never realised that Kagura went through rehabilitation and mostly worked at the Meiko Salon, he didn’t join the vigilante until just a bit before the heroine joined.

So, Wakasa was the first that went into a frenzy and killed Kagura’s subordinates slowly and cruelly with his drugs. Who wouldn’t if they had to see their village being destroyed? And the reason why Kagura was so injured that he needed Makoto to save him was because the Iga Ninjas ( Kagura’s clan) were fighting over the reward money and killed each other over it. Kagura didn’t want to be a part of it since he doesn’t care about money but they wouldn’t let him leave, and so Kagura ended up being the only survivor. I’m kinda disappointed that the heroine plans to go along with Toru in order to receive medicine from him that will merge Kagura and Homura. It’s not that I don’t understand her concern considering how unstable they are, but I feel like merging them would be cruel to both. They’re independent personalities that care for each other now…

It’s nice that Homura told the heroine of Kagura’s feelings but I guess that only made her resolve more firm to getting the medicine…not that I approve. Well, I’m not surprised that Toru gave the heroine to Willem to sell her as a test subject for medicine, I’m just kinda surprised that the heroine is shocked when they’re obviously not good people.. She could have escaped if they weren’t on a ship :( Luckily she acted so suspiciously in front of Kagura, it would be surprising if they didn’t follow and chase after her lol. Glad Wakasa and them knew to come along too! I’m glad Kagura could finally face Wakasa and sort things out, it’s impossible to forgive it, but considering the burden and guilt Kagura bore all these years and with Makoto asking Wakasa to forgive Kagura as well, things ended up fine.

It’s kinda funny to see Homura tease Kagura since he’s like teasing himself about him liking the heroine, especially when Homura tries to move closer to the heroine but Kagura gets so embarrassed about it hahaha. It felt really heartwarming to see them kiss tbh, just because it felt like they had to go through so many things to get to this point and I guess, the heroine really opened him up and saved him! XD Although it felt pretty anticlimactic in terms of how everything resolved, but I think it kinda shows that what’s important isn’t how it’s resolved or even whether it can be resolved, but instead the fact that you face the problem and try to resolve it. Facing it is the hardest part and it took Kagura many years to do that since he always tried to escape from it with death, with the existence of Homura and by hiding himself. It was especially great to see Kagura truly smile with such happiness!

It was so funny when Suetsugu’s assassination went well and Kagura went to Makoto apologising for the trouble he had caused, and so he said Kagura’s punishment would be increased workload at the Meiko Salon, and lmao that Kagura was grateful for the punishment whereas Homura was shocked that they had to do even more work hahaha. Otherwise though, it was pretty cool to see both Kagura and Homura interchangeably fight with their particular strengths. Hahaha omg when Kagura said he only takes off his eye patch and looks at his prey with both his eyes and the heroine thought he was going to punish her hahaha. It’s so cute how Kagura and Homura are so honest with their feelings now, so honest to the point that it’s too much since he does it in front of all the guys too hahahah.

Hahahah I love how Homura and Kagura are arguing about whose number one to the heroine and flirting with her in front of Makoto’s room😂 It’s nice to see Wakasa and Kagura hope to become friends from now on. Anyway, I quite liked this route, it’s not my favourite but I think it was very interesting to see the overlap with Ninja Assassin and have Wakasa be quite an integral part of the story. I just finished Wakasa’s route recently so I feel like Kagura’s route helped to round things up better with the background to Wakasa’s village. Considering the split personality, it was natural that it would be the main focus of the route but I also feel like there wasn’t enough romantic moments for me to think that they matched together. However, I do like how cute it is that both Kagura and Homura are so attached to the heroine lol.

#ninja shadow

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Happier Part 11

Summary: After another fight with his girlfriend of five years, Sebastian needs to make a tough decision. But after the breakup, things get even messier

Chapter Summary: Someone from Tegan’s past arrives and all hell breaks loose

Warnings: Arguing

Thanks to @what-the-buckybarnes for helping me through my writer's block. She’s the true MVP 

           It was around dinner when Gemma, Tegan’s twenty-year-old sister arrived home with a guest. Sebastian and Tegan were helping Shannon in the kitchen. Tegan’s twenty-six-year-old sister, Kirsty was also home for the holidays and sitting at the counter. Alongside her was the youngest sister, seventeen-year-old Phoebe.

           “He’s an only child, he doesn’t know what it was like to have to share a room with Tee. She was so messy.”

           “Yeah, well I had to share mum and dad’s attention with you,” Tegan replied wittily.

           Shannon chuckled. “Oh, I’ve missed you girls bickering with one another.”

           Sebastian grinned. “Well, soon you’ll have a baby visiting too.” He pointed out.

           “It’s too quiet with just Pheebs and I. It’s too big of a house for just the two of us.”

           “It’s peaceful.” The teenager replied with an eye roll.

           “You miss your sisters more than you’ll admit.” Her mother gave her a look and pointed a wooden spoon at her. “You were so happy when I told you Tegan was coming.”

           “Mmf.”

           “I love you the most, Tegan, so you should make me the godmother of your baby.” Kirsty batted her eyelashes. “I’ll buy you anything you want.”

           “Money can’t buy me love, babe,” Tegan replied. “But I’ll think about it.” She promised. “Speaking of godmother candidates, where is Gem?” She asked her mother.

           “She was out most of the day. I thought she’d be back by now.” Shannon checked the time. “I’m sure she’ll be around soon.”

           Almost on cue, Gemma arrived through the front door. “Mum?” She called.

           “In the kitchen, dear, look who’s here!”

           The young woman walked into the kitchen and smiled when she saw her eldest sister. But the joy didn’t last long when she saw Sebastian beside her. The smile dropped off her face. “What is he doing here?” She asked in an accusing voice.

           “Gemma, that’s rude.” Shannon scolded. “Sebastian is a guest.”            

           “I told you he was coming,” Tegan said firmly. “The least you can do is say hello.”

           Before she could protest, a man walked in behind her. “Hey, Cross family.” He smiled and looked hopeful. “Happy holidays.”

           Tegan’s eyes widened. “Kieran?” She sucked in a sharp breath and looked to her sister. “What the hell are you trying to pull?” She demanded.

           “Shush, don’t speak to your sister like that.” Shannon walked over to stand between her daughters.

           “Gem…” Kirsty looked visibly uncomfortable with the guest.

           Sebastian initially thought he was a cousin, although Tegan had never mentioned him. But the way the mood changed in the room, he suspected that wasn’t the case.

           “Hey, Tegan, it’s been a while,” Kieran said breathlessly. His eyes were fixed on her, barely acknowledging Sebastian’s presence next to her. “I was so happy to hear you were in town. Gemma sent me a message and asked me to come over.” He explained. “I hope that’s alright. We could catch up.”

           “Uh…hey.” Sebastian’s body locked up when he felt a huge wave of envy crash against him. The way the man looked at Tegan made him grit his teeth and his arm muscles flex. “I’m Sebastian.”

           “My boyfriend,” Tegan spoke up in a tense voice.

           Kieran’s eyes flicked to Sebastian then back to her. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and his smile fell. “Oh, I didn’t know…”

           “I need to talk to you outside.” She cut him off sharply. “Alone.” She walked to the back sliding door to go out to the patio. Kieran followed giving Sebastian a side-glance as he passed by him. Tegan shut the door forcefully behind them.

           He couldn’t hear the conversation, but she looked livid as she began to speak with agitated hand gestures. Kieran looked bewildered as she chewed him out.

           Sebastian made sure to keep an eye on them but Gemma pulled his attention away.

           “You must have the biggest nerve in the world.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “To think you can come here and think everything will be okay.”

           “Gemma Cross!” Shannon put her hands on her hips. “That’s quite enough.”

           “What? I’m supposed to just welcome him into our house like he’s a part of the family?” She demanded. “That’s ridiculous, mum!”

           “He apologized to us, you just weren’t here like always.” Phoebe snapped at her sister.

           “You’ve done enough, just leave him alone,” Kirsty added.

           Sebastian swallowed. “Gemma, I’m sorry. I’m aware of what I did and we’re working through it. Tegan and I…”

           “I know you can pull the wool over her eyes and pretend as if you care about her. I don’t care if you’re the father you gave up the right to be with her.” Gemma replied standoffishly.

           “You don’t have a right to say that.” Kirsty stood up. “Tegan’s older than you, she can make her own choices. She’s not daft. You need to respect them.”

           “Oh I’m sorry, is this not the same guy who didn’t come to dad’s funeral?” Gemma exploded. “The same person who abandoned our sister. Don’t you remember how we stayed up for nights comforting her while she cried? We were there for her and he wasn’t!” She pointed at Sebastian. “He toyed with her and oh now he’s changed because she’s pregnant?”

           Sebastian’s stomach tied up in knots and it was something he’d expected to happen. He thought Tegan’s family wouldn’t accept him again but it seemed Gemma was the only one still holding grudges. He understood her fury. She had to step in and comfort her sister when he wasn’t there. “I messed up big time and I’m making amends…”

           “No, I don’t want to even hear you speak!” She shouted at him. “You think you’re some big shot who can do whatever he wants because he’s in a few fucking movies. Newsflash, you’re a selfish, egotistical, careless, narcissist who never gave two shits about my sister. She deserves better than you!”

           A moment later, Tegan stepped back inside after she heard her sister screaming at him. She grabbed Sebastian’s arm, a furious look still on her face. “Don’t you dare yell at him! You don’t know what kind of person he is.” She stepped in.

           “I know exactly what kind of person he is. I know the way he’s treated you!” Gemma was ready to fight with anyone who argued with her.

           “You’re still a baby, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

           “I’m not a baby! You’re an idiot if you think being back with him is a good idea.” She stepped up to her sister.

           “You know what’s best for me? You think Kieran is really the best for me?”

           “Yes! His a million times better than him!”

           “We dated in college, Gemma, you need to keep your nose out of my relationship.”

           “Okay, that’s it.” Shannon stepped in to break them apart. “Sweetheart, you need to keep your stress down.” She reminded her pregnant daughter. “Gemma, you’ve been very nasty to Sebastian. I expect you to apologize.”

           “I’ll apologize when Hell freezes over.” She hissed and glared at him.

           “You go cool off in your room and think about what you’ve said,” Shannon ordered. “Think about what your father would think about your behavior.”

           A fire ignited in Gemma’s eyes. “You can’t use him against me whenever you want!” She shouted with tears falling down her cheeks. She stormed upstairs to her room, ending the argument with a loud door slam.

           Shannon sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I’m very sorry.” She said to Sebastian and Tegan. “She’s been upset ever since Charlie passed. She doesn’t hate you, she’s misplacing her grief.”

           Sebastian nodded. “No, I understand.” He said quietly. He was a little shook up after being torn apart by someone fifteen years younger than he was and nearly half his height. But no matter what Shannon said, he felt like he deserved it.

           “We’re going to take a drive,” Tegan said. “Kieran, you should be gone before I get back.” She said frostily.

           “Tee…” The man looked devastated but she ignored him. She took Sebastian’s hand and left the house.

===============

           They drove aimlessly around the town as the sunset. Tegan was still fuming behind the wheel.

           Sebastian rested a hand on her knee to hopefully soothe her. But he wasn’t sure how to say Gemma might be right. He knew he cared for Tegan and his unborn son, but maybe he didn’t deserve to be forgiven. It would certainly be something to talk to Liz about when they returned to New York.

           “She’s such a little brat.” She snarled. “I can’t believe she pulled that little stunt thinking it would work.”

           “She’s obviously hurt.” Sebastian tried to reason with her. “But it seems like she cares about you enough to try to do what she thinks is best for you.” He shrugged.

           She glanced at him for a moment in disbelief. “Why are you on her side? She was so disrespectful. How can you agree with her?”

           “Well, because she’s twenty and her father passed away when she was seventeen. And obviously, I caused you pain which she had to witness.”

           “Yeah, Phoebe was fourteen when my dad died. We all went through losing him. She doesn’t get to act that way just because he’s gone.” She disagreed adamantly.

           “Everyone grieves differently.” He replied softly.

           Tegan gripped the steering wheel before letting out a heavy sigh. “You’re not the kind of man she’s making you out to be.”

           “I was.”

           “No.”

           “Tegan, she’s right about what happened. She gets to make assumptions about me based on what she saw. I think that’s only fair.”  

           She let out a noise of displeasure. “She brought my ex-boyfriend.”

           “That’s not the worse thing she could’ve done.”

           “God, can you just agree with me?” She whined.

           He smiled weakly and squeezed her knee gently. “I know you’re hurt too. You want everything to be normal and perfect. Family isn’t easy though especially after a loss.”      

           She pulled onto the shoulder of the road and parked. She rested her hands on the steering wheel and stared at the road lit up by the car’s headlights. “I don’t want to bring our son into a family like that. I want things to be happier. I want people to be excited about the family that we’re starting or they won’t be a part of it.”

           “Tee…that’s not fair.”

           She threw her hands up in frustration. “Why? She deserves to be around our child and act like that? What if she talks shit about you when he’s old enough to understand?”

           “She won’t.”

           “You don’t know her like I do.” She retorted.

           He reached for her hand. “Do you know her as well as you think you do? When was the last time you two spent time together? You live so far away.”

           Tegan swallowed. “I don’t know.” She admitted quietly.

           “Maybe you two should spend tomorrow together. I’ll stay at your house by the pool.” He smiled.

           “She would never go for that.”

           “You don’t know until you ask.” He murmured. “Be honest with her about how you feel and maybe she’ll open up. Use what Liz taught us.”

           She looked doubtful but nodded. “Yeah, I guess I could try.”

           They sat in silence, holding each other’s hands for comfort. The sky darkened and the nocturnal animals stirred outside.

           “So…you said, boyfriend?”

           Tegan laughed quietly. “Well, might as well label it. I dunno what else to call you. Besides, I wanted Kieran to leave me alone. I don’t think he’ll mess with you.”

           “Can I call you my girlfriend?”

           She turned her head. “I love you.” She whispered and leaned over to kiss him.

Permanent tag: @what-the-buckybarnes @captainmarmel

Masterlist 

My Masterpost

#Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan rpf #sebastian stan imagine #actor imagine #marvel imagine #imagine #marvel actor fanfiction #marvel actor #marvel actor rpf #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fandom #marvel rpf #rpf #fanfiction #fic #fanfic #angst #fluff #angst and fluff #pregnancy #actor rpf #actor fanfiction #sebastian stan x ofc

[intim3ate]

Wrapped in Fog | Reaper/Soldier: 76 [Overwatch]

This is the first time he's fought Soldier: 76 face-to-face.

...Isn't it?

My Secret Santa gift for the always wonderful Ashe! 

It’s also my first official R76, even though I really like the ship. Hm!

AO3 Link | Commission Info | Leave a Tip?

Reaper is cornered, backed against a wall. He stands mask-to-mask with Soldier: 76, shotguns scattered across the floor, yanked and torn from his hands as soon as he could summon them. The vigilante’s pulse rifle has long since been abandoned as well, and they fight now with nothing but their fists.

For every punch he throws, Soldier: 76 has one to match. It’s strange, fighting someone so evenly matched with him, when normally Reaper is able to dominate anyone who gets in his way. He is confident in himself, perhaps too much so, but that steady confidence at last wavers when Soldier: 76 nearly gets a hit on him.

It’s like the man can read him. It sets his teeth on edge.

Something about this is… familiar. Like he's done this before, like he's had this same fight with the same person, but he knows that can't be. This is the first time he's met Soldier: 76, isn't it? It's far from the first time the vigilante has caused problems for him and for Talon, but they've never met each other face-to-face like this.

...Have they?

He hesitates for a moment, unsure of himself, and that's all the opening Soldier: 76 needs to shove into Reaper and force him to the ground. The vigilante settles all his weight on top of Reaper, shoves a knee into his sternum, and pulls out his sidearm to press it to his jaw. In the half-second that Reaper still tries to comprehend what's going on, Soldier: 76 reaches down and tears the skull mask from his face to throw it aside.

"Yield," Soldier: 76 barks. "Or I'll shoot."

Reaper snarls. He grits his teeth and starts to dematerialize, to let himself turn to smoke and slip away, but something stops him.

There's something there. Something about this man, about the gruff way he speaks, like he's growling or barking out his words without meaning to. Like years of yelling  

 It was so hard to hear him over the gunfire and explosions, but Gabriel didn't really need to hear the words to know what the other man was trying to say when he felt a big, strong hand squeeze his own.

  had grated on his vocal cords.

"This isn't you," the man says. "I know it's not."

Reaper glares up at him. He sees the tendrils of smoke wafting up from his own body curl around the other man's mask. He reaches up for it, hooks his claws around the latches. "What do you know?"

He pulls. The mask comes free and Reaper drops it, letting it clatter to the ground. The sound echoes out and Reaper stills, goes cold - colder than usual. He looks up into the face of Soldier: 76 - the face of - of -

He doesn't know.

But there's something there. There's something prickling in the corners of his mind almost like recognition. Like he should know who this man is. Like he knows those eyes, boring down into his, searching for something. Maybe even the same something Reaper himself is searching for.

But it’s fog. Mist. Wrapping around his mind, licking at its corners like the smoke that swirls around and inside his body.

How fitting.

He reaches up and traces over one of the scars on the man's face, the clawed fingertip of his glove leaving no mark as it drags along its length. He wonders if he was the one to give this man those scars. He could have been. Easily.

 There's fire. An explosion. Rubble everywhere, but he can't go back to dig through it and save the lives of the people buried beneath. He can't go back for his friends. Can't go back for him. Can’t go back for Ja--

The man's eyes soften. He's in pain. Reaper doesn't care. He's too transfixed by the way Soldier: 76's eyes follow the movement of his hand. How stupid he looks, going cross-eyed just for a better look.

Reaper retracts his hand and watches. Waits. He doesn't understand why his heart is beating so fast. Why he feels warm all of a sudden, like the weight of Soldier: 76 pinning him in place is a comfort rather than a threat.

Maybe that's why he hasn't tried to get out from under him. Why he hasn't turned to smoke and wrapped himself around the man's neck

 "Gabe, careful. You're - mmm... gonna leave a mark."

 to strangle the life out of him.

It feels like hours that they stay there, completely still. Reaper searches the man's face, every wrinkle, every drawn line of it. There are answers in his eyes. On his lips.

Maybe that's why Reaper kisses him.

He leans up and kisses the vigilante, closing his eyes because for some reason, it just feels right (how can it feel right?). And it's like fire enveloping him, like electricity coursing through his veins, like a bucket of ice water being dumped over his head and soaking him through, all at once.

The smoke dissipates.

And he remembers.

 Gabriel ran back to the rendezvous point, grin spread wide over his face and heart thumping in his chest. He saw him, at last, nothing more than a shape on the horizon, and then suddenly there he was, running, and then he was there, gathering Gabriel up in his arms and kissing him like he thought he'd never see him again.

 He remembers.

 Rough fingers traced down the length of his chest while soft lips kissed and sucked at his neck. He buried a hand in short, just-cut blond hair and tugged at it, coaxing him on. "Get on with it already," Gabriel whined, a tinge of laughter dancing around the edge of his voice.

 He knows this man.

 Fingers clenched in the sheets beneath him. His brows knitted together and his eyes squeezed shut as a soft moan rose from his throat, strangled, as if he were trying to hold back. Gabriel leaned down and pressed a kiss between his bare shoulder blades. "It's okay, Jack. I've got you. I've always got you."

 Jack. Jack Morrison.

 Jack felt heavenly around him. Suitable, considering how angelic he sounded moaning and gasping as he twisted and writhed beneath Gabriel. It was almost a shame when he muffled himself by pulling his lover's lips down to meet his own.

 And he -

 They fell to the bed together, one on top of the other in a mess of sweaty skin and tangled limbs. Gabriel buried his nose in the crook of Jack’s neck and inhaled, letting himself get lost in the scent of the man he loved. He could hear Jack laugh.

“Gabe,” he said, quietly, a hand coming up to rub his back. There was a smile in his voice, and Gabriel thought he had never been happier than he was in that moment. “Gabe, I…”

 He is - was - is - Gabriel Reyes.

 "Akande tells me you ran into some trouble a few months back in Egypt."

Moira's drawl was as calm and smooth as ever. She sat at her desk reading over a file - his file - and gestured for him to sit on the chair across from her. "Something about sentimentality and old soldiers. I'm sure you can fill in the gaps."

She put the file down and smiled up at Gabriel, fake sweet to hide her excitement. Her fingers steepled and she leaned forward, too excited to restrain herself. "If you would like my assistance, I'm sure I can find a way to make sure that it doesn't happen again."

 And he hadn't had a choice.

 Moira plunged the syringe into his arm. Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel caught Amelie - no, Widowmaker - watching as the anesthetic slowly began to course through his veins.

"There. In just a moment, you will be well on your way to forgetting."

He watched an impossible flicker of emotion - of horror - cross Widowmaker's face.

No, he corrected himself. Not Widowmaker's face.

Amelie's.

 He pulls away from Jack's lips slowly and opens his eyes. Jack's flutter open, too, and they stare at each other a moment. It’s a long moment, in which neither of them speaks, but they can hear the words in their heads - in their hearts - anyway.

Finally, Reaper - Gabriel - breaks the silence with a fragile whisper: "Jack."

And he swears Jack is about to cry. Jack hasn't cried in years. Maybe decades. Something about this, about the man he's loved more than half his life, about to cry with relief while holding a gun to his head, makes Gabriel laugh.

It's loud and uncontrollable, sounding foreign even to Gabriel. He hasn't laughed like this in years. Reaper does not laugh like this. His laughter is cold, forced, the product of a persona he has forced upon himself. But this - this is real, this is him, and for the first time in years, Gabriel feels like himself again.

And in spite of himself, Jack laughs too. He laughs, raucous and free, and it occurs to Gabriel that perhaps he hasn't been the only one acting his part for this long.

Eventually, they stop, and Jack slides off Gabriel's body to sit next to him. He reaches out, hesitant, to take his old lover's hand, and Gabriel meets him halfway.

“You know I’ll have to go back, right?”

“I know.”

Gabriel sighs and allows himself to lean to the side to rest his head on Jack’s shoulder. A hand comes up to rest on the crown of his head and just stays there, heavy and comforting. Smoke flickers around Jack’s hand, but does not try to touch it.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

 Jack stood in the hangar, eyes roaming over the rows upon rows of caskets. Gabriel gave his hand one last squeeze before stepping away, off to Italy to seek justice for his fallen comrades.

“See you later, Jack.”

Gabriel didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He didn’t want to see the worry etched in all the lines in Jack’s face as they said their goodbyes.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

There is no doubt in Gabriel’s mind that when the time comes, when Talon finally falls, finally pays for all they have done, Jack will be by his side. But until that day comes, he must return to his cover. Until that day, he will carry with him the comfort of knowing Jack has forgiven him. That he's still here.

He will go back with a full heart and a renewed drive to end this war at last.

“See you later, Jack.”

And Gabriel will never allow himself to forget again.

#reaper #gabriel reyes #jack morrison #soldier: 76 #r76 #reaper76 #overwatch #fanfic #r: m #gifts