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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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Fake Sith TCW Trio

I have another fucked up time-travel AU! Who’s surprised? (Nobody.)

So like. Have you guys read that one fic where Luke and his students go back in time and pretend to be Sith Lords and are super hammy about it? (Sith Lord Swell by AMournfulHowlInTheNight)

This AU has contributions by @atagotiak, @the-lunar-system, @purronronner, @gelpenss, @creepingthroughthistidalwave, and @thisarenotarealblog.

I want TCW trio (plus Rex and Cody) to go back to several years pre-TPM and, since the Council DEFINITELY won't believe them about the Sith being back... they'll force the issue.

Anakin is weirdly excited about things and building up their backstory.

Anakin: Okay so I can definitely be a Maul type, with the unhinged ranting and manic laughter, Obi-Wan can be the whole Refined Rich Guy type like Dooku, where you can't even tell he's evil until he starts talking about getting out the eyeball scoops, maybe toss in a bit of mad science stuff? Ahsoka could play up like Ventress OR, oh oh, she can be the Light Side Child we need to PROTECT who's publicly begging us to return to the Light after our big dramatic Falls where we murdered like eighty people to save her, and-- Obi-Wan: Why are you never this enthusiastic about actual undercover missions. Ahsoka: Did you just have all this ready to go, or...? Anakin: WE COULD GET YELLOW CONTACT LENSES FOR ME.

Obi-Wan: How's my evil laugh?

Anakin going “Okay.. so if any of us need to murder someone to sell the bit it should be me, I think I could handle it the best. Why? No reason.”

Obi-Wan: I'm not sure a complete Fall could come from protecting Ahsoka, really-- Anakin: No, no, it could.

Obi-Wan: Surely you’d hold back because you realize neither of us want that for you. Anakin: Uh. Sure. Definitely.

Obi-Wan points out that none of them can channel the dark side to Prove they're Sith and Anakin just goes "Okay, give me like two seconds to stew in my negativity and--right, you can stop staring in horror, please."

Anakin rambles on that they can TOTALLY make the galaxy a better place while playing at being Sith! He's got a whole LIST of slave empires to "take over" and disassemble!

Anakin has a whole excited spiel about how EVIL soldiers and assistants are minions, in this case partly because Cody and Rex are too good at what they do to be mooks. Cody could pull off evil minion very well. Facial scar? Looks good in black? Quietly competent and sarcastic?

He also pushes for Obi-Wan to lounge in a fancy throne with a glass of wine while Anakin stalks the shadows and Ahsoka hangs out on the window ledge. The disaster lineage is dramatic, okay, Anakin’s just leaning into it, he’d appreciate it if everyone stopped looking at him like that.

Qui-Gon, surprisingly, ends up a skeptic about all of this. Everyone is freaking out about the Sith and he’s like “y’know I’m not even sure they’re darksiders.”

Some Jedi, possibly Qui-Gon for his conspiracy board, gets in a real risky situation and one of the Fake Sith saves them, but also panics and kinda drops character for a bit.

Jedi: You saved me! Why’d you do that? Anakin: I uh... just wanted the pleasure of killing you myself?

"You saved me. Why?" "Mmmm. Jedi." [walks away]

Qui-Gon: [trying to figure out what is up with these people semi-competently (from his perspective) pretending to be Sith] Dooku: [trying to protect Qui-Gon from Sith influence]

The gang is the most successful at pretending to be Sith to Dooku. Sure, they’re not gonna punish him for something he hasn’t done, but it’s not hard to act menacing and angry around him.

(They really do have so much fun irritating the heck out of Dooku. He hasn’t Fallen yet, but they want to keep an eye out.)

At some point, future Obi-Wan definitely drops that little tidbit of "What, you didn't think the Banites were the only Sith running around did you? You... didn't even know about the Banites. How... disappointing."

They REGULARLY use Ahsoka as an excuse to be marginally less terrible. They claim that if Ahsoka pouts, they stop. ‘Soka also uses them as an excuse for why she’s a lil feral. (To be fair, that one is accurate. She was already a lil feral before but it’s not like they did anything to stop it.) Ahsoka gets her "breaking into people's offices" jollies by bugging Nute Gunray's office.

The Jedi keep trying to Rescue Ahsoka.

Rex and Cody end up in real beskar, there's a whole Thing with Mandalore and Jango and Satine.

Obi-Wan is CONSISTENTLY worried about Anakin Falling for real, which... hey, at least he knows to be worried about Anakin Falling. Step up from canon, really.

Anakin is WAY too into killing the Hutts but like. It does... technically sell the bit.

Obi-Wan: Sure, I’m not sad that they’re dead, especially because we’re not connected to the Republic, so we don’t need to worry about starting a war and all that. But. Anakin is disturbingly cheerful about this. Rex: Wasn't he a Hutt slave? Obi-Wan: Well yes, but-- Rex: I'd kill Nala Se if I could get away with it.

Cody and Rex are very supportive of Anakin's murderous intentions.

Obi-Wan does understand anger, even killing someone in anger. Like Maul (the first time at least) and D’nar and a few others. All the same, like... y’know. The level of bloodthirst from the others is a little off-putting.

At one point, Anakin accidentally addresses young Obi-Wan by name, despite never having met before, and to cover it up, he... panic-flirts. He panics, and so he flirts, with young Obi-Wan.

(He will later blame this on old Obi-Wan, because he had to pick up the habit of flirting with the enemy from somewhere.)

Anakin vaguely implies that he's a wee bit obsessed with young Obi, and that the padawan should "get used to being the target of a dark-sider's interests," because he’s scrambling for Ominous Shit and, well, future Obi-Wan was pretty frequently a fixation point for darksiders, right?

The second he gets out, he just starts screaming into a bucket while Rex pats him on the back.

For the next however many terrible months, possibly years, he has to keep up the act while having an ongoing meltdown about how That's My Dad As A Twenty-Something.

(It doesn't help that young Obi-Wan reflexively flirted back.)

Old Obi-Wan, meanwhile, is just very "you dug this hole yourself, padawan."

There is an argument at the beginning about Obi-Wan’s outfit. If he’s gonna be a Sith, he can’t just go around in beige, but he’s like “I like this and it’s comfy.” Sure, he’s changed clothes for undercover stuff, but that’s always been temporary, y’know? He likes his beige.

We have a number of options.

My first instinct? Beige linen three piece suit, like a southern lawyer. "Now I may just be a simple Outer Rim force adept--"

And, of course, you can TOTALLY make the beige sinister: he’s impersonating a Jedi! Jedi impersonation would also explain why nobody has a red saber.

“Sure is good that the Jedi don’t seem to realize most of the galaxy doesn’t know red sabers are different and bad.” “Shhhh, stop poking holes in our story where a Jedi might overhear.”

Like.... if you do enough doublethink, it works! How would a Sith hide? In plain sight. Also, it’s a GREAT way (if they were actually assholes) to try to slander the Jedi name.

(Anakin and Ahsoka still think he could stand to put a little more effort in. Add a splash of color, for pity's sake!)

Though tbh part of me is like “What if Old Obi wore, like... a split skirt suit...” Victorian womenswear inspired because he misses his robes, but he has to look Professional, and like he's MOCKING Jedi instead of BEING one, so he wears a vintage-y split skirt thing over his leggings. Ends up looking a lot like what Ventress had for a while, but Beige. I also keep wanting to put him regency menswear.

Anyway. Obi-Wan’s wardrobe aside...

Anakin builds up his Tatoo accent again. It helps him with the (mostly true) "slavery helped me fall" backstory.

Either Cody or Rex offhandedly mentions being made to serve them (the Fake Sith) and now the Jedi are somewhat concerned about brainwashing. Are these Mandos the victims here?

“No like. Literally made for this. In a lab.” This is even more horrifying. So...

On the one hand good! The Jedi should be scared about Sith! On the other hand... it makes the Jedi more determined to stop them, specifically. They keep on getting in the way, just, all the time, and they’re not investigating the actual Sith problem, which is decidedly not great since the Team doesn’t actually know who’s a real Sith right now, except Maul, and who even knows where that guy is.

Obi-Wan, at some point: Do you think we've succeeded at this ruse... a little TOO well? Anakin: I don't follow. Obi-Wan, gesturing at the truly obnoxious amount of wealth they've collected, including "trophies" of their kills: Really? Because I'm a little worried! Anakin, planning out a battle to take on Nar Shadda: ...I'm not.

"How many people do we realistically we need to take over Hutt Space? Apparently... five."

(Mostly because Anakin is ridiculously op.)

ANAKIN AND YOUNG OBI GET KIDNAPPED BY PIRATES TOGETHER. It's tradition.

Anakin: Okay, so, I need to get really angry about something to pass as a Sith... time to think about my WIFE and how I'll NEVER SEE HER AGAIN.

Since Anakin’s life never goes as planned... this does not work. Instead of getting properly angry, he makes himself sad. There are tears. There is wailing. There’s a distraught rant or two. Young Obi ends up awkwardly trying to comfort him.

“Oh no, this… Sith?? Is crying on me. What do I do???”

Later on, when the Council wants intel: "So... one of the Sith cried on me about his wife. I think she's dead? He wasn't very clear about it but it, uh... it sounded like it might have contributed to his Fall. Also the relationship was a little unhealthy? He basically worshiped the ground she walked on and kept ranting about how he would have given her the galaxy on a platinum platter of she'd only asked, but that might be new and inspired by the Dark."

One of the random Jedi is REALLY good at detecting the truth Through The Force, and asks Anakin how he Fell...

Anakin just. Tells the Tuskens story.

They don't get pinged as lying, but oh boy does old Obi have a LOT of questions for Anakin once they're in private.

There are other things happening to help sell the ruse. Some of them are necessary! Some of them are... not.

Obi-Wan: What's the best way to show we're rich and kind of evil, but like... classy about it? Anakin, immediately: I sit on the floor next to the throne, leaning against it, and you call me pet names while stroking my hair, and then when you need something killed I get to do it for you and then I go back to the floor and you thank me for the directed violence, and then you go back to Negotiations with criminals while I’m sitting there covered in blood. Obi-Wan: ...is there something you want to TELL us, or...?

"You're all going to get a glimpse of something normally kept hidden about me." "Anakin, you don't have to do that." "No, I'm gonna."

(Anakin has decided hes going to peel his kink tomato to sell this ruse, and the others are slightly uncomfortable with that.)

Anakin: Okay, I cannot keep flirting with you. Young Obi: Wait, what? But that's the best part of any time we run into you! Anakin: You look WAY too much like my Master did when I met him. Obi: O...kay? If someone looked like my master when HE was young, I'd-- Anakin: My Sith Master half-raised me. He's basically my dad. Obi: ... Anakin: What's that look for? Obi: I mean, you spend a lot of time lounging at his feet, and, like, given how much you hate slavery, I... kind of assumed it was a kink thing? Anakin, brightly: Oh no, I just have a LOT of trauma. And neuroses. Snips says they’re neuroses.

Young Obi is a little upset because he was actually getting REALLY into Flirting With The Enemy and was hoping it would go somewhere. He mopes to Qui-Gon about it. Qui-Gon isn't sure whether to be proud about Obi breaking rules, or worried over Obi-Wan falling for a Fake Sith.

(As Tia put it: "You enjoy making young Obi-Wan have a completely unrequited crush on Anakin, don’t you?")

Fortunately, one of those attractive Young Mando boys very kindly helped him tape up his ribs this one time, and has thus caught his eye...

I feel like having Cody date Young Obi would court an entirely different kind of (internet) drama because clone ages, but whatever.

Also please imagine an element of "so I'm dating the genetic identical of my boss... who's dating the man I'm a genetic identical of..."

(It's probably not actually Jangobi but man would that be funny and also stupid.)

Somehow Young Obi figures out that the "Sith Master" is a future him before he realizes that they're not actually dark. In his defense, Anakin was pretty convincing. Especially with the wife rant. It makes HIM more obsessed with Anakin, in a reversal of the implied earlier dynamic, which is all kinds of weird. Less romantic but like. Still weird.

"Future Me Scares Me" with Extra stupid. "Future Me Annoys Me." "Future Me acts like grandmaster Dooku, but more sass." "Future Me raised a really hot evil guy that refuses to bang Present Me." "Future Me might be a Sith, but I'm getting more and more convinced he's just fucking with us all." "Future Me is really rocking that beard, and I can't BELIEVE we figured out a way around the babyface."

"I’m kinda concerned about the whole evil thing, but I’m also glad that I know I’ll stay hot as I get older."

Quinlan approves of the priorities.

Also a lot of interactions with older Obi are very Anakin: [does/says something deeply unhinged] Obi-Wan: So, do you want to…. Talk about that? Maybe? Anakin: What’s there to talk about?? I’m fine, everything’s fine! Anyways how about those plans for tracking down Maul?

Anakin later, like way after the ruse is lifted, just blankly tells everyone that he did Fall, once, and Older Obi made him get therapy about it after the truth came out between the two of them a few months into the Fake Sith thing.

Where'd they find a therapist? I'm sure there's one SOMEWHERE around. Denon and Herdessa are close enough, and they've done enough "your criminal empire now belongs to me" that they can pay well. They make sure to find one that takes confidentiality real seriously.

It's all very "we need some more time to unpack all that."

Therapy helps get Anakin to figure out Sheev’s whole deal. They don't necessarily figure out he’s a Sith from it, but they figure out he’s sketchy and they need to look into that more. Obi-Wan probably already thought he was sketchy, but the whole active gaslighting campaign was a little surprising. They realize that he kinda benefited a lot from a lot of Sith plots and they still probably don’t think he’s a Sith but Obi-Wan is definitely starting to think he’s working with one.

"Okay, we're already bugging Gunray, should we bug Palpatine just to be safe?"

They get away with a lot of slicing because Anakin is a technical genius from twenty years in the future.

The reasons they're so good at Taking Over Hutt Space: 1. They know parts of the future. 2. They have superpowers and FAR less reason to not use them, now that their actions aren't going to reflect on the Republic. 3. They have Cody and Rex, who are two of the greatest military minds in the galaxy, and know EXACTLY how to wage a war that covers a solid third of the galaxy, starting from a position of relative weakness. 4. Anakin's charisma is scary high, and his knowledge of slave culture means they gain a lot of trust from the people they free, and they just... keep acquiring volunteers for the army they didn't plan to have. Obi-Wan doesn't know what to do. He thinks they might have started a cult?

In his defense, Dooku sort of started a cult, and Komari got kidnapped by a cult, brainwashed into joining it properly, and then took it over as head figure of said cult. It's practically tradition!

Comics Vader is the central figure of like three different cults, it was really just inevitable.

Anakin: Aw, don't worry master, it's not a cult, it's a revolution! Ahsoka: They're worshiping him, though. Anakin: ...it's still a revolution! Just... with some misunderstandings.

Also, if they got wind of people trying to keep people from being able to leave and other culty stuff like that, they’d probably put a stop to it pretty damn quick.

Names! Time for names. As per usual, it's easiest to keep track of Obi-Wan's alternate Older Self by just calling him Ben.

Darth Ben.

Ahsoka: You should be Darth Boring. Obi-Wan: I can still make you run laps, you know.

Anakin: The Force is telling me to call myself Darth Vader. Obi-Wan: ...why? Anakin: I dunno, but it sounds cool, I'll run with it.

Someone: Ben has all the answers; we shouldn’t question him, ever. Ben: One time I lost a planet, and a five-year-old found it for me.

More options: Going with the "evil word with the prefix 'in' chopped off" that we get with Sidious and Vader: Darth Surrectus (as in insurrection) Just random Latin words: Darth Temporus (time) Darth Commenticius (fake)

Anyway, back to Nonsense:

Maul goes after young Obi early, because the Fake Sith are really invested in this one random Padawan (Sidious is saying he might be a cousin of the false Sith Master? They do look similar enough) so someone needs to investigate. Naturally, Anakin shows up with some wild screeching to fight Maul, and when someone questions why he got involved it gets very "Kenobi is MINE!" and like. Okay. So.

Anakin means it in a very Sith "to toy with" and "to torture" way, or the ‘my chosen opponent!’ way, just the same kind of Obsession as Maul had with Obi-Wan in the original timeline. Unfortunately, Anakin’s a weird-ass person who flirts with Young Obi against his own better judgement, so there's some awkward "Like... your boyfriend?" from young Obi. Anakin just screeches in SOME emotion that nobody wants to interpret, and couldn't even if they wanted to, and starts whacking away at Maul again.

(Anakin hasn't explained the "you look exactly like my dad, sorry, it's just too weird" thing yet, and he is HAVING MANY REGRETS.)

There's definitely at least one instance where a person asks Anakin if he's planning on dating That One Jedi Twink, or at least banging out the tension. At that point in time, Anakin doesn't actually know who the fuck they're talking about, because "Obi-Wan + Twink = Does Not Compute" for dear, dense Ani, and instead he just ends up ranting about how he is LOYAL TO THE MEMORY OF HIS LATE WIFE, how DARE anyone so much as INSINUATE that he would TARNISH HER PERFECT MEMORY and UNWAVERING KINDNESS and WHOLESOME BEING, and the person who asked doesn't end up lightsabered but they do end up with a LOT to tell whoever they're reporting to.

Young Obi-Wan definitely hears Anakin mutter the phrase “something to discuss with my therapist later” a few times, and he’s a little bewildered because darksiders definitely don’t seem like the type of people to go to therapy. They’re the type of people to need therapy, sure, but not the type to go to therapy.

I think it would be very fun for Young Obi to continue sighing over Anakin (who's pretending to be fine with it and even flirting back because he's in too deep to stop and hasn't worked up the courage to explain the elephant in the room) while Anakin is covered in grease and infodumping while having a slightly manic hyperfocus on engine repairs while the two of them Somehow got stranded together in the middle of bumfuck nowhere (it's Plagueis's doing, he finds the interactions between THESE two in particular to be the most informative regarding the fake Sith).

Anakin, at some point while stranded with young Obi-Wan, and having actually started unpacking some stuff in therapy, though he’s def still got a ways to go: I’m pretty sure Ben cares about me. He acts like he cares, like he’ll do stuff like put extra blankets in my quarters in the spaceship because I get cold real easily or track down those droid parts I need for a project and he always has my back in a fight but y’know it’d be nice to hear him say he loves me once in a while. Especially because we kinda had a rough start and idk I don’t think he wanted me around at first.

And uh. Obi-Wan definitely relates to that a bit too much, y’know?

I want to say that Young Obi ends up mentioning All That to one of the clones or Ahsoka later, because they seem probably invested in Anakin's well-being, even if Ben is, well, a Sith, so Obi-Wan's a little worried the man's affection really is fake, but at least Ahsoka...

(Ironic, given what Anakin's actual eventual Sith would-be-Master was like.)

Young Obi mentions Anakin’s most recent rant to Ahsoka, and she just goes "Wait, is that why Skyguy likes to sit by the throne and get called pet names?" "Uh... I don't... know... but it sounds like all of you have a LOT to unpack there, Miss Apprentice."

Later on: "Master Kenobi, you need to tell Skyguy you love him 'cause apparently he's been having a lot of emotions about you not telling him you care and he's been talking to mini-you about it whenever they get stuck together and--"

Young Obi-Wan is just constantly the "Now we don't have time to unpack all of that" John Mulaney gif. Anakin in particular is a mess, and young Obi-Wan slowly goes from "I want to date that" to "I want to study that" about him.

Obi-Wan gets stuck somewhere with Ben, tries to small talk, gets on the topic of Vader, and spills the drama. He gets an awkward “Thank you for bringing that to my attention.”

It’s followed by a fairly frustrated “I try, but Anakin refuses to communicate his needs to me, and it feels like I’m always falling short.”

At least one member of the group is in therapy, probably all of them, but they’re still using young Obi as a sounding board for all this stuff. On the bright side, this is probably good for impressing the importance of good communication on Obi-Wan.

Good for Obi-Wan! And... whatever Padawan he eventually has.

As for baby Anakin, who is approximately age four, I want to go with "Anakin decides to be his own uncle, and Shmi just rolls with it because fuck it, she’s not a slave anymore, and a Fake Sith is a solid defense against anyone trying to re-enslave them."

[This is a backstory I've had them use before (see here and here).]

Seeing Big Ani and Little Ani in the same space might be what finally pings the "oh shit, that's future me" thing for Obi-Wan... you know, if he’s ever allowed close enough to see Little Ani in the first place.

Little Ani stays with the fake-Sith and is sorta jointly trained by all of them, and young Obi-Wan teaches little 'Soka at the Temple. Ani and 'Soka still end up friends somehow, but it is fairly different.

Every time little Ani addresses Old Obi as "Dad," it's just like ten kinds of awkward. The one time someone tried to explain that Ben wasn't his new dad, Shmi glared them down. She is of the opinion that, all the gods be damned, Ani deserves to refer to the most mature man in his life, who raised another him in another timeline already, as a father.

Ani doesn't NEED a father, Shmi herself is more than enough, but he does deserve to have this if he wants it.

An alternative conclusion to the time travel is uh. So the Mandalorians are genetically identical (give or take a hair gene) and really resemble Jango Fett, though whether anyone notices that is up in the air. Then the three ‘Sith’ (two fake Sith and their morality chain tag-along) have three younger, identical copies show up….

It could be really weird cloning shenanigans. Now, it makes no sense that they’d make clones, and stagger their production like that, and leave them as babies on various planets for Jedi to find. IDK what reasons Obi-Wan would come up with for that, but it’s a fun little detour before he gets to time travel.

There's a really painful moment (for the audience, who know about canon Vader) where someone tries to convince Ahsoka to leave the Sith and she's just like "no way, they'd never hurt me!” Then she clarifies that “someone has to keep them from doing stupid Sith shit whenever they get bored, you know?"

A bunch of Jedi probably think she’s delusional, but the few that have seen her get into trouble that is legitimately too much for her, which isn't often, have then seen Anakin show up like the devil himself to save her, and it's like. Oh. This is why she isn't scared of them hurting her.

We’ve discussed how Anakin does get concerningly in character with the fake Sith thing. However, Anakin and Ahsoka are, just once in a while, surprised by how Ben gets sometimes when playing the bad guy.

After all, he stabbed a dude with a fork and threatened to eat him during his time as Hardeen…

He has the same dramatic streak as all the rest of the lineage. He can be vindictive and creepy and scary as fuck.

HOWEVER:

Obi-Wan: I know I'm supposed to be playing at evil right now, but how do we feel about me making that evil a little... fruity? Ahsoka: Fruity, master? Anakin, who knows where this is going: [buries face in hands] Obi-Wan: You know, the... [limp wrist] Ahsoka: ... Obi-Wan: I mean, I'm already bisexual and well-groomed, I can play it up.

What’s the point of being evil if you can’t be flamboyant?

Anyway, I had to put in a lot of thought for what to do with Rex and Cody, because there's a solid place for them in terms of strategy, but it doesn't do much to give them independent narrative arcs, and 'young Obi-Wan has a crush' isn't much of an arc, you know?

So, basic info first: Cody, Rex, and Anakin all hold the rank of General in this AU because, like... who else is gonna. Ahsoka remains a commander because everyone declares her Baby, and also to keep up the "I'm a morality chain" ruse.

Cody maintains a very stern and unyielding public persona, but the second they're behind closed doors, he's roughhousing with his little brother.

Rex has some fun pretending to be a sadist whenever he and Anakin have to team up, because hamming it up as an evil bastard in front of Jedi is actually really fun... but usually, he's a competent fucking professional.

Because here's the thing: someone has to be.

They both kind of hate the army they've gotten, because these people don't even have proper trigger discipline, let alone any actual discipline.

This army? Tragic. They hate it. Give them the clones.

They have to be drill sergeants for months before they have anything worth sending onto the field.

I think that might be how/when they end up reaching out to Jango. Like, the first inroad is absolutely "we're your clones from the future and you were a Shit Dad so you owe us," but then they actually talk him around into letting the Fake Sith hire him. He brings along all the Mandalorians he can get to answer his calls, and on suggestion from Those Mando Twins, joins the army Ben doesn't even want.

Darth Boring doesn't want an army! Unfortunately, Cody thinks that's stupid as hell, and is overruling Ben so they can actually work on this 'cleaning up the galaxy of slavery' thing with actual resources.

Cody and Rex are super competent, and it shows in their horrified disdain for the state of their troops.

Rex: Fucking natborns. Anyone who isn't in the know: What's a natborn? Rex: [leaves without answering] People: WHAT'S A NATBORN???

(I'm assuming that the word smush is harder to parse in Basic.)

I think young Obi-Wan's new crush on Cody should also be unrequited. Cody's just like... bemused. Very "Okay, then, that sure is an Affection you've decided on."

Cody and Anakin both: Sorry, it’d just be too weird. Obi-Wan: Why would it be too weird? Cody and Anakin: Reasons.

Rex has to deal with the "whyyyyy" from both his brother and his (former?) General.

Young Obi-Wan just likes cute boys that fight good! Is that so wrong???

Ahsoka: So since we're not officially Jedi anymore-- Obi-Wan: We're still Je-- Ahsoka: Can we date? Can I date now? I want to date someone before we go back to the Code. It's a classic life experience for most teenage girls, and I want to Have That Experience before we're back at the Temple. Obi-Wan: You're not... you can date, Ahsoka, that's not actually banned by the Code. I mean, you'd have to keep it casual, but-- Ahsoka: I CAN DATE!!!

(Great priorities, Ahsoka.)

An idea I'm toying with is that one of the clones ends up Legally Engaged to Satine for political reasons, and young Obi-Wan is just like ???? because not only can he not date the hot boys, but one of said hot boys has become Mr. Steal Yo Girl.

Young Obi-Wan is suffering, and Quinlan is the worst friend ever because Quinlan is laughing at him.

There is obviously the question of

"How would Satine ever end up agreeing to that, given what their public personas are like and all that? She puts duty ahead of personal feelings but all indications are that it’s a terrible decision both ways." (as stated by Tia)

Which, yes, I forgot to actually say that I was imagining Jango had declared "those twins" his heirs after telling people they were his younger* cousins. Because reasons.

* Jango is about 27 when they land in the past, and I’m going to say the accelerated aging ended after hitting physically twenty because no, I don’t want to deal with that. As far as anyone knows, Cody and Rex are about five years younger than Jango. They’re less than year apart, which isn’t very visible, and most people assume they’re identical twins (except Rex’s hair), and that Cody just looks slightly older because of the scar.

Darth Boring had convinced Satine that the way to keeping Mandalore peaceful was to work with Jango (because Darth Boring, which is not his actual title but it is what Ahsoka insists on calling him in private, has a vested interest in keeping Mandalore and all interested parties calm), and he... maybe accidentally set up a political marriage between her and one of the clones.

It wasn't on purpose! Satine never married in his timeline, okay, he didn't expect her to ever get married here, either! He didn't even suggest it! This just happened!

(I want to say that Cody would be more competent at having a political marriage? But IDK.)

Do I do the Satine thing? It has potential, but also it's a bit of a cop-out. Do I have Cody be a diplomatic representative for their pseudo-Sith empire? He could be, but I think he'd hate it. Do I have Rex date one the Chaos Entities (Anakin or Ahsoka), or is that too repetitive with my other works? THERE'S JUST TOO MUCH GOING ON.

Part of me wants Quinlan to get a crush on Cody, and the crush gets bigger specifically in response to the fact that Cody refuses to take him seriously and/or just doesn't give him the time of day.

Based on their one interaction in TCW, they probably let get along ok. Cody maybe likes him back, buuuuuuut internally he's just a little "you were tolerable at almost-forty; early twenties you is obnoxious."

Just imagine the absolutely puppyish attempts at gaining approval and Impressing The Hot Mando General. Quinlan keeps having vague daydreams of seducing someone to the side of the Light. He really leans into the bodice ripper fantasies of saving someone evil with the power of love! (And also the power of really good sex.)

Bant looks at Quin and Obi and wants to throw them both into the nearest pond because they're idiots, but on this topic they are the same flavor of idiot. She considers calling up Reeft and Garen to help her knock some sense into them.

Quinlan: Can I volunteer to go undercover to the Sith? The Council: No. Quinlan: ...what if I-- The Council: No.

Tholme tries to get Qui-Gon to commiserate over their Padawans getting obsessed with Hot Sith Boys, but Qui-Gon just finds the whole thing funny. He knows from the chats he has with Ben that Anakin feels so completely, utterly, incredibly awkward about all of this.

(Ben continues to hold to "Anakin brought this on himself.")

(Ben also “kidnaps” Qui-Gon a lot.)

Also, hey, at least Quinlan isn’t actually into hot Sith boys! He’s into hot Sith minions which is... probably a step up. At least Cody’s not a Sith himself!

It's a step in some direction but Tholme has no idea which one.

(Quinlan sees Cody in dress uniform once and just keeps the mental image for Ages. It’s in his dreams. Sometimes said dreams overflow to Tholme via Force Mind Magic and Quinlan wakes up to someone smacking his face with a pillow.)

Arguably, Quin's also a lot more romantic about his crush than Obi-Wan is, in this case. Quinlan: I want to save him... Obi-Wan: Hey, hey, cute boy. Look at me. Let’s bang.

Cody: There are currently two future Jedi generals having some form of absurd romantic fixation in my direction. I don't know how to feel about this. Rex: Bed them. Cody: ...I'm not saying that's not eventually an option, but one of them is the younger Kenobi, and I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that. Rex: Pat him on the head like a tooka and then bed his friend, it'll be funny.

I think the Quinlan thing and also general exasperation of leading an absolutely useless army can function pretty solidly as the basis for Cody, but I have another idea for Rex now.

Komari is currently brainwashed in a cult, yes? So.

I keep bouncing around back and forth on what to do with Rex, but part of me suddenly really likes the idea of, after Team Fake Sith finds and dissolves the cult (as one does), and takes Komari into custody (because she's dangerous and deeply unwell), Rex kind of ends up her touchstone to being a decent person. He’s not a morality chain, and it’s not really a redeemed-through-love thing, just This Is A Solid Dude who doesn't pity her or thinks she's irredeemable (however you choose to define such a thing), but actually relates to the kind of conditions living like that can involve, and just kind of...

I don’t know. I think Rex's arc in this AU could be very heavily grounded in something to the effect of "You're not the worst darksider I've met. You're not the only person who was in a cult. You're not even the only former Jedi I know that's committed awful, horrible crimes. My question is just this: What are you going to do moving forward?"

Later Anakin: Wait, who do we know that was in a cult? Rex: What did you think Kamino was?

(Rex isn't as chill as he'd like her to think, but he's trying, and she's fairly reliant on the Force to understand emotions, and is currently in nullifying cuffs, so he can bluff.)

Komari needs someone solid and dependable to rely on for at least conversation, and I think Rex needs to feel needed.

I’m not sure if it’d be romance or friendship, but I think there's a solid basis to work with, potentially.

Per Tia:

One thing about Rex and shipping is like. If you want to do Rexwalker again that's fine, but if you're worried about repetitiveness but still want to like. Ship him in a non-political-convenience way. Rexsoka here actually would be different than your other stuff.

I'm trying to figure out if I can make it work because Ahsoka thematically fits very much into a little sister shaped hole here? She feels younger than in other works, despite not actually being younger than she is in, say, Commander Buir. In those other fics, she has some time alone to function and prove herself independently of Anakin and Obi-Wan.

I usually pluck Ahsoka out at sixteen if I'm pulling her from TCW, so she's got most of her competence but hasn't gotten quite all the trauma yet. Commander Buir, in particular, also has baby-shaped Anakin for contrast.

That said, I can see a decent source of narrative conflict in her wanting to experiment with romance and all that, and Anakin trying to tell her she's too young.

A year into this whole time-travel mess, she wants to give the dating thing a shot, and it spirals into "You were only two years older than me when you got married!"

I think I could build a plot out of Ahsoka wanting to do these things, and Anakin as an audience insert not quite processing that she's old enough to make these decisions. If she's choosing to date Rex, whose age works out as being close to hers when one takes into account Kamino fuckery, and whom she trusts absolutely, it’s arguably extra weird for Anakin to be upset with it.

"Senator Amidala was five years older than you, and you married her when you were nineteen and had only really known her for a week! I can go on a date with a guy we both know is one of the most trustworthy people alive if I want, Skyguy!"

I can definitely see Ahsoka getting annoyed with Anakin being overbearing and controlling at some point before that unrelated to romance, too. It’s not exactly a new fault of his.

My god, just imagine someone snidely asking Anakin "where's your little shadow?" and Anakin, being Himself and also a Fake Sith, has an emotional breakdown about how Ahsoka yelled at him for micromanaging her and not trusting her to make her own decisions in life and so she got herself a multi-month solo mission from Ben that Anakin isn't allowed to know any details about, and--

It's another one of those "oh, you have PROBLEMS problems with your mental health" incidents for the Jedi to add to the file, because Anakin having emotionally charged rants about his issues at seemingly terrible times is how they get a lot of information.

Some of the rants are planned.

Many of them, actually.

They want the Jedi to know these things.

Just, well. Anakin.

He really is a little Like That.

On that note, I'm low-key imagining that Anakin gets put on mood stabilizers by the therapist in this context, and he's doing good! He's handling his issues! He's--been captured with Obi-Wan the Younger again and his medication was confiscated.

Anakin is... not great. He's a little out of practice managing his unmedicated self, and when adding withdrawal symptoms onto that... poor Anakin.

(Poor Obi-Wan.)

I think it would be best if Anakin makes a bunch of ominous blustery comments at their captors about how they won't like what's coming to them if they take his belongings (AKA the fanny pack that has his backup pills), and then Obi-Wan just gets to watch Anakin get more and more erratic, because like. Yes, Anakin is using the Force to compensate, but unfortunately he's mostly cut off, and the stress of the situation is pushing him away from depression and into the beginnings of a manic episode.

Anakin is aware of his issues to the point where he's mostly managing, and he keeps asking Obi-Wan "would it make sense for me to [slightly deranged, very impulsive action]," and Obi-Wan realizes he's being the morality sounding board for the Hot Sith because ??? reasons?????

Eventually, Anakin does flop back in bed and dramatically throws his arm over his eyes, and says he needs his meds back, he's absolutely going to lose it, and Obi-Wan tentatively asks what kind of medication. There are levels to worry about. Mild allergy medication is one thing, but heart medication that needs to be taken every four hours is another, you know? He wants to know how much panic is appropriate.

Anakin lets him know that it's Psychiatric In Nature. Obi-Wan suddenly realizes that he really, really, really doesn't want to know what a properly erratic, unmedicated Anakin is like.

(An unmedicated Anakin really isn't nearly as bad as Obi-Wan fears. Anakin's been dealing with this for a while, and knows what his issues are and some of how to deal with them. He'd need to be running on no sleep and higher levels of stress, or to have been drugged with something meant to increase his aggression, to really lose his shit and do something worthy of Vader. RotS levels of stress and sleep deprivation is required to pull RotS levels of manic paranoid delusion.)

Tia asked:

How long does it take the Jedi in general to catch on to how like. They have opportunities. But these Sith never seem to harm any Jedi. And it’s not just like, the past timeline parts of the disaster lineage. They probably get opportunities to hurt other Jedi. Ones that are less skilled at saber work. And more importantly ones that they don’t seem weirdly interested in."

I'm not sure, really. The Jedi don't spend as much time in the Outer Rim as they could, and that's where the Team operates, so actually running into them by accident is unlikely for anyone other than Shadows.

Fortunately, it's really easy to toy with Shadows with the excuse of "I want to see how long it takes before you Fall with us."

I do want like... okay. Here’s the mental image:

Qui-Gon calls them out on being Fake Sith pretty quickly, so Ben just sort of eyes him, dramatically, and orders out "Leave us" to all non-team people. The threat of torture is implied but not stated. He gestures with wine to keep in character. He definitely makes sure Young Obi-Wan is ushered out, so it's just five time travelers, Qui-Gon Jinn, and Ahsoka's immortal force birb.

"...so, what's the reason for the farce, Obi-Wan?" "How in all the hells did you figure it out so quickly?"

(Qui-Gon cheated a bit. He could feel the broken training bond that was never properly severed due to Traumatic Death Of A Master on Ben's end)

Ben didn't realize he'd feel it! Young Obi-Wan can't feel his older self or a training bond with Anakin or Ahsoka, so why could Qui-Gon?

IDK if there would be anything on the level of crying and hugging it out, but I think it would be very funny if, every time young Obi and Anakin are getting captured by pirates or something, Ben and Qui-Gon are just having a nice afternoon tea and checking their watches to see if their respective walking bundles of neuroses are done with their adventure yet.

The Council is So Done, because Qui-Gon continues to insist that they're Not That Bad, but every time anyone other than Qui-Gon brings up the friendship, Ben laughs and makes a comment about how absolutely gullible Master Jinn is.

Obi-Wan is skeptical of his own experiences with Anakin, at least, if only because he's skeptical about Anakin's everything.

"I don't know if Vader is telling me the truth. I don't know if he's telling himself the truth. I don't think he's a great source of information even when he thinks he's being honest."

Anakin could tell Obi-Wan the full and complete truth, and Obi-Wan would worriedly put a hand to his forehead and start doing tests for hallucinations and paranoid delusions. In his defense, this is a very reasonable assumption to make with an individual like Anakin. It's just also not accurate, this time. I don’t know if Anakin hallucinates in canon without a weird inciting incident like Force Nonsense or getting drugged by the enemy, but paranoid delusion is pretty much all of RotS.

"I’m your time-traveling padawan who’s pretending to be a Sith to catch some other Sith who’re going to start a galactic civil war and those Mandalorians you like are from a clone army based on a template of Jango Fett made to serve the Jedi (because that’s totally something he’d sign up for), and one of the Sith is your grandmaster but he doesn’t seem to have fallen yet, it’s probably fine," is hard to believe.

Honestly, even if he seemed stable before saying that, which he doesn’t, it’s all real far fetched. There's a lot going on and Obi-Wan wouldn't even begin to believe it without evidence.

I've had it in my head that he and Bant and Quinlan have been gossiping about the mess for months if not years about these idiots, and at one point it became common knowledge that Ben was a Kenobi, and Bant convinced them (since the two were among the most likely in the entire Order to encounter the Fake Sith) to get a DNA sample, probably hair or blood since that's easiest so they can figure out HOW these two are related, if they are, and then there's a whole big thing.

Bant: No, no, this must be contaminated, it's coming up as Obi-Wan! Are you sure you didn't accidentally grab some of your own hairs? I know it's a little long for most of your hair, but the braid-- Quinlan: Wait, they keep claiming stuff about cloning, right? Maybe someone's a clone? Check for artificial telomeres! Bant: ...okay, so, there aren't any artificial telomeres, but the ones from apparently-Ben are... a lot shorter... um... I don't know what to do with this. It's like I have two samples from the same person, twenty years apart. Quinlan: Obi-Wan, what's that face? Why are you-- Obi-Wan: Vader told me he was a time-traveler. I thought it was the fever talking, but...

That’s how he finds out that Ben is future-him before finding out about how he’s not evil!

"Master Jinn... I think... I think the Sith controlling the Outer Rim is me from the future." "Oh, you finally figured it out?" "I AM HAVING A CRISIS HERE."

Obi-Wan, after a few hours of dazed realization, runs screaming to Quinlan and Bant like 'GUYS GUYS THIS EXPLAINS WHY VADER KEPT SAYING IT WAS WEIRD AND THAT I LOOK LIKE HIS MASTER AND THAT IT WOULD BE LIKE DATING HIS DAD.'

You know, the important stuff.

I think Qui-Gon tells him that Ben isn't evil because, like, That Sure Is A Crisis Obi-Wan's Having. He could hold off for shits and giggles, sure, but Obi-Wan’s on the edge of something Really Concerning, mentally. Best help calm him down on at least one or two things.

Obi-Wan’s maybe still a little skeptical until he confronts them over it. Because their Sith act was real good and also like. Maybe Qui-Gon just wants to believe the best of his Padawan, y’know?

Quinlan runs into Ben before Obi-Wan does, after this whole mess, and gets to observe as money changes hands and people act like sore winners about bets made for When Does Obi-Wan Figure It Out.

Anakin was saying 'soon' because he really didn't think the fever-fueled rant would be discounted as easily as it was.

Cody was of the opinion that it would take at least a few more years since they're actually pretty damn good at this whole schtick.

Quinlan: Wow, he's... going to be really disappointed that you have such a low opinion of his intelligence. Cody, gesturing at Ben: Experience. Darth Ben: ಠ_ಠ

Cody just rattles off some of the Extremely Stupid Shit that Ben's done in their time working together.

Rex cheerily offers up "You didn't even realize General Skywalker was married, sir! And they weren't subtle!" "I knew they were together, I just didn--" "Everyone knew they were together, sir. Everyone."

(Rex had the lowest opinion of their deductive capabilities. He claims it would have taken until Baby Ahsoka showed up at the Jedi Temple.)

-Once Obi-Wan accepts that they're decent people after all- Obi-Wan: Wow, Anakin, you're real good at acting unhinged! Anakin: Haha. Yeah. Thanks?

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Text

It’s Just Me (mini blurb)

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———————

It was a terrible twos kind of day. The kind of day when YN can’t tote Ivy along to a charity organization brunch because she would meltdown.

Harry had her in his office with him, she was sitting on a blanket Harry had laid out, and was quietly playing with her stuffed animals (mostly seals.)

Occasionally, she would babble to herself and get pissed of at her inatimate playmates, ending in her tossing it to the side.

He caught himself just staring at her, smiling as he watches the little human he and his soulmate created right in front of him.

When his phone rings, he automatically picks it up, professionally stating, “Styles.”

“Hi, this is Dan from Payroll,” The guys voice was already shaking and Harry knew he was about to get really pissed off.

“How can I help you?” He asks in a tone that’s was definitely did not sound like he wanted to provide any assistance.

There is a pregnant pause before Dan nearly stutters, “Er, I accidentally missed reviewing the marketing departments hours and they did not receive their last paycheck.”

Harry takes a very deep breathe because he wants to do what he normally would - scream through the phone at this idiot.

However, he can’t because his curly haired little baby is playing with her toys in the middle of the office with a smile.

“Please come up to my office,” Harry replies curtly before hanging up.

He gets up, goes over to his daughter, and squats in front of her, “Ivy, baby.”

She looks up at him with a toothy grin before reaching over to hand him a stuffed seal, “Play, daddy.”

Harry thumbs over a stray curl on her forehead, “Daddy can’t, my love. I need y’to go with Granny Dor for a little.”

Ivy had been very clinging to both YN and Harry recently. She had a fit when YN dropped her off, despite how happy she was to see her dad.

Her brows furrow, lips purse, and Harry has to laugh because she looks like a carbon copy of him with the sour face.

“Oh, no mean looks t’daddy,” He hums with his own frown, “S’just for a moment, m’dove.”

“No.”

“Ivy, y’need to listen.”

And Harry knows it coming, she sucks in a huge breathe and then just lets out a scream in protest of him.

“Ivy Elizabeth Styles, y’do not scream. Y’know better. Are we going to have to take a timeout or are you going to go sit nice with Dor?” Harry’s voice is still softer than he’d use with any of him employees but extremely firm to her.

“No timeout, daddy,” She mumbles, her volume decreasing significantly as she lowers her gaze from her father’s.

“Alright, then c’mon. Thank you for listening,” Harry praises, gathering up her toys for her and leading her into his waiting room where Dorothy is typing away on her computer.

“Dor, Dan is coming up and I need to have a private meaning. Will y’watch her for a little?”

Ivy is already clambering up into her lap, into the warmth of her arms, and nuzzling in - because Granny Dor spoiled her silly.

Harry rolls his eyes, muttering, “And you and YN say I spoil her too much. Bloody ridiculous.”

Dorothy just shoos him away, readjusting Ivy’s bow, and combing through her hair softly to simmer her down a little.

Dan trails in solemnly soon after to face his inevitable doom.

He sees his boss’ daughter perched on the secretary’s lap and he wonders how such a sweet little thing could be created from the demon of a man.

As Harry and Dan meet, Ivy gets wriggly and squirms off of Dorothy’s lap.

“Stay close,” She murmurs to the toddler as she picks up her phone to answer a call for Harry.

Of course, Ivy doesn’t listen, and she noticed that the door to her father’s office is cracked open just the littlest bit.

It’s enough for her to slip through the space between the heavy doors and toddles on, she’s blocked by the leather couches so Harry can’t see her.

“I have givin’ you so many fuckin’ chances!” Harry seethes angrily at his employee. His tone was more like a growl than anything else.

Ivy pauses, eyes widening in fear as she hears her dad speak in a frightening manner she’s never heard before.

“I…There was a coding error that I had been distracted with, it won’t happen again,” Dan insists, knowing he had actually committed a fireable offense.

“You are absolutely correct because you’re fucking fired,” Harry replies, no wavering in his raspy register.

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Dan explodes, “It’s unfucking fair treatment! It was one mistake, you fuckin’ asshole!”

There’s a moment of silence.

“I can fuckin’ show you unfair treatment. Get the fuck out of my office and learn how to do your goddamn job,” Harry retorts, his voice rising as well.

Ivy is stuck in her spot, frozen in surprise at hearing the arguing and how mad her father sounded, voice echoing through the room.

“You listen to me-“

“Get the fuck out of my office!” Harry booms furiously, this employee managing to get a rise out of him.

“I was ju-“

Both the men pause when they hear a wail from behind the sofa and the sound of Ivy plopping herself on the ground.

Harry instantly is out from behind his desk and going to round the sofa in a flash with a rose of panic in his chest.

His heart drops when he sees his baby looking up at him with fear in her watery eyes and she’s literally shaking.

“Oh, baby. Did y’hear daddy bein’ loud?” Harry murmurs in his sweetest, comforting voice - uncaring of his employee hearing him.

Harry expects her to nod sadly and ask for a cuddle but she instead wriggles backwards when he goes to reach for her - out of his reach.

“Ivy, little dove, s’just y’daddy,” He tries again, sitting down in front of her - doesn’t even look up as Dan leaves quietly.

She’s scared though and has had never felt worse in his life as his daughter backs away from him until she’s getting to her wobbly feet.

He tries again, reaching his arms out, “Ivy Elizabeth, s’just daddy. M’sorry I scared you, bub.”

Ivy doesn’t budge, crying loudly with her face pinched up as hot tears run down her soft chubby cheeks.

Dorothy appears with a worried look, “I apologize, I thought she was by the table.”

“S’not your fault I’m a shitty father,” Harry mutters, standing back up and roughly brushing off his trousers.

“Oh Harry, she’s just a little frightened,” Dorothy hums, picking the girl up when she toddles quickly over to her.

Her dad trails over, “Ivy, m’love. Can you look at daddy?”

She refuses, digging her face into the woman’s shoulder, curls bouncing fiercely as she clings onto her.

Harry loved to be feared. Not like this though. Not by the child he’d literally jump in front of a train for without a second thought.

He would rather have her screaming, pitching fits, throwing toys rather than this. She was so scared that she wouldn’t even look at him.

“Let me take her on a little stroll, okay? See if I can calm her down a bit.”

—

Harry waits patiently for Dorothy to arrive back but he automatically hears his daughter’s steady stream of sniffles and whimpers.

He goes out to the waiting room to see her reentering the room, she sighs, “I think it’s time to call mummy.”

Harry had no idea how he was going to explain this to his wife. He was I trouble and he knew he deserved it.

“Hey H, is the bab okay?” YN greets warmly, chattering in the background.

“Er, she’s okay, just upset. Ivy accidentally walked in on me flipping out and firing an employee. Now she’s scared. Dor tried to calm her down and she doesn’t want to be near me right now.”

YN’s next words were calm, Harry however did not miss the sharp edge when she replies, “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Then she hangs up on him.

Which she really never does unless she is really really upset.

—

When YN arrives, Ivy is sat on Dorothy’s lap with puffy eyes and her thumb tucked between her full lips, popping it out when she sees her mother.

“Mumma!” Ivy shrieks, tears beginning streaming down her face as she impatiently waits for her to cross the room and gives her a soft kiss to the forehead.

“Hi baby, give mummy one minute and then we’ll leave okay?” YN murmurs soothingly, thumbing of some of the tears.

Ivy nods but is standing next the secretary’s desk, waiting patiently with her thumb going right back between her lips again.

Harry’s sitting at his large oak table, looking like a guilty puppy as his wife comes in with a disapproving look on her face.

“Baby, m’sorr-“

“What the fuck, Harry? Why is our daughter out there terrified right now?” YN demands, crossing her arms to prove her anger.

“Some fuckin’ idiot messed somethin’ up and Ivy walked in while I cursed him out and fired him. She was hiding behind the couch. It was an accident,” He defends, bristling a bit.

“Even if the door was shut, she would have still heard you. You knew better than to act like that around our daughter.”

“I had to fire him,” Harry makes the lame excuse because he knows he’s in the wrong and he’s not always great at admitting he is.

“You were supposed to have Ivy for two hours and this happens. I have her all day everyday and I’ve need had an issue with controlling myself in front of others!” YN yells (quietly) at him.

“What the fuck is tha’ supposed to mean? Y’calling me a bad father? Y’have her all day with her because I work so that you can stay at home with her.”

YN rolls her eyes, “Well thank god for that, she’d be cursing and screaming at people all day everyday if she was with you all the time.”

Harry is thoroughly pissed at his wife and she is equally just as furious with him - it doesn’t happen often but when it does it’s bad.

“Y’got some fuckin’ nerve. Our baby is polite, well-mannered because of me too! Not just you, fuckin’ claiming all her good qualities,” He replies with a snarl.

“Don’t talk to me that way,” YN bites back, “I’m not one of your employees. Neither is Ivy despite you talking like that in front of her.”

Now she was just trying to push his buttons and it was well onto it’s way of working.

“Y’bein’ fuckin’ ridiculous! It was a accident and you’re acting like I did it on purpose! Fuckin’ hell!” He raises his voice in frustration.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are raising your voice at me but I’m leaving,” YN tells him, giving him one final glare before storming out of the office.

“Fuck!” He grunts, smacking cup of pens from his desk before slamming his fist on the desk.

—

Ivy was waiting patiently, whimpering when she sees her mum, and gesturing to be picked up, “It’s past your nap time, Vee.”

“Nap,” She lisps sadly, instantly curling into then familiarness that is her mother. Eyes instantly fluttering shut.

“Thank you, Dor,” YN whispers, blowing her a kiss, before trekking out of the office with the exhausted little girl.

—

Harry can’t handle the rest of the day, wants to go home, and make amends with his wife which leads him to heading out only an hour after them.

He finds YN in the den with the baby monitor propped on the coffee table, she’s watching a horror movie with a smoothie in hand.

“Hi, m’heart,” Harry murmurs cautiously, loosening up his tie until it falls limp around his neck.

She glances over at him, sarcasm lacing her tone,“So you do know how to talk without yelling at me, hmm?”

His face falls, frowning, “Hey, lovie - don’t be like tha’. Y’gonna let me apologize?”

“Come scratch my back and I’ll hear you out,” She hums, keeping a serious face.

“Y’drive a hard bargain, m’heart. Show me y’tits,” Harry begins to smile, striding over and getting her no time before he’s pulling off her shirt and sports bra.

He sits down then gently lays her down on her tummy and she rests her head in his lap, cheek pressed against his thigh.

“I shouldn’t have done that, I wasn’t thinkin’. Now I’m worried she’s gonna hate me forever,” Harry mumbles, using his blunt nails to trace up and down her back.

“You’re her favorite person. She’ll always love you more than anything,” YN tells him seriously, arching when he scratches an extra itchy spot.

“I hope so. I love her more than anythin’. A little mixture of how much we love each other. How much we worked to get her,” He sighs softly.

—

YN dozed off and Harry tucks a blanket around her bare chest.

When the baby monitor alerts that Ivy had woke up after quite a long nap, he takes a deep breath before walking up the staircase to his fate.

He’s preparing himself for her to scream and cry when she sees her monster of a father because he’d scared her so horribly.

But his mini just widens her green eyes and he looks at his world with bated breath, waiting for the scream or tears.

Instead, she just dimples happily at her father, and squeals with excitement, “Daddy! Hi Daddy, miss you!”

And just like that….

They’re best friends again.

—-

Enjoy! Come talk to me!! 💕❣️💕❣️💕❣️

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tickly-trashcan · 3 years

Text

Tsukishima’s Torment {AkaTsukki}

A/N: hello hello dear anon! I don’t think I’ve written for these two before, so I hope I did okay! It was interesting to write for these two, and I really hope you enjoy it! :D sorry it got a little bit rushed at the end, i’m not great at ending fics fjdsdfjnj

Summary: After Tsukishima’s constant torment from Bokuto and Kuroo, Akaashi decides to try it for himself.

Word Count: 1.1k (under the cut)

“Stohop!”

Akaashi turned, looking to see his partner being tormented by his two best friends, Bokuto and Kuroo. He sighed. He might need to intervene… again.

It had been happening for a little while now, ever since Tsukishima had asked Kuroo, Bokuto, and Akaashi to help him practice his blocking. Of course, he and Akaashi had instantly formed a bond, both being the introverts of the group. Kuroo and Bokuto had teased them a bunch for it, and after a while, they had grown used to it.

Another thing that had been happening was Tsukishima’s torment. Bokuto had been feeling rather… playful one day, and when Tsukishima reached up to block, he quickly jabbed him in the armpits.

Of course, no one was expecting the sudden yelp that echoed through the gym, and as Tsukishima tried to explain that he was just surprised, Kuroo and Bokuto pounced on him, tickling the life out of the poor boy. It had become a repetitive thing, and it was to the point where it was nearly interfering with practice.

Tsukishima was growing nervous to block, always anticipating Bokuto suddenly tickling him, so he would slam his arms down before he could block the ball. Kuroo and Bokuto both thought it was funny, but as Tsukishima’s partner he wanted to make sure he was getting enough out of this experience.

“Bokuto, Kuroo, leave him alone,” Akaashi said softly, walking over to Tsukishima, who was currently being poked and prodded mercilessly by the two.

“Aww, you just want him all for yourself~” Kuroo teased, and Bokuto chuckled. Akaashi felt his cheeks warm slightly, but the two relented, leaving Tsukishima to lightly shove them as he huffed.

“I can take care of myself, y’know,” Tsukishima said quietly, and Akaashi nodded.

“I’m sure you can. Now, let’s do some more blocking.”

Tsukishima hesitated, a bit nervous to continue, but nodded.

Akaashi flashed him a small smile, patting his back before walking around the net to the other side.

He heard another yelp and looked to see Bokuto poking Tsukishima again. Akaashi rolled his eyes and served the ball, where Bokuto passed it back. Kuroo spiked it down and Tsukishima went to block it, only to flinch and chicken out when he saw Bokuto move next to him.

The rest of practice continued in the same way, making it so Tsukishima only blocked about half of the spikes.

Kuroo patted Tsukishima on the back after practice, pinching his side before walking off, leaving Tsukishima grumbling. Akaashi walked over to Tsukishima when Bokuto and Kuroo left, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Tsukishima sighed, turning to Akaashi with a frown. “I feel like I’ve gotten worse at blocking.”

“You haven’t gotten worse, you’re just in an embarrassing situation. Let’s practice a bit more, just you and me. I’ll serve you the ball and you block it.”

Tsukishima nodded, and Akaashi walked behind the net, picking up a ball and serving it to Tsukishima, who managed to block it perfectly.

“See? You’re doing fine, you just have distractions during practice,” Akaashi said, and Tsukishima nodded, though he still looked a little down. Akaashi thought for a moment, and an idea popped into his head. He walked around the net, to where Tsukishima stood as he looked at him, poker faced.

“Do you… need something?” Tsukishima asked, and Akaashi nodded.

“I need you to be more confident. And I think to get over that we need to get rid of what’s embarrassing you.”

Tsukishima nodded slowly, unsure of what Akaashi was up to until he felt Akaashi’s hands on his sides. He froze and looked at Akaashi, shaking his head.

“Not you too-”

“If you stop being embarrassed about it, you’ll do better with practice, and then you’ll get better at blocking,” Akaashi said flatly, starting to move his fingers as Tsukishima inhaled sharply, biting his lip.

“D-Don’t,” Was all he could manage before Akaashi started wiggling his fingers more, making Tsukishima immediately erupt into giggles.

“Akahahaashi! No!”

Akaashi only hummed as he worked up to Tsukishima’s waist, pinching at it as Tsukishima squeaked, shoving at Akaashi. He tried to stumble away, only tripping as Akaashi caught him, holding him around his waist as his other hand scribbled across Tsukishima’s tummy, making him squeal.

“Wahahait! I’m fine, yohohou don’t hahahave to do this! Akahahahaashi!”

“Don’t have to do what? I’m only helping,” Akaashi said, his tone lilting into a soft tease as Tsukishima whined, squirming in Akaashi’s grasp.

“You’re nohohohot!”

“Hmm? Not what?”

“Hehehehelping!”

Akaashi clicked his tongue, squeezing Tsukishima’s hip as he yelped. Akaashi’s poker face faded into the faintest of smiles as he watched Tsukishima, face pink and nose scrunched as his eyes were squeezed shut.

He buried his thumb in Tsukishima’s hip bone, massaging it gently as Tsukishima whined through his laughter, writhing in Akaashi’s grip as he shoved at Akaashi, trying to free himself.

Akaashi slowly lowered Tsukishima to the ground, and Tsukishima instantly tried to run off, but Akaashi grabbed his hips and pulled him back, squeezing them firmly as Tsukishima laughed loudly.

“Nohohoho!”

Tsukishima wailed as Akaashi climbed up to his ribs, digging into the grooves as his arms slammed down, elbows glued to his sides in hopes of blocking the sensations. Akaashi wormed his fingers up higher, getting them stuck under Tsukishima’s arms as he hollered.

“Akahahahaashi! Wahahait, plehehease!”

Akaashi seemed to forget why he was tickling Tsukishima in the first place, and it seemed Tsukishima had as well. Akaashi was too absorbed in Tsukishima’s laugh to care about anything but hearing more of it, and Tsukishima was so deep in laughter that he couldn’t focus on anything but begging.

“Plehehehease, stahahap!”

Akaashi pulled away soon after Tsukishima asked for him to stop, lightly holding his hands on Tsukishima’s chest as he felt him breathe heavily, watching his pink face slowly return to it’s normal color. Tsukishima finally managed to muster a glare at Akaashi and sat up, Akaashi getting off of him.

“Why did you do that?” He asked, clearly a bit annoyed at having just been tickled to bits.

Akaashi looked away, slowly thinking of what to say. He shrugged, not being able to come up with a good reason.

“I’m not sure. I just assumed it would help you feel less embarrassed about it.”

Tsukishima sighed, shaking his head. “Well… I wouldn’t say it cured me, but I do feel a little bit less embarrassed about it.”

Akaashi chuckled and Tsukishima huffed, standing up with Akaashi.

“Then will you be able to practice tomorrow?”

Tsukishima nodded and Akaashi pat his shoulder. “Good. Now, wanna practice a little more?”

#akaashi #tsukishima #akatsukki #haikyuu #tickle fic #anon

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enjennie · 3 years

Text

Bottom’s Up

synopsis: the dreamies during a night of drinking somehow end up talking about their exes, revealing the different types of relationships and exes they have or had.

a/n: this has been long been in my drafts so Jisung was still a minor here, thus I didn’t give him any drinks lmao. Enjoy! btw, I’m still deciding if I should make Haechan’s backstory for this, or if the markHyuck one should do…

[10:37]

The boys have arrived, piling into Chenle’s condominium that was set up just to have their long awaited guys night. They planned this weeks prior, promising each other that after their finals they’d set aside time to drink away their thoughts and release any stress they have that built up.

By 10:50 bottles have been popped and cups have been poured, the boys sat in the balcony to feel the cool air of the city night.

“You guys really aren’t sharing?” Jisung watches as the older boys raise their glasses in celebration.

“You wait a few more months, sir,” Mark sets his glass down and pats the younger boy on the shoulder. Guy nights wouldn’t be complete without Jisung, even if he wasn’t allowed to drink yet. He never minded sitting in the living room, playing with Chenle’s console with Jaemin and then later on laughing at his older friends’ shenanigans once the alcohol hit them.

Renjun isn’t quite the drinker, but Haechan made him a bet and unfortunately, he lost. Being an art major wasn’t easy, he knew he had a few more things to finish before his semester ended but with that, Renjun drank to forget.

Besides his plates, he had nothing else to worry about. He’d been getting emails from companies waiting for him to graduate, a family happy to support him, but surprisingly, the boy lacked in the love department.

His previous relationships, only being flings and one night stands, none of them really ever stayed after the cuddles. Except… a particular someone.

On the opposite side of him sat Jeno, who was watching his friends in amusement. Now, Jeno has a high alcohol tolerance. Although he becomes chatty, and starts to excessively clean his surroundings, he takes care of his friends well. Usually he’s the one who tucks them into bed or prevents anything like drunk driving and some other stupid shit to happen.

Jeno the architectural major was the responsible friend in a night out. The single friend who starts playing the guitar to set the mood when 2am rolls in. And, the single friend with the broken heart, which hasn’t quite mended yet even after three years.

Haechan on the other hand, is a messy drunk but handles his alcohol well until the 2nd bottle. The boy has a lot going on in his mind, and was the first to initiate the plan to drink.

His phone rings, but Haechan dismisses it, tapping the red decline button and watching as the screen faded into black. Mark follows his eyes and hesitantly brings it up.

“Aren’t you going to talk to her?”

Haechan only shakes his head before taking another swig. Everyone knows well enough about Haechan and his girlfriend’s on and off relationship. They break up, make up, fight and the cycle repeats.

Mark’s adam’s apple bobs as he asks another question. “Why don’t you just break up? Y’know… for good?”

The boys around them seem to have noticed the tension that built up and had their eyes fixed on the pair.

“I don’t know, man,” Haechan is too drunk to think about Mark’s question. Too drunk to realize how Mark completely sold himself off to be in love with him with that one question. It wasn’t a big secret, especially since Mark has done a poor job in hiding it, but apparently not bad enough for Haechan to see. Everyone knew, except for the clueless boy.

Jaemin was too busy babysitting Chenle, who was having his first drink tonight, to even have shots of his own. He didn’t like drinking, anyway, and used Chenle as an excuse to keep sober.

Jaemin the medical student naturally tells his friends to lay off the alcohol, as it can damage their liver. He can only do so much though, as the others tend to be hard-headed and stubborn.

“I can handle myself!” Chenle protests, reaching for his glass which Jaemin took away. “You’re supposed to drink, eat a lot then drink again,” Jaemin explains. “You’ve only taken drinks so far, you’ll be knocked out in an hour if you keep this up,” He tells Chenle.

Of course, Jaemin knew his way around drinking. He just didn’t enjoy it, doesn’t like the bitter taste of it. Didn’t like how it made him think of his past either. Jaemin’s cup remains half full, and he uses this tactic to not get refills.

It keeps him away from his phone, sober enough to know better than to drunk text her. Even if her presence was all he yearned for at a night like this.

Jaemin x Reader – By My Side

[COMING SOON]

[12:03]

As the night gets deeper, so do the conversations between the close friends. Just like Jaemin predicted, Chenle had his head down on the table already, passed out.

“Jeno, you know what to do,” Jaemin nodded his head, signaling the boy beside him. Jeno gave him his smile, which now looked more drowsy and silly because of his tipsy state.

Jeno lifts Chenle easily, with Jaemin assisting him, leaving the three boys on the table.

“I want ____. Where is she?” Chenle had his eyes closed, mumbling to his friends. Jaemin and Jeno exchanged looks and laughed at the younger.

Poor boy, had a ton of expectations to meet he couldn’t even date around.

Chenle’s main priority had to be his family, and their business. He couldn’t afford any distractions, but to him, she was more than that. She was his driving force, and it hurt the boy to be keeping her a secret. Only the boys knew about his secret relationship, if word got out that Zhong Chenle the son of the most well-respected corporate business owner was dating, it would be the entirety of Shanghai talking about it.

As much as he wanted nothing more than to show the world and tell everyone who he’s in love with, he knew she wasn’t ready to face it all and step into that kind of light yet.

Chenle x Reader – In The Limelight

While the two boys took Chenle into his room, it left the three boys and Haechan’s buzzing phone out in the cold night air that the terrace provided.

“What happened this time?” Renjun asks, in line with the phone that’s close to annoying the hell out of him if it doesn’t stop vibrating the entire table. Haechan had his head down, and he lets out a laugh. Humorless, just cold.

“I don’t get her. She wants me, then the next second she doesn’t,”

When the boy lifts his head, it’s made obvious of all the pain he’s been hiding. His eyes, teary and sullen. Renjun couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s face, clapping his hands and throwing his head back in laughter. “Aw, c’mon man! It’s only 12am,”

This, however, doesn’t humor Mark the same way. Seeing Haechan in pain was like a bullet through his heart. He gave the boy a pat on the back and watches as his head fall once again. Mark swears he saw a tear fall too.

“I’m not just an object you can set aside, then use when needed,” Haechan continues to wail. Although he was already drunk, Mark felt that Haechan’s words were the most sober when he wasn’t.

As for Mark, the literature major didn’t care much about alcohol. However, it did get his creative juices flowing. Most of Mark’s best written pieces were done when he couldn’t even remember writing them.

During blurry nights intoxicated in alcohol, Mark’s thoughts flow easily through him and onto the sheets of paper that lie around his room. Sometimes, he’ll drink on a school night to get an essay finished for it’s due date the next day.

But seeing as he had no pending things to write, Mark drank for the sake of trying to numb himself somehow. Although it didn’t work well when the person he’s trying to get his mind off of is sat right beside him, thinking of someone else.

Mark x Haechan – Always, I’ll Care

[COMING SOON]

[1:13 am]

When Jaemin and Jeno came back, Jeno was already carrying a guitar. He strums it softly to a random tune he came up with on the spot. Haechan, of course, was singing along. Throwing in words like ‘baby’ and murmuring a few words about love. By now, Renjun’s cheeks were pink and a few hiccups had already escaped him.

“Do you remember that girl Jeno dated second semester of senior year?” he says, out of the blue.

The boys need not ask who, as they all knew who Renjun was referring to. The group of boys burst into fits of laughter and the guitar takes an abrupt stop as its player shoots his friends a nasty look for bringing up his past unprovoked.

“You were smitten, bro,” Mark smacks Jeno’s shoulder as he giggles.

Jeno daggers his eyes to Renjun, who has his head thrown back, laughing.

“How about you, huh? What was her name? _____-“ Jeno begins his avengement by mentioning the name he knew would get back at Renjun. He gets cut off shortly.

“I’ll stop you right there, sir,” Renjun places a hand over Jeno’s mouth before he could speak the name.

“C’mon, how many years has that been though?” Jeno asks after getting the boy’s hand off of his mouth.

“Two, and what about it?” Renjun defensively counters, surprising the other boys.

“He knows! Wow, do you keep count?” Jaemin chuckles, amusement all over his face.

“Shut up, ____ ,” Renjun points a finger at the male, mentioning the name of Jaemin’s past lover. Jaemin’s jaw drops and he crosses his arms,

“That was low,” The corner of his lips tugged into a smile nonetheless.

“C’mon, guys. It’s not like we’re releasing bad omens talking about our exes,” Haechan tugs on Renjun to sit him back down.

“Easy for you to say, you’ve only had one ex and she’s your girlfriend,” Renjun huffs. No one dared to speak the name of Renjun’s ex around him aside from people who have balls like Jeno, Jaemin, Haechan and Mark.

It wasn’t because he was bitter about her. But try as he might, there was a feeling within him that says she’s the one. Or she was. And Renjun was stuck, thinking about all the what if’s. Even after 2 years.

Renjun x Reader – To Be So Lonely [COMING SOON]

“I see things are getting heated over here,” Jisung stood by the door to the balcony now, with a sly smirk on his face.

“Ah right, let’s talk about mister lover boy over here,” Jeno motioned to the younger boy, who surprisingly is the only one to have a love life at the moment.

Jisung was courting the student body president. He could not, however, get her to answer him, but the boy never gives up.

“You must have some balls to hit on your senior,” Jaemin comments. The student body president was in fact two years older than Jisung, but the boy was determined.

Jisung x Reader – Like A Fool

[COMING SOON]

“At least one of us is progressing in terms of love,” Renjun sighed.

“Jeno’s doing well though, isn’t he? Lots of girls always after him,” Jisung gestures to the male beside him who’d started playing the guitar once again.

“I don’t think that counts as doing well,” Jeno mutters, absentmindedly.

“Oh yeah? And how does having half the school pine over you not count as doing well?” Jaemin lightly nudges his friend.

“Because the one I love, is in someone else’s arms right now,”

And cue the exaggerated crying and wailing of his friends, who’d given him sympathetic pats on the back.

Jeno x Reader – We Find Love

[COMING SOON]

“Oh, man,” grumbled Haechan, clearly already very intoxicated. He placed his head between his hands to try and stop his world from spinning. “I got to go to her, I have to say sorry,”

The boys all averted their eyes to the boy who looks to be having his spiritual awakening.

Mark’s heart dropped upon hearing Haechan’s words. He looked down at his hands and sighed. It wouldn’t be the first time Haechan had a sudden realization and wanted to be in his girlfriend’s arms right then and there.

It usually happened when he was smashed drunk, after the 7th or 8th cup. Asking his mates to take him home and running into the arms of his girl.

Mark didn’t know why he wasn’t used to it at this point. It isn’t and never will be him.

“No way,” Jaemin tutted. “You gathered us all here to drink and bothered us for weeks then you’ll flake midway? I don’t think so,” The other boys agreed.

Renjun stretched his arms and fell back onto the chair he sat on. “What’s with the sudden change of atmosphere anyway? It’s like we did release bad omens when we spoke about our exes,”

“You just had to bring ____ up!” Jeno threw a fry at his friend, who was the first to mention his ex and start the discussion. Renjun caught the fry in his mouth, surprising the boys and himself.

“Let’s just drink up,” Renjun raises his glass in the air, although it’s half empty.

“Nice try, here have a refill. We’re all taking equal shots,” Mark had risen and was now reaching for the bottle of beer to pour his friend’s glass.

“To… I don’t know- fuck! To getting fucked up!” Haechan yelled, raising his glass in the air.

The rest of the boys do the same, clinking glasses together and downing it mercilessly to their livers.

Relationships come and go, but the dreamies are always here to stay.

115 notes · View notes

onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 8,975

Chapter Warnings: swearing, mentioned death, mild sui.cidal ideation

Chapter Summary: In which Wilbur has several conversations of emotional import, and then comes face to face with his son.

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Sixteen: head down

“Are you sure you’re good?” Tommy asks him.

Around them, the lava of the nether pops and crackles, the heat sticking to him like resin. Techno and Phil walk ahead of them, swords out in readiness for the odd ghast or hoglin, and Ranboo trails along behind them like a lost duckling. He could walk with them, he knows, probably should, but weariness clings to his bones today, and he doesn’t feel much up to the conversations he knows Phil might try to start. So he’s been walking a few paces to the rear, hands shoved in his pockets, but now here is Tommy, dropping back to keep pace with him.

“I’ve said it already, haven’t I?” he asks, and just an ounce of irritation leaks into his tone. “I’m fine, Tommy, I promise. And I’ve already had an earful from Phil this morning, so I don’t need you to repeat it.”

He anticipated it, of course. After his worry subsided, Phil was not particularly happy to learn that he provoked a dangerous god on purpose. He doesn’t blame him for that, but being chided like a child rankled. Still rankles.

(he doesn’t blame him, though, truly, because it is easy for some part of him at least to look at it through Phil’s eyes, and it must have terrified him, finding him slumped against the portal like that, eyes hazy and words slurring, some sliver of the infinite still hanging about him like a shroud)

“I’m not Phil,” Tommy says, seeming offended by the very prospect. “I’m not—you just scared me, Wil. And you’re still acting all out of it.” His eyes drift upward, landing around the vicinity of his forehead, and Wilbur knows he’s staring at his hair again. It makes him want to pull his beanie forward to hide it, but that would draw a different kind of attention, a different kind of concern.

(he looked in the mirror this morning. almost a third of his hair, it seems, has been bleached white, in streaks that stand out starkly against the brown. he wouldn’t mind it so much if people would stop looking at it, would stop looking at him like he’s some sort of zoo animal)

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I had kind of an eventful night last night,” he says. “I’m just tired, is all.”

Tommy’s face darkens, and he glances away. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he mutters.

“Do what?”

“That,” Tommy says, gesturing. “It’s—it’s deflection, is what it is. Puffy told me so. It’s called an avoidance tactic.” He sounds out the syllables one by one, obviously repeating something he heard. “I thought you said you weren’t going to hide shit anymore. You said.”

“I—” He breaks off, sighing. “I know. Tommy, I’m sorry. I just feel like focusing on the current problem is what we need to be doing right now. And then later we deal with all of my shit. Can’t do that if we’ve all been sacrificed to an egg cult. But I really am just tired, Tommy. Nothing more than that.”

“I feel like last time we tried to focus on the current problem and ignore all of yours, it didn’t go so well,” Tommy says, and there’s no real heat to his words, but Wilbur stops in his tracks. He’s not sure why it hits him so hard, in this moment of all moments, but it does. Perhaps his ability to emotionally distance was damaged last night, somewhere between having a god in his head and staring into the void once again. He feels raw, in a way. An exposed wire.

“Oh,” he says.

(dark walls dark walls and dark paths and no railings and he didn’t place the buttons but he may as well have for all that they were projections of him)

Tommy takes several more steps before realizing that he’s not beside him anymore, and he stops, too, turning. “Oh,” he echoes, eyes widening. “Wait, no, that wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to—shit, Wilbur, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just bring it up like that.”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing,” he manages. “You have every right to bring it up. You’re the one who got hurt.”

(you hurt him even though you didn’t mean to, lashed out because some part of you was crying out for help and this was the only way you knew how to ask for it, so convinced were you that you deserved nothing, nothing at all, deserved to be consigned to the dark, and you didn’t mean to but you hurt him all the same)

“Nothing can hurt me,” Tommy says, probably an automatic response, but Wilbur shoots him a look, and he trails off. This doesn’t seem like the time or place to be having a conversation like this, not with the snap-pop of lava beneath and all around them and the wail of mobs in the distance, but if they’re going to have it, then let them have it. “Alright, yeah. I guess.” His eyes skitter off him for a moment, drifting to one of the closer lava pools, and then back again. “But you were hurt too, Wil.”

“That’s not an excuse,” he says.

“No, but it’s—it’s a reason, y’know? It’s an explanation. And it’s not—it’s not an excuse, I’m not trying to say it’s an excuse, but it’s still important. And I—I’ve forgiven you, really, for all of it. So this isn’t—I just don’t want things to end the same. And I’m a, a little bit freaked out lately, Wilbur, if you couldn’t tell, because this all just seems like history repeating itself. We were supposed to be done with shit like this, and then you came back and I thought to myself, here it is, here’s our second chance. But now we’re fighting Dream again, and the whole server might be taken over by now, and it’s us against the bastards in charge but that didn’t end well last time, Wilbur!”

“It’ll be different,” he offers, and his voice falls flat.

“You can’t know that,” Tommy says. “There’s no way for you to—Prime, Wilbur, I just wanted everything to stay the same.” He buries his face in his hands. “You, me, and Tubbo. Back the way we used to be. None of this shit. But Dream’s out again and Phil and Techno are here, and you know, I never wanted to see them again. Did you know that? I wanted them to stay just, just so fucking far away. But then Techno did that, in the Egg room, and Phil’s wings are all fucked, and—and I didn’t want to think they cared, Wil, I didn’t, but now they do, and it’s all messy and complicated, and I hate it, I hate it so much, and I don’t understand why I can’t ever have anything good—”

It’s nice to hear that Tommy is, perhaps, inching toward forgiving Phil and Techno. Wilbur would rather like to have a family at the end of this, even if they can never be what they once were. But the rest of that speech is what takes up his attention, and he strides forward, reaching out and gripping Tommy’s elbows.

“Hey,” he says, insistently, “no, no, that’s all wrong. You get to have good things. You haven’t had nearly as many good things as you deserve, and that’s at least partially my fault, but once this is all over, you’re going to have so many good things, you won’t know what to do with them all. But you deserve good things and you can have them, I swear, because you’re so good, Tommy, do you hear me? You’re so good. And I will make fucking sure that you get those good things if it’s the last thing I do.”

Tommy lowers his hands. His face is not tear-stained, as Wilbur half-expected, but his eyes have grown irritated, and they glimmer in the red-orange light.

“But you’re one of the good things,” he chokes out, “and you don’t even fucking want to be here. You want to leave again.”

His heart twists in on itself.

“Oh,” he says, much weaker, this time. “Tommy, I—”

What can he say to that? He’s promised himself not to lie anymore. Not to him. But he can’t give him any comfort, not regarding this, because while he feels steadier than he did at the start, more resigned to this new life he’s been

(pulled into by a god at the request of the universe)

granted, more determined to stay if only for Tommy’s sake, but that’s the thing. It is for Tommy’s sake. For the sake of all the other people who somehow seem to want him around. It is not for his own.

(he forgot how to live for his own sake a long, long time ago, and though he can at least recognize as much now, recognition does not lead him to a solution, a solution he’s not even sure he wants)

“I’m sorry,” he finishes, because it’s all he has to give, inadequate though it is, and he takes Tommy’s hands. “I’m not leaving. Not on purpose. I swear that to you. I’m not leaving.”

“You—what are you doing?” Tommy asks, and he blinks. Tommy blinks back, his face scrunching up, and he lifts their joined hands. Both of them are now stained with blue. Which—what?

Oh. Did he—he did, didn’t he? Opened up his inventory, pulled out the blue dye from days ago? Pressed it into Tommy’s hands on instinct, some drive insisting that it would help, that it would be better than nothing at all, that even if it was nothing but dye it would at least show that he cared, that he was trying?

He must have. He did. He remembers doing it now. He didn’t even think about it, moved on some natural impulse.

“I don’t know,” he says.

(calm yourself, have some blue)

“This is Ghostbur’s thing,” Tommy says.

“I’m not Ghostbur.”

(for his heart beats in his chest beats out alive alive alive in a way that Ghostbur’s never could, though his blood stained his sweater, and yet he has Ghostbur’s memories and if he is not Ghostbur, shares nothing with the shade, then what was the ghost, in the end, and where did he come from, if he was not)

“But Ghostbur was part of you, wasn’t he?” Tommy says, and he sounds just a bit calmer, now, so maybe the blue has helped. Even though it’s just dye. “Even if he wasn’t you you. So he’s still part of you, isn’t he?”

“I—” His heart is thundering. He doesn’t know why. “I haven’t been thinking about it. Not like that.”

(he has to keep Ghostbur separate from him has to consider him separate because the ghost was not him the ghost in all his smiles and useless platitudes and all-encompassing desire to help was not him his endless love was not him because the ghost was useless to the last but he was good and kind and he has never believed that he is any of those things so the ghost must be separate must have come from him but been separate been something else in the end and there must be nothing but faded memories to connect them)

(but you know better than that, deep down, know better than to truly believe that your kindness exists as a different entity from the rest of you because you are capable of so much if you only allow yourself if you are only given the space to grow and to be if someone stops you from taking the world on your shoulders and the ghost was the you that broke was a you that rejected the responsibility was a you that crumbled and he was what remained but he was you he was you he was you but less and you are him but more)

(and perhaps one day you will learn to accept yourself better)

“Maybe you should,” Tommy says, and glances away. “Ghostbur tried. And he was my brother too. You’re my brother. No matter what, that hasn’t changed. Even if you’re a prick.”

Tears spring to his eyes, surprising him, and he blinks them back.

“Right,” he says. “Right, I—yeah. Okay. But Tommy, Tommy, listen to me, alright? I swear to you” —He squeezes Tommy’s hands, and watches as the blue dye runs between them. Their fingers will be stained for hours, and he finds that he doesn’t mind at all— “I will do everything in my power to make sure that good things come again. You say it’s all messy and complicated, and that’s true. I know that’s true. But we’re going to have time to figure it all out. We’re going to have time. And I’m including myself in that. I know I’m not—I’m not always the most trustworthy, I know that. But I promise, I mean this. Staying is—it’s worth it if it’s for you, alright?”

Something passes across Tommy’s face, too quick and too complicated to read. But he presses on, bringing Tommy’s hands up to his chest and keeping them there.

“We are not powerless,” he states. “History doesn’t make us, we make history. And if history is repeating itself, we don’t let it. We won’t let it. You deserve good things, Tommyinnit, and you’re going to get them.”

“If you say so, Wil,” Tommy says, and he still seems a bit discomfited, but also a bit steadier, now. A bit more secure.

“I do say so,” he says. “I’ll say it again if you need me to.”

“Please don’t,” Tommy says. “You’ve—see, look at what you’ve done, now my hands are all blue and sticky. You’ve given me sticky fingers, Wil.”

Tommy has chosen to end the moment, it seems. He’s not sure whether they’ve managed to say what needed to be said or not.

“Don’t say that to me,” he says. He squeezes Tommy’s hands one last time, and then lets go. “That makes me sound terrible.”

“Well, maybe you are,” Tommy shoots back, with a smirk that takes away any potential sting. “Live with it, bastard.” A pause, and then: “Did those arseholes even bother to wait for us? Dickheads, the lot of them. C’mon, they’ll start bitching about it if we fall too far behind.”

And then, Tommy grabs his hand himself, of his own volition, and starts to pull Wilbur along the path, cobblestone and meandering and precarious, and Wilbur’s chest feels hot, full of pressure. But it’s not quite a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all, in fact.

(he was always so cold in that ravine, no matter how he gathered his coat around him, shoved his hands in his pockets, and he watched everyone else and felt colder still, froze in the face of their flickering warmth with each other, and he turned away because he knew the warmth was not for him, that soon there would be no warmth at all)

(and the fire gave him heat but no warmth, his desired ending but no absolution)

(something you will keep to yourself: you were warm at the end, as your blood stained your father’s hands, as your vision dimmed and he held you close, so very warm at last, but it would hurt him to know that to hear from your mouth the relief you felt so you must not must not say)

The others have indeed had the decency to wait for them not too far ahead, and he nods in response to Phil’s raised eyebrow. Everything’s fine, he means to say, and Phil nods back and says nothing else about it, which he appreciates, for Tommy’s sake just as much as his. The portal isn’t far from there, and it’s not long before he’s stepping into the purple glow, closing his eyes at the dizzying upheaval of his surroundings.

The rain hits his face immediately. Thunder rolls, and wind buffets his jacket. It is a welcome change from the stifling heat of the nether, but he has to squint against the downpour, everyone else’s figures suddenly becoming shadowy, indistinct. The sky itself is dark and angry, black clouds churning, and it’s almost as if it were still night rather than early morning.

He takes another step out of the portal and almost trips. Looking down, he can’t stop his sudden inhalation. The color is dull, washed out in the lack of sunlight,

(though his mind is eager to fill in the gaps eager to show him)

but he doesn’t need the color to recognize the vine by his foot, nor any of the vines that crawl across the stone.

“Oh, fuck,” Phil says.

“We’ve been gone for a day,” Tommy says, disbelieving. “It wasn’t like this yesterday, was it?”

He cannot believe that leaving was a mistake, not with what it led to, even if the original plan was foolhardy. He does not regret the opportunity to petition a god, to make himself heard, even if it results in nothing in the end. But staring out over the landscape, the Prime Path ahead of them is choked with the things, and though the community house is little more than a vague structure in the rainy haze, it almost appears as if it’s grown hair, or tentacles, or something of that kind, so covered over with the foliage as it is.

“They’re all okay, right?” Ranboo says, his voice nearly a whisper. “They all have to be okay.”

Eret’s castle is visible from here, but just barely. He can’t tell if the vines have taken it over as well, but there’s only one way to find out.

“I think we craft some boats, cross the lake rather than going by the Prime Path,” he says. “Unless you’d like to chop your way through, but—” He glances at the ground. The vines are motionless, but he doesn’t trust that not to change.

“I have to say,” Techno says, “bein’ strangled by Egg tentacles? Not my idea of a good time.” There’s nothing on his face except his typical disgruntlement, or at least, nothing that Wilbur can see. The wind whips his hair in and out of his face, the long pink strands obscuring his expression. But there is an edge to his voice, barely discernible. It wouldn’t be, to anyone who didn’t know him well. “If boats’ll let us avoid the things, my vote’s for boats.”

Ranboo snorts, and then wilts when eyes turn to him. “It rhymed,” he offers weakly, and Tommy groans.

“Can we give Ranboo to the Egg?” he asks, and Wilbur

(doesn’t like that, not at all, even though he knows that Tommy is joking, though he knows that Tommy does not hear the Egg for some unknown, blessed reason and he’s not looking that gift horse in the mouth, but that means that Tommy doesn’t really get that it’s not a thing to make jokes about, giving someone to the Egg, to the creep and crawl of something alien and void scraping out your mind and making it something that is you but not, you but slightly tilted, diagonal, something that fits the Egg’s wants more than your own even if you don’t realize it, and he doesn’t have the energy to berate him for the quip but he really wishes he wouldn’t suggest it, even in jest, even though he knows that Tommy copes through jokes and they’re all just struggling to make it through this, really)

shakes his head. Phil’s moved closer to the stairs, so he goes to join him, picking his way through the vines as best he can, and in his peripheral vision, he sees Techno and Ranboo follow.

“Someone’s had the same idea,” Phil says, inclining his head to the nearest bit of shoreline. There is a figure clearly visible there, though they are too distant and hidden by the gloom to make out features. They’re pulling a boat ashore, and then they turn in their direction and raise a hand, making a come-hither gesture.

Lightning flashes, and thunder follows shortly thereafter. The brief instant of light is enough to illuminate Eret’s features, the curl of his hair and his ever present crown.

“Are they on our side?” Techno asks, and—did anyone remember to fill Techno in? He certainly didn’t, and he doesn’t particularly want to right now. Even just watching the monarch puts a sour taste in his mouth.

(and some of the vitriol he directs at himself, because he is cognizant of his own hypocrisy)

“Presumably,” he mutters, but Tommy’s already making his way down, waving his hands around and shouting like a bloody moron, because of course he is, because of course Tommy’s not concerned with who might hear him.

(and that, at least, has not changed, and it is a good thing that Tommy still has it in him to challenge the world, to make his presence known, because that is part of what makes Tommy himself and he does not deserve to lose that, even when it is unwise, even when it can make everything else so much more difficult)

Which is not great, because not seeing anyone else around doesn’t mean that no one is there, so the only choice from there is to go after him and make sure he doesn’t get ambushed.

“I’m glad to see you all in one piece,” Eret says, as soon as they all come within hearing range. “You as well, Technoblade.”

Techno doesn’t dignify that with a response, but Eret continues, apparently unbothered.

“We saw the activity from the portal,” he says. “I thought I’d come to escort you all. You might have noticed, but the Prime Path is not currently particularly traversable.” He smiles wryly. “You’ll be please to know that the castle grounds, however, are currently free of unwanted flora, and aside from spreading these eyesores all over the place, the Egg and its cohorts have been quiet. If we’re quick about it, I don’t see us having much issue, and to that end” —He flicks his fingers, and two more spruce boats land in the water, summoned from his inventory— “I brought these. If you’d like, we can be on our way. Might be a bit bumpy because of the storm, but it’s perfectly passable.”

“Oh, we would like,” Tommy says, clambering in without hesitation. “We would like very much. C’mon, Ranboob, in.” He tugs on Ranboo’s hand, and Ranboo all but topples into the boat beside him. Phil and Techno claim the next one, and he—

He’s going to have to ride with Eret. Brilliant.

He sighs, stepping in and settling on one of the two seats. Eret barely casts him a glance before he gets to rowing, and then they’re off, gliding across choppy water. Wilbur stares into it, watches the ripples of the raindrops as they impact the surface, studies the patterns they make rather than looking at Eret himself. But even the noise of the wind and the thunder overhead cannot disguise the note of anticipation in the atmosphere.

“I really am glad you’re back, Wilbur,” Eret says. His voice is low, carries just enough to reach him, but the noise of the rain will prevent it from drifting to the other boats. “I’d been hoping for a chance to speak to you again for—quite some time now, actually.”

He shifts, and idly wonders how many conversations like this he’s going to have to have today. He’s already worn out from speaking to Tommy in the way that he did, though at least with Eret, he doesn’t feel the need to guard his tone nearly as much.

“You were involved in trying to resurrect me a while ago,” he says. Neutral, probing. “I remember that much.”

“You—so you do have Ghostbur’s memories,” Eret says.

“Some,” he replies. “Most, I’d say. What he bothered to remember, at least. He was never very good at figuring out people’s motivations, though. Very trusting, he was. Naive. Was it guilt that drove you to help? I can’t picture what you think you would have gotten out of it otherwise.”

It’s difficult to see Eret’s expression; the weather and his glasses unite to mask the minutiae of his face.

“I suppose it was, in the end,” he says, soft and slow. “I carry a lot of regrets with me. I’m sure that’s something you know a lot about. Regrets.” He stiffens, but Eret shakes his head. “I don’t mean that as an attack. Just a statement. I doubt you could find anyone on this server who hasn’t done something they wish they could take back. But for me, betraying L’Manberg, betraying you—that’s my regret. I’ve been aimless since then.” Lightning flashes again; he’s smiling, but Wilbur knows a joyless smile when he sees one. “A throne with no power, a crown that means nothing—none of that was worth betraying my friends. I know that now. So I’ve sought redemption, tried to make amends, and I’ve tried to change. I would like to think that I have. But the one person I needed to make it up to the most wasn’t here anymore. So I suppose you could say that it was guilt, that it was selfish of me. But I wanted to be able to atone to you. That’s all there was to it, really.”

He digests that for a moment. He isn’t sure how to feel about it.

(because on one hand his heart sings traitor, sings you killed us all killed me killed my brothers killed my son, but can he say that the betrayal was worse than his? can he deny Eret his redemption when he is struggling for atonement himself, forgiveness that he is certain he does not and never will deserve?)

(he’s thought through all of this before, gone round in circles again and again, and it might be time to make a decision)

“And what would you do if I didn’t accept your atonement?” he asks. He dips a hand in the water. When he lifts it out again, it is still stained blue.

“I would keep on,” Eret answers. “I think that’s all I could do. If you never forgive me, that’s more than understandable on your end. I hardly have the right to force the issue. But I’m completely sincere when I tell you that I want to be better. I’m trying to be better. And I don’t really know whether I’ve done a good job of that lately or not. I’ve been rather absent, truth be told. But I don’t plan on stopping my efforts.”

He frowns.

“That’s fair,” he says, “though I feel like you should know that I’m hardly the type of man who can go around giving other people absolution.”

“It’s not really absolution that I’m looking for,” Eret says. “More of a chance to try again.”

He has no answer to that. And no time to give one even if he had it, because the boat runs aground, the castle looming over them all, and true to Eret’s word, the walls themselves show no signs of encroachment, though the land surrounding it almost looks like a great red rug for all that the grass itself is barely visible.

“Tubbo managed to ward the castle,” Eret says, addressing all of them. “I’m still not entirely sure how. This isn’t a kind of magic that’s familiar to me. But whatever he did, it worked, and then when Fundy got here he backed him up. He did a really good job, actually.”

“Of course he did,” Tommy says. “He’s Tubbo.”

But Wilbur’s stuck on the other thing. Said so offhandedly.

The thought has crossed his mind, of course, that he has not yet seen his son. Has not yet so much as spoken to him. But it is one thing to know it in the abstract and quite another to be confronted with it suddenly. Fundy is in the castle, is mere feet away, and he is exhausted and entirely unprepared for this.

(and what a selfish thought that is, that he is unprepared to meet with his own child, unprepared to do the bare minimum, to tell him of his return, to apologize for hanging him out to dry, how selfish it is that his child has fallen so low on his list of priorities, how selfish, how selfish, and he does not know whether he has the strength to admit it out loud)

(he is certain that he owes Fundy an apology, just as he owes so many people apologies, and yet he remembers his son burning down the flag, burning down all he held dear, carrying out Schlatt’s every order to its full extent in a way that even Tubbo did not, and Fundy claimed that he was a spy all along, that he never truly turned against him, but by that time the damage had already been done and how was he supposed to believe when he already felt so alone, already felt like the world had turned against him and his legacy was ruined so all there was left to do was send it and himself to hell)

“Can we go in?” he asks. “We’re soaked. Unless there’s a point to hanging around here. And also—have you not set anyone to stand watch?”

There’s no one visible on the walls above them, and gates only do so much to keep out an invading force.

“The enchantments keep them out,” Eret answers, and places a hand against the gates. The wood shimmers slightly, the effect just barely perceptible, and looks almost as if the gate itself is rippling, distorted, like viewing it through a fun house mirror. “Or rather, as near as we can tell, the enchantments prevent the Egg from gaining a foothold in here. Which means if it wants to continue to communicate with its people, its people have to stay out.” With that, he pushes the gates, and they swing open with a horrendous creak.

“That would hardly stop Dream,” he remarks, and Eret inclines his head, conceding the point.

“True,” he says, “but to be fair, I’m not sure that gates would do much good to that end, either, whether we’re watching them or not. Better to be as well rested as we possibly can be.”

He remembers Dream’s appearance last night, his appearance and swift disappearance, and says nothing. Eret is right, of course; the highest walls and toughest gates and sharpest watchers all mean nothing in the face of someone who can go anywhere he pleases with a thought.

“You hear that, Wil?” Phil says, just a little too loudly. “Rest. Rest is important.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” he mutters, and at the same time, Ranboo starts asking about whether these enchantments can be applied to people as well, and he lends half an ear to that conversation, because that would be very useful. Eret tells him that Tubbo’s been experimenting, but even getting the wards up around the castle was a trial, so he’s not sure when they’ll be able to do much else, or whether any other breakthroughs will be in time to be useful, even with Fundy now helping, and—

There it is again.

(he should have done this sooner, should have done this before hesitance turned to outright avoidance, and for all Phil’s faults as a parent at least he has reason for what he’s done, reason and a willingness to face them now, and that is something that he evidently lacks, and his heart is caged by his own cowardice, and he doesn’t know what to expect from this and he hates not knowing what to expect, how to plan for it)

(there is no plan in the world that will help him right now)

Eret leads them into the castle, and it is warm and well lit, but it does nothing to assuage the chill settling in his bones.

“Most everyone’s down the hall there,” Eret says, pointing, “and I think I’ve got towels somewhere if you want to dry off—”

“Forget about towels,” Tommy interrupts, “where’s Tubbo?”

“He’s set himself up on the second floor,” Eret says. “If you want, I can—”

Predictably, Tommy’s already off, his feet slapping against the floor with wet squelches.

“I think the rest of us will take you up on the towels,” Phil says. “Particularly Ranboo, you still good there?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Ranboo says. “Um, my armor protects me pretty well, so I’m good. But um, yeah, towels might still be a good idea.”

“Great. If you’ll follow me, then—”

He can put this off no longer. He grabs Eret’s arm, cutting him off.

“Is Fundy with Tubbo?” he asks.

For a moment, Eret is silent. He doesn’t particularly like the expression he’s making, somewhere between realization and pity. He does not need pity, doesn’t know what to do with it, and he especially doesn’t want it from Eret, of all people. Everyone else is silent, still, and he can feel their gazes on him like spotlights.

“Last I knew, yes,” Eret says.

“Does he know?”

He wonders if he should elaborate, but Eret doesn’t seem to need him to.

“He does. It, ah, wasn’t exactly broken to him in the softest way. Nobody was actually aware that the news needed to be broken at all, so I believe Puffy brought it up somewhere along the way here. I’m—not sure of the details.”

He doesn’t know whether that means Eret actually doesn’t know the details,

(doesn’t know how his son reacted to the return of his father, whether there was any happiness at all or just shock, perhaps betrayal, perhaps anger, perhaps perhaps perhaps he could have avoided this if he’d taken a little more responsibility from the start but now here he is and here they are)

or whether he’s sparing him them. He doesn’t know which he would prefer. If it matters.

“Alright,” he says, even if it’s the furthest thing from it. “I’ll be up there, then. Don’t wait for me.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he’s turning on his heel and following after Tommy, even though it would have been wiser to ask for the specific room. He’s not feeling very wise at the moment. If he ever was wise. He doesn’t think he can say that he’s ever had a claim to wisdom. He thought that he was wise when he was running his own country, and look where that got him. Him, and everyone else.

He climbs up the stairs. Keeps his back straight. His head held high.

(it is habit to draw on the general’s role for strength since that was when he was strongest but is that not what caused so many of the problems in the first place? the general leads, wins, considers people in terms of numbers rather than names, and personal relationships fall to the wayside)

It’s the same room that he found Tommy and Tubbo talking in yesterday. The same room where he lingered outside the door rather than moving on, absorbing words that were not meant for his ears, old hurts that have their roots in him and his actions, that he is not sure he will ever be able to heal, to make up for. For a moment, he allows himself to do the same thing, stands just outside and listens to their voices. They’re easier to hear; the door hangs open rather than closed, likely from Tommy’s entry. Their voices overlap, Tommy talking over Tubbo and then vice versa as they both try to explain what’s happened in their day of separation, and Fundy—

Fundy is there, too, chiming in every now and again. He sounds—Wilbur isn’t sure how he sounds. Pleased to be talking to the other two, perhaps. Beyond that, he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know.

(it’s a question you must ask yourself, whether you know your son at all, because you remember all too clearly cradling him in your arms and holding him close and vowing to protect him to see him safe no matter the cost but he grew older as children do and the cost was too steep too steep to pay for you looked at him and saw a child still for though he grew up too quickly he did grow up and your heart was too weak to accept it so is there any wonder that he came to resent you came to chafe under the watch of a man who could not see him for who he was and who he tried so hard to be)

(is there any wonder that he would go to such lengths to escape your shadow)

He steps forward. That’s all it takes, to be standing in the doorway. And there he stays, arrested by the sight in front of him.

The room is intended to be a guest bedroom, clearly. There is a large, plush bed, several items of furniture: a dresser, a nightstand, a desk and several chairs, bookshelves along one wall. But the desk goes unused; books and papers are scattered across the floor, apparently without order or reason to the arrangement. Tommy has situated himself on the bed, still dripping with rainwater, bouncing up and down and wildly gesticulating as he talks—he’s saying something about the god, now, and how it’s such a shame that he didn’t get to talk to it, because he would’ve gotten them to help in no time at all—and Tubbo is talking at the same time, whenever he can get words in, shoving old papers in Tommy’s face and explaining what they mean, as if Tommy will understand any of it. Fundy brought these materials with him, evidently, brought all the dreamon-hunting things that remained in his possession according to the rapid-fire words out of Tubbo’s mouth, and Fundy is there. He’s there. Sitting on the floor, three books open in front of him, watching Tommy and Tubbo with rapt attention, jumping in whenever Tubbo needs help explaining something, and asking Tommy questions in the same breath.

He stands there. Watching. They all seem so comfortable with each other. It feels wrong to disturb that.

But—

“—and his hair’s gone all weird now,” Tommy is saying, and he winces. “I’ll bet he’s not telling us everything that happened. Hair doesn’t just do that. It looks so fucking weird, but not like, bad weird, you know? I guess that’s what you get for shouting at god, am I right, fellas? Though if I were to shout at god, god simply would not be able to do anything to me, as I am too cool and powerful.”

“That—why does that sound like something he would do? Yelling at a god. Of course he did, that—” Fundy mutters, and Wilbur has no hope of interpreting his tone. “But he’s, like—he’s okay? And he’s here?”

“Yeah, he’s—” And Tommy happens to glance at the door. They lock eyes. “Um. Here. Hi, Wilbur.”

Tubbo turns to look. Fundy does as well, raising his head sharply and visibly flinching in the same motion, and Wilbur thinks that his heart flinches, too. If hearts can flinch. They can certainly stutter. Perhaps that’s close enough.

“Hello,” he says. Inadequate. Completely inadequate.

“Oh, you’re right,” Tubbo says after a second. “It does kind of look weird, but not bad weird. Just sort of interesting. Neat. Hi, Wilbur, did you have a good time yelling at god?”

Tubbo has a unique kind of frankness. It’s refreshing, and he appreciates the effort to alleviate the tension. If that’s even what he’s doing.

“I don’t know if good is the word I’d use,” he says. “It happened. It was a thing. Have you had a good time doing magic? If that’s the term?”

As he speaks, Fundy rises to his feet. Slow, cautious.

“Yeah, that’s the word,” Tubbo says. “It’s been going really well, actually. I wasn’t sure if I’d remember how to do any of this stuff, but Fundy brought all of the books with him when Puffy brought him over, so that’s been really helpful. There’s still nothing in here about killing the thing, but we’ve kept looking. There’s probably plenty of other useful stuff. Actually, that reminds me.” He turns back to Tommy. “I wanted to show you how we protected the whole castle. You probably saw some of the enchantments on your way in, but it’s really cool, come on.” He tugs on Tommy’s hand, and Tommy allows himself to be led, and before Wilbur can react, they’re brushing past him on their way out of the room. “See you in a bit, Wilbur!”

He glances after them, and then back into the room. The room where Fundy now stands, alone.

Tubbo definitely knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Hi, Fundy,” he says.

“Hey, Wil,” Fundy answers.

He looks older than Wilbur remembers, even through Ghostbur’s relatively new perception. But then, Ghostbur would not have noticed the new lines carved into his face, the bags beneath his eyes, his fidgeting, closed-off demeanor. He’s shifted into a more human form for the moment, though fox ears stick out from underneath his hat; that, at least, has not changed. He is capable of appearing fully human, but he scarcely ever does. Wilbur always thought that it was a way of staying connected to a mother that he barely got to know.

But perhaps that’s not it at all. Perhaps he shouldn’t presume anything.

“So,” Fundy says, after a long stretch of silence. “You’re, um. You’re back.”

“I’m back,” he agrees.

(the awkwardness is like a rock settled in his throat and it shouldn’t be this way shouldn’t be this way at all but they’re in too deep and it’s all gone too far and some of the last words he spoke to his son were to disown him and he still doesn’t know whether he truly meant it or not in that moment but that hardly matters when the words were said regardless of the intent)

“Right,” Fundy says. “Right. And you’ve been back for a while. Tubbo said it’d been a couple of weeks.”

Is that right? He thinks back, calculating, and decides it must be.

“I suppose it has been,” he says, and that is his cue to follow up with an apology, but the words get caught in a vice, squeezed and choked to nothingness, and silence falls between them again. Fundy shifts his weight back and forth between his feet, his eyes darting to and fro, never landing on his face for very long.

“Okay,” he says at length. “I guess—I don’t really know what else I expected.”

It’s bitter and sarcastic and resigned all at once. He winces.

“Fundy—”

“I mean, I guess I knew,” Fundy continues. “I knew that I wouldn’t—that you wouldn’t come for me if you ever came back. So it’s—I mean, it’s fine, Wil. I don’t even need you, anyway. I’ve been doing really well on my own. So it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s not—”

“But it is, though, isn’t it? You could’ve—you could’ve come and found me, right? I wasn’t that far.” His voice has lowered in volume, as if he’s talking to himself more than he is to him. “I wasn’t that far, so you could’ve—but you didn’t, and that’s kind of par the course, isn’t it? For you to come back to—back to life, and not even send me a message. But I guess nobody else did, either. It’s fine.”

The vice releases, torn apart by his mounting desperation.

(too little, too late)

“I’m sorry, Fundy,” he says. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

“Okay then, why didn’t you?” Fundy replies, and his tone rises in pitch again, becoming high, almost frantic.

There are so many ways he could reply. He could say that it slipped his mind. That would be damaging, hurtful, would ruin any hope of fixing their relationship, but it would be at least partially the truth; he thought about it, but infrequently, and he always dismissed it as a task to be tackled later. He could say that he wanted to take it slow. That would be slightly more of a lie, though not a complete falsehood; interacting with the other people of the server, especially in the first few days, has come far less easily to him than it once did. It probably says something that he includes his own son in that assessment.

He could say that he’s a coward. That, perhaps, would be the most truthful of all.

(for in many things you are not the coward that you think you are but in this in this it is true is apt because you know you hurt him sorely did the one thing that a parent should never do to a child caused him so much pain and you knew it and you know it and you could not face him could not bring yourself to own up to it and that is cowardice to not face this fault of yours as you have faced the others that is cowardice and cowardice can be overcome and it is not the end is not a death blow but call it what it is for it is cowardice and if you are to make up for it you must face the flaw in yourself without the gilded lies)

“I wanted you to come back,” Fundy says, and he realizes he’s taken far too long to respond, and Fundy’s expression has fallen. “I wanted you back so damn badly, even if I was never really sure why. I guess maybe I hoped that if you came back you’d start to care about me again.”

“I do care about you,” he manages, his voice a weak, pathetic thing. “I do care, Fundy.”

(and he wants to say my little champion my little champion if you believe nothing else then believe this believe that I love you and I always have even in the midst of all my darkness even as I fell I could not despise you no matter what I said I have loved you always even though I failed you I love you please do not doubt)

(he doesn’t say it)

“I want to believe you,” Fundy says. “But see, the thing is, if I do, it’ll turn out that you’re lying to me. Either that, or you’ll change. You—that’s what you do. And I need you—I need you to make up your mind, whether you care about me or not, because I can’t keep doing this. And I’m so—I’m pissed, Wilbur, really, I am. You blew up my home.”

There is no excuse that will provide an escape from this.

“I did.”

(an ending a denouement a grand finale and it was your symphony forever unfinished but you forgot that others made up the orchestra and you forget it still though you are reminded sometimes in the shadows in Tommy’s eyes and the chips in Tubbo’s horns and now in the tremor in your son’s voice as he tells you what you took from him what you stole when you made an ending of it all and it was yours but it was not yours alone)

Fundy jerks back, as if he hadn’t expected him to say it so starkly.

“Just like that, huh?” he says.

“I—”

“You know what?” Fundy says, overriding him. “I don’t really want to hear it right now. I’m so done with this. I’ll see you later. I guess.”

He steps forward, and

(an image: Fundy tottering toward him on chubby, unsteady legs, toddler’s face in a wide open, gap-toothed smile, Fundy running toward him to show him his new redstone invention, child’s face beaming in pride, Fundy sprinting toward him and trailing a flag behind him, grinning and victorious, and they have done it, they have done it, the nation is theirs and all will be well, and his son will be safe, and he wraps Fundy up in his arms and hugs him, holds him safe and close, his child, his beloved child)

he is frozen as Fundy steps past him and out of the doors. And he is frozen as he listens to his footsteps retreat, at a walking pace at first and then quicker and quicker as they fade, as Fundy runs from him. He stares into an empty room, and he is

(cold)

frozen.

“So, I’m guessing that didn’t go so well.”

It’s what he needs. An out, a way to cover over the churning mess of emotions in his chest, a road past all of that and right into exasperation, irritation.

“Shut the fuck up, Schlatt,” he says, pulling together all the shreds of composure that remain to him. “Where have you been?”

“Around,” Schlatt says, and drifts into view. He has the ability to go straight through him, but Wilbur notes that he doesn’t, that he dodges around him in the space left open in the doorway to come in front of him, surveying the papers in the room apathetically. “I keep going to do stuff and forgetting that I fucking can’t. Came here after whatever the fuck that was last night. You wanna give me an explanation there? I’m not pining away so much that I’m hallucinating your face, gorgeous as it is.” He pauses. “Your hair looks fucking stupid, by the way. It’s also wet, in case you didn’t know that.”

He feels some of the tension drain from him. This, at least, is familiar ground. Barbed words and sarcastic compliments, their old song and dance. He can exist in this space for a few minutes. Wrestle his emotions back under control.

“Thanks,” he says dryly. “If you really want to know, I spoke to a god and got shown some of the secrets of the universe, so that’s probably what that was.”

Schlatt pauses. “Is that all,” he says, in a half-laughing, half-incredulous tone that indicates he has no idea what to do with that.

He tilts his head, and wonders what else he should tell him. Because he saw him, there, of that he is sure, saw him while he was caught between the starlight and the void, as the god wound him back up and returned him to his body. He saw Schlatt, and more than that, he saw

(or felt, perhaps, because he was without eyes, and felt is not the right word either but it is closer, closer)

the connection between them, binding them together like a cat’s cradle, the threads of their existence tangled up in each other, and he is certain, now, of why Schlatt is here as well, why Schlatt is here but not solid. Because the god reached and the god grabbed and the god pulled, and the god pulled more than they meant to but less than they ought to have done, and this is the result: one man resurrected and the second tugged along, unintentionally and thus set adrift, tied to the first but with no form of his own.

Schlatt is mixed up in this through no fault of his own,

(for once)

when Wilbur knows that he, like him, would rather have remained in the void. So he sighs, and reaches along the tether, reaches along the rope that connects them soul to soul, and it is easy to find now, easy to touch upon with intention now that he knows what it is, why it is there.

(now that the universe hums in the back of his mind, now that he can hear the stars’ song, just barely beyond his conscious perception)

Schlatt lets out a surprised grunt as his feet hit the floor, and he staggers, almost losing his balance. Right away, Wilbur can feel the drain on his own energy, his lifeforce, perhaps, and now he knows the reason for that, too—Schlatt has none of his own, so to be made present and real, he must share his, must send it down the line, and a few days ago, he would have struggled to figure out how to do that. But now, it feels like the simplest thing in the world. For a time, at least.

“I’m willing to chat about it for a bit,” he says, and Schlatt stares at him, flexing his fingers.

“Holy shit,” he says. “So can you just—do this now?”

He bares his teeth. Schlatt will take it for a challenge.

“Let me tell you about it,” he says, and Schlatt arches a brow. But he stays, standing amongst the papers and the mess.

This is something familiar. This is a half hour of conversation that is charged in an entirely different way. This is someone with whom he shares a bitter past, and likely a bitter future, but he doesn’t have to watch himself, doesn’t have to wonder what wounds he’s caused him, doesn’t have to confront anything within himself.

He’s self-aware enough to realize that he’s running away, a bit, with this. Seeking a distraction. Trying to banish the look on Fundy’s face from his mind. But the others will survive without him for a few more minutes, and even besides, Schlatt offers him something that he wants, that he needs. Schlatt will listen to him, and he will judge him, but he will not pity him.

So Wilbur tells Schlatt about meeting a god.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #eret #fundy #tubbo #jschlatt #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #sorry for the two-week wait here's 9k works of dialogue *jazz hands*

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chibistarlyte · 4 years

Text

the day after

The tears come unbidden, and Shouto drops his phone in his lap to press the heels of his hands against his eyes. He can already feel frost creeping over his cheek, his tears cooling and hardening as they pass down his skin and over the frozen patches shining translucent white in the daylight.

So many people care for him...and he has no idea why.

i am back with another part in my now so-called series of depressed!todo fics with slow burn todobaku lol

thank youuuuuu so much kat @sunshineijirou for betaing, as always. <333

fic can be read below the cut or here on ao3! you can also find a masterlist of all my bnha fics here!

Shouto wakes to the faint scent of burnt sugar.

The scent in and of itself isn't odd, but Shouto can't ever remember it being the first thing to pervade his senses upon waking.

He also feels warm. Comfortably so. It's not blistering or suffocating, like it normally would be if his Quirk had gone haywire in his sleep.

Shouto opens his eyes, blurred vision obscuring his view of the room around him. He brings a hand to rub at his right eye, to clear the sleep clouds from his eyeball. What he sees thereafter are unfamiliar surroundings, and an unfamiliar ceiling looking down on him. The morning light filters in differently through curtains that are nothing like his own. The bed he's on feels nothing like his futon, the blankets and pillow soothing his skin in a way that his own covers don't. The modern style of the room gives off such a startlingly different vibe than his own traditionally-modeled one, and yet...Shouto feels at ease, though he's not quite sure where he is at first.

He rolls over onto his side, seeing neat and tidy bookshelves, an organized desk, a chest of drawers. Not a single hair out of place.

Ah, right. He's in Bakugou’s room.

Shouto rolls onto his back again, stretching his arms up and groaning as he feels the tension bleed out of his aching muscles. His hand smacks the headboard as his arms fall back down, and he hisses as he shakes his hand to dull the pain. A piece of paper comes floating down from where he'd hit the headboard, landing next to his head on the pillow.

Blinking, Shouto reaches for the paper and pulls it up in front of his face. It’s a handwritten note, short and sweet, in Bakugou’s hard, scratchy handwriting.

You slept too long, so I just got up and went and did my shit for the morning.

Stay as long as you want, I guess. Just don’t burn a fucking hole in my blankets or some shit. Return my clothes whenever, just wash them first. Don’t want your loser stink on them.

-Bakugou

Despite the guilt already pooling in his stomach for putting Bakugou out last night, Shouto can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. He looks down at the shirt he’s still wearing, seeing the skull design staring right back up at him. It looks angry, but Shouto doesn't feel intimidated by it. It's kind of like Bakugou, in that regard.

Stretching one final time, Shouto eases himself up and stands up from the bed. He looks around on the floor for his uniform that he'd changed out of last night, but it's nowhere in sight. He even kneels down to look under the bed, in case his clothes had been kicked under there. Still finding nothing, Shouto sighs and stands up again.

He'll just have to ask Bakugou about it later.

He also briefly glances around for his phone, but doesn't see that anywhere either.

"I wonder if I left it upstairs…" Shouto thinks aloud, eyes going up to the ceiling where he knows his room is just on the other side.

He doesn't really want to go back in there, but. Well. He needs to at least get some fresh clothes, and possibly his phone. No use in puttering around and putting off the inevitable.

But in this short time, Bakugou’s room has become a safe haven for Shouto without him really realizing it until he has to leave it.

Sighing again, Shouto heads for the door and pulls it open slowly, quietly, as if he doesn't want to be caught.

Old habits die hard, after all.

"Oh, Todoroki!"

Shouto almost has the door closed when the voice greets him, and he turns his head until he sees Kirishima standing in front of his own dorm room. The redhead looks like he's about to head out, keys dangling from the belt loop of his jeans and his hoodie halfway zipped up.

Shouto stares at him like a deer in headlights before he even thinks to respond, blinking rapidly a few times. "H-Hello, Kirishima," he says, hoping the other boy didn't catch the stutter at the beginning of the greeting.

"I'm glad to see you up and about," Kirishima says, smiling that infectious smile that makes the points of his teeth shine under the hallway lights. "Did you get some rest last night?"

"I...suppose I did," Shouto answers slowly, finally pulling Bakugou’s door shut with a click.

"Good, I'm glad," Kirishima says. He looks like he wants to step forward and...hug Shouto, or sling his arm around his shoulder, or...something. Kirishima has always been more of a physical being, showing his affection through touch and gestures more than anything else.

To be honest, Shouto wouldn't be averse to any of those things at the moment. He wants to tell Kirishima that, but...he's scared.

"Thank you for asking after me," he says instead, and he means it. He's grateful for Kirishima’s concern, even when he doesn't feel like he deserves it much. He crosses one arm across himself, gripping into the sleeve of the other arm with a white-knuckled grip.

"Of course, dude, you're my friend!" Kirishima says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I want you to be okay, y’know?"

Shouto nods dumbly, blinking away some stray tears that have somehow materialized in the corners of his eyes.

Kirishima seems to notice something in Shouto’s countenance that is cause for concern, because the spiky-haired boy steps forward and pulls Shouto into a fierce hug. The spikes of Kirishima’s hair poke at Shouto’s face, but it's somehow a comfort rather than a nuisance.

"K-Kirishima…"

"I don't know what you're going through, but I'm here for you, okay? We all are," Kirishima says, speaking for not only himself but the rest of Shouto’s friends. There's such sincerity and conviction in Kirishima’s words that Shouto has to swallow around a lump in his throat.

"Thank you," Shouto responds a bit breathlessly, maneuvering his arms to return the hug in some way.

They stand there for a few seconds until Kirishima gives him a final squeeze before detaching himself from Shouto. He smiles and pats Shouto on the shoulder. "Text me if you ever need anything, Todo-bro-ki. I got your back."

Shouto allows himself to smile back at Kirishima—it's a tiny, fragile little thing, but it's a smile nonetheless. "Thank you," he says again, hoping Kirishima knows he means it.

Shouto has barely been in his room for a minute before he hears a quiet, almost hesitant knock at his door.

He heads over to the door and opens it a crack, seeing a familiar shade of green. This prompts him to open the door all the way, so he can fully view his best friend standing meekly in the hallway.

Midoriya looks a bit of a disaster. He holds his hands in front of his chest, fidgeting with his fingers like he has no idea what to do with them. His hair is disheveled, even by its typical messy standards, like he’s been running his hands through it non-stop for hours. Shadows crease beneath his wide, innocent eyes like he hasn’t slept a wink. And when those eyes look right up at Shouto, tears start cascading down flushed, freckled cheeks.

“T-Todoroki-kun…” Midoriya says, his voice wavering and cracking.

“Midoriya? What’s wrong?” Shouto asks, panic beginning to creep up his throat. If Midoriya has been in this bad of shape and Shouto’s been too busy wallowing in his own depressive tendencies, then—

Before Shouto can even finish his train of thought, Midoriya barrels into him and hugs him so tightly that Shouto can feel his spine crack.

“I was so worried about you!!” Midoriya wails into Shouto’s chest, tears staining through the skull-print shirt of Bakugou’s that Shouto is still wearing. “You were acting so off yesterday and when I couldn’t get ahold of you or find you after class, I...I…” Midoriya hiccups, clings tighter to Shouto. “Kacchan t-told me that you j-jumped...and…” A fearful whine escapes Midoriya then, and he buries his face harder into Shouto’s chest.

Shouto is at a loss, isn’t sure exactly what to do but attempt to return the hug. He settles his longer arms around Midoriya’s broader shoulders and sets his chin atop a nest of green curls. “It’s okay, Midoriya...I’m okay,” he emphasizes in a whisper, patting Midoriya’s back in what can only be described as an awkward gesture. He should be used to physical affection by this point, especially from Midoriya, but sometimes it still catches him off-guard and he finds himself stumbling over how to reciprocate.

Midoriya still keeps his face buried in Shouto’s chest as he continues speaking. “If anything had happened to you, I would have never forgiven myself. Never. I knew something wasn’t right, but I wanted to give you some space, and th-then…”

Shouto makes some shushing noises, almost as if he’s trying to console a child. “It’s okay,” he repeats, even though everything feels anything but. The guilt starts bleeding into his veins again, guilt at making his best friend so distraught over his well-being.

Dipping his head just a little lower, Shouto lets out a sigh through his nose that ruffles Midoriya’s hair. Some friend he is, making everyone worry needlessly.

“Please, Todoroki-kun…please, I want you to know that you can trust me...that you can confide in me,” Midoriya says, his voice a little more even as his tears begin drying up. He pulls away from Shouto just far enough that he can look up at the taller boy. “I care about you very much. All of us do. So, please…” Midoriya’s crooked fingers tighten into the fabric at Shouto’s back. “Please don’t shut us out. Don’t shut me out. I want to help you, whenever you need it.”

Yet another unbidden smile finds its way onto Shouto’s face. He brings his hand up and pats the top of Midoriya’s head. “Okay...I can do that,” he agrees, then his smile turns downward at the corners. “I’m...sorry for worrying you so much. I didn’t mean to.”

It’s Midoriya’s turn to say, “It’s okay,” and even though he’s still crying, a small smile peeks through his distress. “I’m just...I’m glad you’re not hurt...or worse.”

Shouto sobers up hearing that comment, holding his breath for a moment. It’s funny, in an extremely non-humorous way, how Shouto’s own pain has reached so far outside of himself. It’s jarring to think that in hurting himself, he’s also been hurting some of the people most important to him.

He can't ever allow that to happen again. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Himself, sometimes, yes. But never anyone else.

Midoriya finally lets go of him, seemingly convinced that Shouto won’t disappear the moment he removes his arms from around him. “Do you, um...Uraraka-san and Iida-kun are downstairs, and Yaoyorozu-san...and some others...they’d be really happy to see you if you wanted to come down?”

Shouto nods. He probably should show his face, to prove to everyone that he’s doing better now and that they don’t have to worry after him anymore today. Besides, he also feels like he owes it to everyone for causing such trouble.

"Sure," he agrees with a small smile. "Just, ah, I need to change first." He tugs at the hem of the black shirt. "Is Bakugou down there too? I need to return his clothes."

Midoriya takes a surprised step back, looking Shouto up and down as if just now realizing the skull shirt and too-short sweatpants don't, in fact, belong to Shouto. A laugh escapes him then, and he rubs his tear-stained face with his scarred hand. "How...how did I not notice those were Kacchan’s clothes?" he asks the air rather than addressing Shouto directly. "I think I saw Kacchan earlier, in the laundry room?" he then says, tapping his chin in thought. "Not sure where he is now, though."

Shouto hums in response. "I'm sure I'll find him at some point." He pauses, then regards Midoriya with regret in his mismatched eyes. "I'm...sorry, again, for worrying you so much."

Midoriya smiles warmly at him, going in for another hug. "It's okay, Todoroki-kun. I worry because I care, y’know?"

"Yeah…" Shouto nods, returning the hug much easier this time. "I know."

Sometimes Shouto wonders what he's done to deserve such an amazing friend like Midoriya. Someone so kind and big-hearted.

Midoriya pulls away, still smiling gently up at him. "See you downstairs?"

Shouto nods again. "Yeah...I'll be down soon."

After he's washed his face and changed into his own clothing—"grandpa clothes," as Ashido calls them, consisting of plain black pants and a knit cardigan—Shouto sits quietly on his messy futon for a few minutes to gather himself. He had spotted his phone sitting on his desk, blinking with so many new notifications that it had him balking. So now he sits, scrolling through the endless messages from not only the class 2-A group chat, but also some individual friends and classmates.

Midoriya: todoroki-kun is everything okay? you left class so suddenly…

Midoriya: i'm sorry to bother you, but i tried knocking on your door and you're not answering so i thought i'd text you? of course if you're sleeping that's understandable, but it’s worrying me that you're not answering

Midoriya: todoroki-kun where are you????

Midoriya: please answer me

Midoriya: kacchan told me what happened

Midoriya: i…

Midoriya: please be okay

Midoriya: i can't

Midoriya: just

Midoriya: can i see you tomorrow?

Kirishima: hey dude, bakugou filled me in on what's going on w/ u, just checking in to make sure you're okay

Iida: Todoroki-kun, we've been looking all over for you. Please contact me or Midoriya-kun or Uraraka-kun as soon as you are able. We are concerned for your safety.

Iida: I want to help, if you’ll allow me.

Uraraka: todoroki-kun!!! we're worried about you!!

Uraraka: please answer deku-kun, he’s losing his mind

Uraraka: i don’t really know what’s going on with you, but if you need me, or any of us, just say the word and we’ll come with plenty of hugs for you!!!

Yaoyorozu: Todoroki-san, is everything alright? Ever since today’s practical exercise, you’ve had me very worried.

Yaoyorozu: I’ll be more than happy to brew you a cup of your favorite tea if you feel the need to relax and talk.

Bakugou: i swear to fuck i will beat the shit out of you if you even try anything funny, icyhot

So many people care for him...and he has no idea why.

He's nothing special. Just a damaged, broken eugenics project created by some monster who dares call himself a hero.

And yet…all these people—people he has the honor and privilege to call his friends—think he's special. See something special in him that has nothing to do with his Quirk or his family name. But they're so much more special to him than he ever could, or should, be to them.

Shouto sucks in a shaky breath to try and calm himself, pull himself together so he can join his classmates downstairs and bask in their friendly warmth. Goodness knows he needs some warmth right now. Like yesterday, he’s having trouble mustering up the will to use his Quirk to warm himself up.

What he would give to be sleeping in Bakugou’s arms again, the other boy’s warmth a balm on his bruised heart.

Blowing out a resolute breath, Shouto rises from his futon with his dying phone in his hand. He plugs it into the charger and leaves it on his desk, figuring he won’t need it if he’s going to be in his friends’ company already. He picks up Bakugou’s shirt and sweatpants from where they sit folded on the desktop and throws them into his clothes hamper with the rest of his laundry.

Return my clothes whenever, just wash them first. Don’t want your loser stink on them.

Shouto smiles a bit as he hoists his hamper up off the floor, balancing it against his hip with one arm. He takes one last look around his lonely room before heading downstairs to join Midoriya and the rest of his friends.

After he throws a load in the wash, of course.

Shouto hasn’t seen Bakugou all day.

He’d spent the majority of the late morning and afternoon in the common area with most of class 2-A. His usual group had been there—Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka barely left him any space on the sofa, the three of them sitting protectively around him the entire time. Yaoyorozu had also been present for most of the day, until she pulled Kaminari, Sero, and a few others away for a much-needed study session. Even Kirishima had dropped by after returning from wherever he’d gone off campus—quite literally dropping himself onto Shouto and creating a dogpile of hugs that he couldn’t escape from, even if he’d wanted to.

Yet for as content as Shouto is, without Bakugou’s presence, it feels like there’s something missing.

When he decides to retire to his room well past dark, Midoriya offers to carry up his clothes hamper, now full of clean clothes, for him. Shouto declines the offer, but ruffles Midoriya’s hair anyway in thanks. He waits with his hamper tucked against his hip as the elevator crawls its way up to the fifth floor, and almost dejectedly drags his feet to his dorm room. He listlessly presses the keycard against the door handle until the lock clicks open, and bumps the door open with his hamper.

Shouto contemplates just going to bed, but he’s not sure if he’d even be able to fall asleep in the pressing quietness of his room. He decides that he should probably fold his clothes before doing anything else, lest he want wrinkles in them.

He sets the hamper down next to his futon and plops down atop the covers, mechanically going through the motions of his chore. Grab shirt, fold, set aside. Grab pants, fold, set aside. Set aside sweater to be hung up. The mindless activity is somewhat grounding, and Shouto allows his mind to become blissfully blank for a little while.

That is, until his fingers find a black t-shirt with a skull print on it.

Shouto holds the shirt up in front of him, examining it for a few long seconds—for what, he isn’t sure. He has half a mind to swap the shirt out for the one he’s currently wearing, just to feel Bakugou’s phantom hugs around him once again.

Sighing, he folds the shirt so that the skull is looking directly up at him when he sets it on the floor. It’s almost mocking him, spewing insults at him that have crossed Shouto’s mind more than once when he’s stuck in his depressive pitfalls.

Cold, heartless wretch.

Miserable failure.

Worthless waste of space.

Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough…

Never. Good. Enough.

Pursing his lips, he folds Bakugou’s sweatpants and sets them atop the shirt just to get the skull to shut up.

Now that his hamper is empty, Shouto drags himself up from the futon and pads over to the sliding door to his balcony. The second he heaves the door open, he’s greeted by a cold wind that stings with the promise of winter weather approaching. He steps onto the concrete with his bare feet, barely noticing the icy pricks of the stone on his skin. Once he reaches the railing, he grips the metal tightly with both hands and leans far enough over to get a glimpse of Bakugou’s balcony below.

In the dark, Shouto can see that the lights to Bakugou’s room are on. The yellowish tint bleeds out into the late evening blackness, and it’s all Shouto needs to make up his mind.

Dashing back into his room without even bothering to close the sliding door, Shouto grabs Bakugou’s clothes from his floor, slams his door shut as he leaves his room. He makes a beeline for the stairwell at the end of the fifth-floor hall.

He takes the steps two at a time, the pads of his feet smarting every time they collide with the floor. But Shouto doesn’t notice, doesn’t care one bit. He throws the door to the fourth floor open with nearly enough force to bang it into the wall, but it doesn’t faze him in the slightest. He continues on, his journey finally ending when he reaches Bakugou’s dorm room.

Shouto raps on the door with his knuckles as he tries to catch his breath, belatedly noticing he probably looks like a damn fool for rushing down here for no reason.

He tells himself it’s because he needs to return the borrowed clothes, but deep down, he knows he just wants to see Bakugou.

There’s some faint swearing on the other side of the door before it swings open, revealing Bakugou’s scowling face.

“The fuck are you doing here, half-n-half?” the blond asks almost accusingly, his red eyes searching Shouto up and down. “Why does it look like you just ran a damn marathon? Fix your fucking hair at least, for fuck’s sake.”

Shouto ignores Bakugou’s biting comments, wordlessly holding out his hands and presenting the clean clothes to his friend.

Friend?

Friend.

Bakugou raises a brow. “The fuck?”

“Your clothes,” Shouto says unhelpfully, swallowing around the lump that has suddenly appeared in his throat. “I washed them. No loser stink, I promise.”

Bakugou stares at him for a moment before barking out a laugh. Shouto’s heart catches in his chest.

“Gonna take more than a few washes to get that fuckin’ smell out of ‘em,” Bakugou jokes before opening his door wider to let Shouto in. He gestures to his bed, where the covers have been pulled up and not a crease is in sight. “Just throw them there. If you wait for just a sec, I actually have something for you, too.”

Interest piqued, Shouto does as he’s told, stepping shyly into Bakugou’s room and dropping the clothes atop the bed. “Something...for me?” he asks, tilting his head in question.

“Don’t get so fucking excited, you shithead, it’s just your uniform that you left soaking on my carpet,” Bakugou says as he heads over to his chest of drawers, picking up a neatly folded UA uniform.

Ah. So that’s where his clothes went, Shouto realizes.

“I even washed it for you, because I’m fucking nice like that,” Bakugou continues, coming over to Shouto and shoving the clean clothing against the taller boy’s chest.

But Shouto doesn’t take his clothes. Instead, he lets them drop to the floor and throws his arms around Bakugou.

“Oi! What the fuck!” Bakugou complains, his voice muffled by Shouto’s cardigan. His hands are spread wide at his sides, palms crackling with sparks waiting to explode.

Shouto just squeezes him tighter, wrenching his eyes shut and balancing his chin atop Bakugou’s head. His dandelion hair is soft against Shouto’s skin, and it smells like…like...

Burnt sugar.

“Thank you, Bakugou,” Shouto says.

“Jesus fuck, I only washed your clothes, no need to get all touchy-feely about it,” Bakugou says, and if Shouto isn’t mistaken, it sort of sounds like Bakugou is pouting.

That thought alone makes Shouto laugh, a quiet noise that barely brushes past his lips.

But Bakugou seems to hear it well enough, and relaxes in Shouto’s grip as he turns his head to the side. His ear is right over where Shouto’s heart is thundering in his chest.

“You’ve done more than that. So much more,” Shouto says gratefully.

Bakugou grunts in response, finally bringing his own arms up and wrapping them around Shouto’s more lithe frame.

“Why?” Shouto asks softly, a repeat of his question from last night.

Bakugou tenses in his arms, and Shouto can feel his rough hands fisting the thick fabric of his cardigan. “Don’t...don’t make me say it,” Bakugou mutters through gritted teeth, as if he’s trying to clamp his jaw shut tight enough to keep some forbidden truths from escaping.

Shouto still wants to know, but he doesn’t want to push Bakugou. Doing so would probably end in disaster, and he doesn’t want to let this moment end. Not quite yet.

“Alright,” Shouto concedes, squeezing Bakugou one final time before pulling back.

Bakugou won’t look at him when they separate, ruby red eyes trained on the floor where his socked feet are almost toe-to-toe with Shouto’s bare ones. Wordlessly, the blond kneels down and picks up Shouto’s uniform, now a crumpled mess on the floor.

“Great, look what you did,” Bakugou grouses, still crouched down, trying to smooth out some of the creases in the grey blazer. “And I even fucking ironed it for you, you ungrateful fuckwad.”

Shouto blinks dumbly, staring holes into the top of Bakugou’s head.

He...what?

“Here, now take your shit and get out,” Bakugou commands, standing up and thrusting Shouto’s clothes against his chest once more. This time, Shouto takes them and holds them almost reverently in his arms.

When Bakugou finally looks up at Shouto, something unexpected happens. Heat that Shouto hasn’t felt for the past few days suddenly courses through his veins like river rapids, searing his insides until he feels his skin turning red almost like a sunburn.

Oh, god, he’s…

Shouto summons every ounce of willpower he can muster to prevent himself from literally erupting into flames, nodding once to Bakugou before crossing to the door in a few long strides. The metal of the doorknob hisses when Shouto grabs it with his left hand, and he prays to whatever deities are listening that Bakugou doesn’t notice the smoke coming from his palm.

“Thank you again, Bakugou, for everything,” Shouto says once he’s stepped out into the hallway. To his surprise, Bakugou is standing in his doorway and holding his door open still, watching Shouto carefully, pursing his lips as if he has something to say.

“...Sure thing,” Bakugou finally says quietly. He takes a breath and opens his mouth to say something else, but stops before the words can escape him.

“Bakugou?” Shouto says.

Bakugou scowls, then, letting out a small growl as he slams the door shut in Shouto’s face.

And standing there alone in the hallway, hugging his uniform close to his chest and feeling warmer than ever before, Shouto smiles.

#todobaku #todobaku fic #bakutodo #boku no hero academia #bnha #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #my writing

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tell-me-when-ur-ready · 4 years

Text

Home for Christmas

Author’s note: Heya! I haven’t written for Shawn in months because life is crazy but this is for @saintlymendes secret santa and it was fun. My secret santa was @lostinshawnsmemory hope you enjoy! Merry Christmas xx

Warnings: none? tiny bit of language

Word count: 1k on the nose

Shawn loved Christmas and you did too. In fact, that was one of the first things you’d bonded about; the first conversation you two ever had, a little over a year ago at a mutual friend’s Christmas party, had centered around trees and cookies and gifts. So spending your first Christmas together — you had made it official just after the New Year — was like a dream come true.

Shawn was finishing up the final leg of his world tour in December, and you had big plans for when the two of you were finally together again; drinking hot cocoa, looking at Christmas lights, and spending plenty of downtime in bed all topped the list. You’d also planned to surprise Shawn by decorating the condo the two of you shared, decking the halls with a seven-foot live tree, plenty of garland, and anything else you could think of.

But somehow, that hadn’t quite happened. Between school and work, December had quite frankly kicked your ass — and somehow the month had flown by before you could finish decorating. There were a few strings of lights on the balcony and the tree was sitting in the corner, but other than that, things were looking pretty pathetic.

“It’s okay,” you said aloud as you walked in the door that evening and set down your purse. You glanced around, frowning, at the unopened boxes of ornaments on the floor. Trying to reassure yourself, you added, “I have plenty of time.”

Shawn was coming home tomorrow evening. That gave you a full 24 hours to finish — or rather, start — decorating the place. And then when he got home, exhausted from his long tour and ready for Christmas, the place would be homey and cozy — welcoming him home.

But the tinsel and lights could wait until tomorrow. Today had been your last day of work for the year and you were asleep on your feet. Kicking off your shoes, you flicked off the living room lights and headed for the bedroom, intent on a hot bath before bed. Tomorrow, you promised yourself sleepily, you would decorate.

—

“Hey, honey.”

You were cocooned in a warm nest of blankets, sprawled out across the king size bed and dreaming about something you couldn’t quite remember. As you slowly woke up, you registered the hand on your shoulder.

“KK,” Shawn whispered.

Your eyes blinked open and you saw Shawn kneeling in front of you.

“Shawn?” you stammered, sitting up.

“Hey baby. I wasn’t going to wake you up, but, uh, there isn’t any space in the bed for me...”

You stared at him for a minute before finally registering what he’d said and moving your legs.

“But I don’t get it. Why are you here?”

“I changed my flight.” He smiled and reached out through the dim light to cup your face in his hand, like he just couldn’t not touch you after being away for so long. “Wanted to surprise you in the morning. But, y’know, here we are.”

You reached out and he pulled you into his arms, greeting you with a proper hug and kiss.

“Love you so much,” he mumbled into your hair, and you felt yourself tearing up a little, so happy that he was home for good after so long.

“But I’m exhausted,” he added, and you giggled, pulling away to fluff your pillow and lie back down. Shawn laid down facing you, lacing his fingers through yours.

“I tripped over something in the living room,” he said through an enormous yawn. “Don’t know what it was, but it sounded like I broke it.”

You sat bolt upright, sleep forgotten. “The ornaments! The decorations! I was going to have it all ready,” you wailed.

Now it was Shawn’s turn to blink at you sleepily. “Hm?”

“I was going to decorate the condo and surprise you. I had it all planned. But you had to ruin everything by coming home early,” you grumbled, flopping back down next to him.

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s so sweet, honey. If you want, I can stay away another day...”

“No!” you exclaimed, giggling. “But you did kinda ruin the surprise.”

“Well, you ruined mine when I had to wake you up to claim my half of the bed!”

“Hey, you’ve been gone all year. I got used to having the bed to myself.”

“Guess I deserve that one,” Shawn mumbled. His eyes were starting to close, and you leaned over and gently kissed his forehead.

“Go to sleep.”

—

When you woke up in the morning, Shawn wasn’t there. You sat up in bed, disoriented, half wondering if you’d dreamed the whole thing. But no — the blankets on his side of the bed were warm and rumpled, and his phone was sitting on the nightstand

The next thing that caught your attention was the smell of coffee floating down the hall. You pushed the covers back and stood up, curious. But before you could reach the bedroom doorway, you heard a small crash and a muffled “shit” from down the hall.

What was happening?

You walked down the hall and into the living room. Shawn was standing there in his plaid pajama bottoms, his hands full of glass shards and a sheepish expression on his face.

“I broke the ornament. Sorry, KK,” he said.

“Again?” You giggled and shook your head as you noticed the crumpled box in the corner that he’d tripped over last night. “That’s okay. What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” He grinned. “I’m decorating the tree.”

You felt your face split into an answering smile. You walked over to him, gently taking the glass and setting it on the coffee table so his hands were free to give you a hug.

“Aren’t you jet lagged or something?” you mumbled against his shoulder.

“Not too much for this. C’mon, baby. Wanna help?”

You definitely did. And in the end, you reflected, decorating together was much more special after all.

#saintlymendessecretsanta #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes the tour #shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn peter raul mendes #christmas

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

Under The Bed / Chapter Three, “Down”

-> SERIES MASTERLIST

-> MAIN MASTERLIST

-> READ ON WATTPAD

WARNINGS: Mild swearing???

WORD COUNT: 5.9k words

LEGEND:

* : jump in time

* * : change in point of view

TAGLIST: IDK HOW TO DO THESE, BUT IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED SO YOU KNOW WHEN A NEW CHAPTER IS POSTED, JUST LET ME KNOW! :)

@berrynarrybanana

@wotamelonsugar

SNEAK PEEK OF COURSE ->

THEN

He kept doing that thing, and by thing I mean, showing up and scaring me.

Every night, he popped out from underneath my bed without fail, and scared the bejeezus out of me. He left me crying into my butterfly pillow from an impossibly horrible face he made, an insult he made that I took to heart, or because he wrecked one of my stuffed animals. I didn’t know how to get him to stay away, even if he was kind of cute I’d never tell him that, and when he screws up his blue face to look like a goblin, it’s not very cute.

I dreaded him coming tonight, just like any other night for the last two weeks. He never missed a night, and I had gotten used to staying up past my bedtime until he arrived, sure that that would save me some pain instead of getting woken up to frogs in my bed and gum stuck in my hair. He had told me about doing that to Polly down the street last week, and the last thing I wanted to do was explain that to my parents in the morning. So, I stayed awake even though it was so hard on so many nights. Tonight, it was hard, but in a different way, because I wanted more than anything to be asleep after my third horrible day of school. I had no choice in the matter, and it worked out that Harry showed up right at nine-thirty.

“Wakey wakey, bratty!” a voice booms, and I jump awake.

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” I moan, unsure of who or why I announce myself.

“Shiiiiiiit, I was hopin’ ya wouldn’t be. ‘s much mo’ fun t’ scare ya awake, ya hardly made a peep jus’ then,” the voice tuts with a clicking of their tongue. A puff leaves my lips when the light flicks on and his menacing figure appears before my eyes. “Welcome back t’ tha world o’ yer nightmares, Josie, loud and proud. Afraid ‘m back fer anotha night t’ scare yer socks off.”

The My Little Pony covers slide off of me, and I fix the sleeve of my flowery night gown that rode up my shoulder. Ignoring him, I’m met with relief when my fingers grasp the cold familiarity sitting on my nightstand.

“What tha hell, are ya givin’ me tha cold shoulder now?” he retorts with a volume in his voice, but I kn- I hope that he won’t talk loud enough to wake up Mommy and Daddy. “Since bloody when d’ya do that, Josie?”

“I’m reading, shhh,” I tell him, turning past the first few pages of a Clifford the Big Red Dog book until I find the first page with a picture of him and his owner, Emily Elizabeth.

“Oh my days, I can’t believe tha nerve you have, girl,” the monster spits back at me, but with shaking fingers, I try to shove his voice away. I have an even harder time finding happiness in the pictures when it’s so hard to forget that he’s standing right there, ready to attack. “Ya think ya can talk t’ me like that, a full-on monster? Tsk, tsk, you dunno who yer talkin’ t’ here, ya li’l-.”

“Eh-eh-v . . ugh . . Eh-eh-v-r-e-e . . ,” I try to sound out the word at the bottom of the page, but it’s so long and I don’t know this one. “Eh-ev-ree . . won loves Clifford, b-b-b-bee-c-c-cah-ssssss-e he has good m-m-m-a-a-a-n-n-er-r-r-r-s. You don’t have good manners, Harry, that’s something you need to work on.”

“‘Scuse me, Josie Stephens? I reckon ya don’t even know what tha hell manners are, now d’ya, ya li’l shit?”

Gulping, I tear my eyes away from his angry green pair. Looking back to the book, I try to focus on reading the next part. I get the first two words, but then I’m stuck again, sounding it out like a dummy. I don’t understand how so many of my classmates already know how to read, and I don’t!

Creeeeeeeeeak!

My eyes shoot up and find Harry is closer, he must have taken a step towards me. As soon as I had looked up, his feet inch away from me, and I wish I hadn’t. Rubbing at my eyes sleepily, I take a deep breath and try again.

“M-m-m-m-y-s-s-s-eh-l-l-.”

“Myself,” Harry pipes up, and when I forget the book to look at him, we’re both shocked. “Tha word ‘s ‘myself’. ‘I taught him myself,’ it says,” he tells me slowly. Maybe, just maybe, he sounds normal and like me. Who would have thought that could be? “Duh, ‘s an easy word, even a Kindie like you shoulda known that, stupid.”

Shaking my head, I move the hair out of my eyes and continue to read, quieter than before, and yet I feel his eyes on me like a hot pair of sun rays.

“Clifford says p-p-p-l-eeeeee-s w-w-he-n he a-a-s-s-. Why are you laughing at me? I’m only five, we don’t know how to read yet,” I say, pointing my eyes at him. A sound flies from his lips that I’ve never heard before in that way. I think it might be a laugh, a happy one.

“Sounds like I jus’ heard a five year old swear right there. Looks like me job ‘s done, ruining you by teachin’ you yer first curse. Ass,” he titters, walking away and towards the end of my bed.

My throat begs for a glass of water and the words that didn’t make sense anyways become blurry in front of me. Swiping under my eyes, I get rid of the tears the second they warm my cheeks.

“W-What’s this word?” I ask nervously, keeping my head down and refusing to look at him. I know that he likes to see my tears, and I don’t want him to, because then he only becomes meaner. Sniffling, I listen as his steps creak along my floor and his musty smell tickles at my nose.

“Which one?” he groans as if I had asked the most stupid question in the entire world. I don’t answer out loud, and instead, I point to the one that starts with an ‘s,’ but my tired brain doesn’t want to figure it out.

“Sumthin’,” he responds, and it pulls my eyes up and over to him. The light catches in the caramel colored streaks in his hair, and the gold bits in his eyes. Shocks of pink around my room from posters, stuffed animals, books, and my Hello Kitty clock look funny behind him. “Something,” he repeats clearly, yanking the book from my hand to point at a word. “D’ya know this one at least?”

“P-p-p-puh-l-,” I begin, but he interrupts me with a whine of ‘you jus’ read it, c’mon now,’ and I continue until he nods when I say ‘please.’

“And this one?” he continues, pointing to one that starts with a ‘t’ that takes me a few tries until I get it. “What comes afta ‘thank’ usually?”

“You,” I tell him, and he nods, at some point perching himself on the side of my bed like a bird. I almost think I hear him say ‘good,’ but it’s gone before I can decide if I did or not.

The books lining my shelf across the room under the window itch for me to go and grab them, and sound out the words with him that look like nonsense to me. I hold back, and ask Harry to repeat what he said.

“Yer fallin’ ‘sleep,” he notes, bumping shoulders with me. I shake my head and blink hard, knowing that he’s right. “He says ‘thank you’ when he gets sumthin’. And he writes a thank-you note when someone gives him a present . . ,” and before I know it, the words from the pages are dropping from his lips, slowly, telling the story.

I don’t remember my head falling onto his shoulder or him letting it stay there. I definitely didn’t know that when I let my eyes rest for one second that I was going to fall asleep, and that the next time it would all feel like a dream, a far away dream that could never be true.

Because there’s a monster under my bed who’s really gross and mean to me, and he just read me a bedtime story and was maybe nice to me.

That couldn’t be, could it?

* *

The ripe smell of mothballs and wet dogs welcomes me back, ripping away the sweet relief of berries and cream that graced my senses for the last however-long-it-was. My feet land with a loud clap! onto the shambles of wooden decking below. I kick the forgotten remnants of a Scooby Doo stuffy away with the torn toe of my Converse. Loud, raucous laughter echoes around me and is followed by a spit and whizz of a bottle rocket nearby. It paints the ink black sky with shocks of gold and white for a few moments, suddenly making me miss the light. The next thought makes me stumble over a lost pink ukulele with broken strings. I think I miss the smell and the warmth, no matter if I never get cold.

How the fuck can I miss that obnoxiously sweet smell of ripe red strawberries, and decadent cream that they’re drowned in?

Would you shut the fuck up, Harry? What, are you finally going nuts here, on your four hundred and eighth year?

“Oi!” somebody shouts, yanking me from my thoughts much to my gratitude. “Wait up, would ya?!” they continue in their familiar lilt. Stuffing my hands away in my pockets, met with the typical cool temperature of my own body, my feet kick up sand clouds when they stop suddenly.

“What d’ya want, Ni?” I spit back, not bothering to turn my head. His cackle accompanies my boring slide down the Hill of Doom Jr. that he rides like a wave.

“Who put a stick up yer arse, ‘arry?” he gripes, almost losing his footing once we reach the end. “Not a good night with yer kiddies or summat?”

“Sure,” I answer stubbornly, my eyes flitting past the weathered signs slapped onto the pole, pointing every which way with words scrawled onto them. Minneapolis. Chicago. Detroit. Los Angeles. Washington D.C.

“I found some peanut butta at one o’ mine. I s’pose I could be a good mate and give ya some, but y’know what ‘s gonna cost ya. Figure I should get even mo’ than that seein’ as how ‘m deathly allergic.”

“Don’t want any,” I retort, walking around the scuffed Spongebob skateboard and Kim Possible figurine lying beside it, missing her signature head of red hair. But it’s forgotten when my foot steps on something, and I lift it to find a plush Hello Kitty with its head torn off, the white more like a light brown now from all of the shoe prints muddling it. A little stuffy that I know all too well, and had forgotten my handy work with until now.

Somehow, it bothers me more than it should, and tips me over the edge.

“What d’ya mean ya don’t-.”

“I said I don’t want any fuckin’ peanut butter, Ni, and I never said I wanted yer company, now fuckin’ did I?”!” I explode, whirling around and scaring him to the point that he almost runs into me. His unruly eyebrows sink and the neon purple in his eyes shrinks, the scaring of a monster quite comical in the thought.

“Fuck you, ‘arry. Dunno who shit in yer bed, yer always high as a kite afta gettin’ done with that Stephens girl. Jus’ cuz ya couldn’t scare tha lights outta her dis time doesn’t mean ya hafta jump down me throat cuzza it,” he says curtly, shaking his head of silver hair that sticks up at all ends. Muttered words float past me as he walks away with the pep out of his step.

“‘s not that I couldn’t . . ‘s that I didn’t wanna . . fer tha first time,” I curse under my breath, kicking a pink stone riddled with holes off the edge, not waiting to hear its plink! at the bottom of Ghastly Gorge.

Clenching my jaw to stop me from saying all of the words that ricochet inside of my skull, I take a few turns until I step onto a rickety lift. Ignoring the two vampires who cling to each other’s necks with loud suckling noises, I tip my head back and close my eyes against the yellow light of the naked bulb above me. I don’t even lose my footing as the contraption whips from side to side and up and down with the loudest of screeches, lastly halting with a piercing ding!

Sulking my way off and back to unsolid ground, the giggles from the ghoulish pair continue behind me, suddenly making me wish Liza was here. Biting my tongue, I try to forget about her, and the other her. Yanking open the door, it falls off its top hinge and I leave it there hanging, not giving a shit clearly. The squeals of the fireworks are almost out of earshot, but now, the shouting from some kind of game trickles past.

“Can’t even get peace and quiet here o’ all places?” I mutter with a long sigh, pushing harshly at the metal gate. It hits the fence with a deafening clang! of metal on metal.

“Heya, Harry!” somebody shouts and I nod and wave. More ‘hellos’ follow between the gravestones as I kick my feet along the black dirt path. “Oh, on your way to The Rotting River, I see . . Let’s leave him be, lads, he doesn’t look too terrible, the poor bloke,” Henry the Horrid whispers ever so loudly and I toss a hand up in the smallest of thanks, only bringing the memory back bigger and brighter.

Since when do I have fucking manners?

Their transparent white bodies float away with their silent steps, and from the corner of my eye, I see Marcus speed away like a flash of moonlight.

“Why? Why? Why in tha fuck why?!” I scream, pitching the hundred pound rock into the black water, far and away. “What tha absolute fuck am I doin’? ‘m gonna ruin it all, everythin’ ‘ve ever built!” the red rock crashes into the water and under the green cast of the orb hung in the sky, it smatters onyx droplets across the green. I pluck another one from the ground at random, in between shards of bones, glass, and lost lovers necklaces, propelling them into the lazy waves of the river, wishing it was crashing tonight like the throes of my heart. Something I thought I hadn’t had for the last few centuries, but here I am, low and behold, seeming to have one.

That doesn’t happen, it’s not supposed to be. My kind . . we’re not supposed to use them, or even have a working one.

How is it that when I saw the glassy tears in Josie’s eyes tonight, it felt like it was being squeezed in my chest? I can’t explain away the warmth I felt in it when her head fell onto my shoulder, and then when I pulled the covers over her tiny, sleeping body.

I broke a hundred dozen rules tonight, enough to get me sent to the headstones just over the hill, and I can’t decide whether I care or not.

* *

The tater tot casserole sitting in my stomach tried to lull me into an early sleep that next night, but with determination, I ignored it. I sat in bed with my school books in my lap, flipping through the pictures and trying to find familiar words. I knew that I wouldn’t find many, if any, but it didn’t stop me from trying.

I didn’t know how long I had been sitting there after dinner looking through the books and making up my own stories, until my tired eyes glanced to the window. There I sat, watching the last few rays of sun be sucked back into the ground, or that’s how it looked.

Smack!

“Arentcha a li’l old t’ be havin’ shit like this?” a voice pipes up, and before I see him, I smile. I really wish that I hadn’t, because when he turns around, that dark glint in his eye has returned. I don’t know why I thought his voice sounded- what did it sound like, like it had last night? When the words from the Clifford The Big Red Dog book fell from his chapped lips?

All of my questions are answered when there’s a loud crash! and my Hello Kitty pink clock smashes into a puddle of glass at his feet. “Whoops,” he giggles as I suck in air loudly, the dirty bottoms of his shoes crunching through the glass that I’m sure I’ll never get out of my carpet now.

“What, ya think ‘m gonna bloody read t’ you again or sumthin’, brat?” Harry says, nodding to the pile of books that I tighten my grip on now. “Not gonna speak t’ me, are you? Y’know that’s never a good bet, Josie Stephens,” he continues, each word laced with disgust from his lips. He licks them with his chalky pink tongue as the floor creaks with his nearing.

“Don’t!” I squeal when he reaches for the books, but I put up a fight.

“It never does any good fightin’ me, li’l shit, ya should know this by now,” he retorts, giving one last yank with his hands and painfully ripping the books from my grasp. “Ooooo, what d’we got here, huh? More stupid Clifford, Scooby Fucking Doo, Pussy Tom and that minx Jerry, and Peter Bloody Pan. Hmmm, looks like a good lot ya got here, Josie. I reckon they won’t be very easy t’ read if they’re in shreds.”

“Harry, no! Please, those are from school, they’re not mine! I’ll get in trouble with my teacher,” I beg, getting on all fours and crawling across my bed towards him. One look is all he needs to get me to stop, because I know if I took one more step towards him he’d pull out one of those faces that’d make me wet the bed . . again.

“Even better then, love,” he smiles that mischievous smile with his yellow teeth that he swipes his tongue across. I feel a lurch in my chest when the first book begins to look like rainbow snow falling from his fingers, then the next, and the others while he laughs loudly. My pleas for him to stop don’t make any difference, and I fear that they only make his devilish smile brighter and wider across his blue tinted cheeks.

“Why’d you do that?!” I almost scream, and one of his unruly eyebrows raises in answer.

“How many times do I gotta bloody tell ya t’ shut yer mouth?” he lips back in return, tossing the last handful of papery snow behind him.

“No, I won’t! Why’d you read to me last night if you were just gonna do that?” I sob, angry words flying with the tears. It’s only a second, but I think that I surprised him. “I thought you could be nice!”

“Ya well, ‘m not nice, Josie. ‘m a bloody monster, I dunno why you expected that I could ever be nice. Me job ‘snt t’ be nice, ya brat, and that was a fluke - a one time thing that’s never gonna happen ‘gain, ya hear? Stop cryin’ ‘bout yer bloody books and fuckin’ go t’ bed, ya cry baby,” Harry hisses, tightening the frayed red and black flannel tied around his body covered in holey black clothes.

“But you can be nice, I saw it! You are nice, Harry, if you just try!”

“What’d I say, li’l girl, huh? Go t’ bed befo’ I make ya, and ya don’t wanna see that happen, I can promise ya that,” he answers with a stern finger pointed at me. The lights flick off with no warning and I fall back when he pushes me onto my covers. I don’t remember when he left, because I was too wrapped up in the tears flowing down my cheeks, and the fear leaking through them.

He’s right, I am stupid for thinking that the monster who lives under my bed could ever be nice.

* *

Even after I slipped under the bed, and back into my world, her sobs still wrench at my heart and fill my head. It doesn’t matter how far I get away from her door that looks like a pixie threw up on it, pink as can be, I still hear them. If anything, they get louder and swarm around in my head. I shake it a bajillion times, wishing they would leave, and that when I pass other monsters who pat me on the back for the sound of her wails, I wish all the more for them to be gone. Suddenly, I’m not proud of them, and I had thought that the few tears she shed the other night bothered me, but this is anything but that. It rips apart my insides how they dig into the crevices of my mind, and how they pull me back to her.

With every step past the cracked headstones weathered of names and dates of life, my feet become heavier, like cement blocks. With each step, they grow a pound in weight, and the stones and boulders I chuck into the blackness can’t even compare. The shrieks and requital of the pissed off mermaids and slimy grindylows below don’t throw a damper on my exaggerated rock skipping.

“We’re tryna sleep here, ye fool!” one of the pinched faced mermaids bellows at me, propelling the sharp edged stone back at me.

“Does it look like I fuckin’ care what yer doin’?” I scream back, chucking a bigger stone in her direction. She yelps before her muddled neon pink hair disappears below the murky surface. “Fuckin’ mermaids, bloody lot still hate me afta I broke tha heart of yer beloved Hera last century,” I mutter under my breath, at last falling to sit on a smooth, red boulder. Prying the minuscule shards of glass from the soles of my shoes, my dormant lungs beg for air, something that stuck with me past my days as a human.

I don’t need to breathe or let alone be gasping for air, but it never escaped me, although most other mortal things certainly did.

It feels as if a stone stronger and wider than those beneath my feet sits lodged in my throat when I try to swallow, her face stuck behind my eyes. My throat soon feels akin to Darkly Desert a few miles away and the emerald reflected on the toiling waves grows messed up in front of me.

“What tha bloody hell?” I curse, swiping a finger across my cheek and feeling wetness greet my chalky skin. “Christ Almighty,” I breathe, feeling the cool tears scatter my cheeks as my nose sniffles accordingly. “I can’t remember tha last time I had a bleedin’ cry, certainly not since ‘ve been a monster. Tha fuck ‘s happenin’ t’ me?” I croak, my head collapsing into my hands.

“Gotcha heart broken by another girl, Harry?” a slinky voice asks, waves lapping against the rocks at my feet. I don’t need to peek my eyes open to know who it is, their revolting voice and squeaky, wicked laugh tells me the whole story.

“Would ya fuck off, Freya? N’body asked you,” I crack, toeing my shoe through a puddle of rotten weeds that I fling at her. She scoffs loudly and it’s unbeknownst to me whether she scurries away or lingers.

“Me’s hopin’ she did good work on it, if ya even have anythin’ left in there. Guessin’ ‘s a shriveled ol’ black thing by this time,” Freya bites back, making a loud exit and whipping her tail to spray me with the water that reeks of rotted corpses and fish.

“Like you’ve ever had one, Frey, it takes one t’ know one!” I shout, standing to my feet and tossing one more stone in her direction. “N’body likes yer kind anyways, jus’ glorified fish with boobs, you are,” I groan with a shake of my head, my feet crunching with every step over the tiny bones that her and her posse toss to the shore like it’s their own garbage bin.

Questions swim through my mind as I hike up the hill muddied by last night’s boiling hot rain showers, wondering how I can fix this. I jumped right past the wondering and decision making, and have landed right at the ‘how.’

I really do have a problem here, but the one that concerns me isn’t the existential one of sorts.

“Open alfucking ready!” I shout, pounding my fist on the chipped wooden door, streaked with red. I’m not sure if I want to ask the question of what made it red. “Zekey, c’mon open up , you git!” I continue, lifting my fist for another blow right when the door swings open.

“Da fuck d’yeh want, ‘arry?” he sighs in return, rubbing at his eyes and only further smearing the black makeup surrounding them. “Shouldn’t yeh be out on yer route, and not buggin’ me?”

“‘m uh, in between kiddies right now, Z. Ya busy, mate?” I explain softly, biting at my nails but there’s not much left to bite.

“Apparently not, and would it even matta if I was? ‘m sure yeh’d still barge right in, wouldntcha?” he tuts, turning around and leaving the door open for me. “By tha way, did yeh fookin’ tell Ly’ that I revoked his invitation? Told yeh not t’, I found him snoggin’ me girl and that’s reason enuff t’ banish him from here, I reckon.”

“Nah, that wasn’t me. Maybe it was Ni, I dunno. Can we get on with this, ‘s important,” I rush, tip toeing a careful trail through his doorway littered with empty beer bottles, cardboard pizza boxes, and cigarette butts. “D’y’know how t’ bloody pick up fer once, Z? Yer not even a monster, so ya can’t fall back on tha ‘messy monster’ cliche, mate.”

“I dont’ rememba askin’ yeh, ‘arry. Now, what tha fook d’ya want that I had t’ wake up fer?” Zeke responds with disdain laced in his voice, collapsing onto his maroon sofa that’s by far seen better days, perhaps last century even.

“‘m takin’ up that favor o’ mine ya owe me, and don’t even say sumthin’ like, ‘oh, what favor?’ Cuz ya bloody well know what favor, need I remind you?”

“No, no. My bloody God, ‘arry, jus’ name it already. ‘m not gettin’ any younger sittin’ here waitin’ fer yeh t’ explain yerself away, am I now?” he sighs, raking a hand through his spiked, electric green hair. I nod and with an unnecessary breath, I steady myself, and prepare the sentence that I’ve rehearsed over and over.

“I need some o’ yer Fix-It Dust,” I say slowly, waiting for his reply.

“That’s all? God, yeh scared me, thinkin’ I needed t’ hex somebody, bring a lover back from tha dead, or wipe a memory,” Z chuckles, springing up from the sofa and across the room to his bookshelf that’s never changed in appearance since that day I met him at the Wobbly Waterfall and came back here. “There, easy ‘nough,” he announces a moment later, tossing a small, dark bottle at me. The bookshelf behind him slides closed, and the fluorescent bottles coloring the rainbow disappear behind the moving novels.

“Thanks, Z.”

“Don’t mention it, Hare. I dunno why yeh think that warrants a favor,” he replies with a soft laugh and shrug of his shoulders.

“What d’ya mean?”

“‘s bloody dust, mate, not a bleedin’ spell, jinx, or body swap. Tell anybody I did this fer you, and yer screwed, but tha favor still stands. Good luck with whateva tha fuck it ‘s, I don’t care and don’t wanna,” he insists, waving a hand at me.

“I appreciate it, mate, thank you.”

“Since when d’yeh have fricken manners, Hare? Yeh gettin’ soft on me, or sumthin’?” he giggles, crossing his pale arms riddled with black ink, one or two of them my own handiwork.

“Oh, would ya learn when t’ shut yer fuckin’ mouth, Zeke?” I scoff with a tut of my head, turning around and kicking a few beer bottles out of my path.

“Hare, a softie? It really mus’ be tha end o’ days a comin’,” he titters from behind me, soon the sound of his TerroVision roaring to life.

“Mention that t’ anyb’dy and ‘ll knock a few mo’ o’ yer teeth out, mate!” I counter, hearing the last few licks of his laugh before the door slams behind me.

“This shite better magic me way back onto her good side,” I sigh, turning the dark bottle over in my hands, watching the flecks of fluorescent orange trickle around, and wondering just what the hell I’m doing. “I need t’ fix me fuck up befo’ ‘s too late,” I say, shoving it into my pocket hurriedly and padding down a flight of chipped steps, my heart thumping harder with every step that nears her.

Her decadent smell of berries and cream welcomes me back first, and then the sound of her slow snores. Her Scooby Doo night light smiles at me ironically, shedding light on the piles of torn paper on the cream carpet. Never, did I feel so guilty. The dried tears staining her cheeks and the heart wrenching sniffling in her sleep only make matters worse. Her mattress sags under my weight and I watch how her chest rises and falls with every breath, a sensation I can’t remember experiencing, but then again, I’ve never tried to remember it. I thumb away the strands of golden hair cast over her face, her smell wafting over me when I brush my thumb against her warm skin. Toasty breaths against my hand remind me that they feel like icicles, and that somehow long ago, they used to feel like her. They used to feel human, and so did I.

“‘m so sorry, Josie, for ruinin’ yer books and clock. Pinky promise ‘ll fix ‘em. Right here and now,” I whisper softly, placing the wild strand of hair behind her ear adorned with an earring of a little, pink ice cream cone. Standing up, I look over my shoulder to make sure I didn’t wake her.

She’s not really a heavy sleeper or a light one, I’ve found, somewhere in the middle instead. With my back to her, my grimey shoes come to freeze before the flurry of colored paper below me. Nibbling at the inside of my cheek, fretting, I fish the bottle from my pocket. The brown cork slides from the opening easily with a pop! before I turn it around in my hands, finding Zekey’s chicken scratch on the other side.

After sprinkling on your screw up, chant these words and it’ll magic your mistake away, like it never happened. Three times is a charm.

Fixus Motalus

“Easy enuff,” I mutter, stuffing the cork away into a pocket. Tipping the bottle to the side, I tap my finger against it to watch the glowing dust fall to the floor. “Fixus Motalus. Fixus Motalus. Fixus Motalus,” I recite and within a blink, the pile of torn books sparkles before an imaginary wind kicks them up into a tornado of sorts, mending themselves back together before my smiling eyes.

My steps leave creaks along her carpeted floor, something I’ve always hated, because it gives me away. I just hope it won’t do that very thing now, when I need to remain in secrecy more than ever before.

“C’mon, Posie, where’s yer markers? They’ve gotta be here sumwhere, bein’ a little kiddie and all,” I sigh, my eyes searching her desk that, of course, is a baby pink. Only when I pull open a drawer do I find a stack of plain paper, and a plastic box chalk full of markers.

Plucking one of the papers from the stack and a blue marker, I quickly scrawl a note on it before the cap clicks! back onto the marker. I’m careful to shut the drawer quietly and to not move a thing from its place, besides the Aladdin water bottle on her bed stand. Beside it, I find room to place the shiny pile of books with her teacher’s name written on the front, and with my note sat on top.

She continues to snooze away, unknowing of my presence, and ignoring the crackling of glass below my feet at the end of her bed. As silence trickles through the house, I watch until every last sparkling fleck has fallen from the bottle to the floor, leaving it empty. A small tornado of sharp glass whirls into the air above the floor, and like a puzzle, they fit themselves back into the pink frame of the clock. With a whooooooosh!, it flies itself back up the wall and to the nail that it hung from, a shiny glint on its glass.

“I dunno what yer doin’ t’ me, Josephine May Stephens,” I cluck softly, hands stuffed in my pockets as I trudge over to her bed and find a seat in front of her. “But I know ‘s no good, that’s fo’sure . . cuz I think I may be gettin’ a soft spot for you . . and monsters don’t get soft spots for kiddies, we hate you lot typically. Yet, here I am, thinkin’ I might be likin’ a kiddie. ‘m in fer real trouble with you, aren’t I, lovie?”

* *

Sun stretches through my blinds the next morning, trying to reach me. Groaning, I turn over in my bed and call back to my mom when she knocks on my door, asking if I’m awake. Flying up to sit, my eyes race around the room, hoping she won’t walk in.

“Alright, honey. Breakfast is ready, come and eat before it’s cold.”

“Okay, Mom!” I reply, swinging my legs over the side of the bed as I lift the covers, accidentally hitting my bedside table. Something falls to the floor with a slap! and my tired eyes follow curiously.

“What was that? I didn’t have anything on the table last night,” I yawn, my feet falling onto the carpet. “Huh?” I exclaim with wonder, falling to my knees and picking up the pile of books, the very same stack that Harry shredded to pieces last night. Questions roll through my head and no answers come as I flip through the pages that are just like before, not even a page tear in sight. “This is really weird . . Am I still dreaming?” I mumble. Something tells me to lift my head and when I look at the wall, there sits my Hello Kitty clock with her arms telling me the time, ticking along just fine.

Huffing, I glance back to the books but they’re forgotten when I see a piece of paper on the floor. Wait, that wasn’t there before, was it? I never wrote a note or colored last night before bed. Reaching a hand out, I pick it up and find that this morning can only get weirder, and weirder.

“If only I could read you, because I bet you’re from Harry, and then all of this silliness would make sense to me,” I huff, stashing the note in my side table’s drawer and trudging downstairs, wondering what to expect tonight from the monster under my bed who signs his notes with a really bad drawing of a monster.

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lumenera · 4 years

Text

by night

word count: 1580 a/n: for my fam 💜 @trashingtrashmouth @heyim-aunicorn @sweet-ap0calypse this one's for you

"You ready?" I ask, and you nod. Robin's already sitting in the passenger seat, bouncing excitedly at the prospect, as if we've never done this before. We went out yesterday, and the day before that, but she gets a thrill from what she does. We’re proud of her. When we retire, we know the city will be in safe hands, even though that won't be for a long time.

You pull your long, dark hair into a braid. I rub my eyes, checking my contacts are in place. You tuck your necklace under your bodysuit, and I do the same, smiling at you, taking your hand. "Let's go before she decides we're too slow and drives away."

I slide into the driver's seat and start the engine. You take your seat in the back. Robin's fidgeting with her throwing stars, running the edges over a sharpening stone, until you put a hand on her shoulder and remind her that it's likely nothing big will happen tonight. The city's been quiet lately, but Robin has translated that to far too quiet. You don't blame her, though. I don't either. It's always good to take precautions. Better safe than sorry.

I keep my eyes on the road, braking at the red light in front of us. It's late at night, but there are still a few people milling about here and there. They watch as we pass by. They know what we're here for. The radio crackles once, then twice.

“Bank robbery on fourth street,” says Riya, calm and collected as ever. The light turns green. I press the gas pedal, and we're off. It's time to remind them who this city is protected by.

We reach fourth street in no time at all, and Robin jumps out with a flip. She hits the ground with both feet, rolls, and runs inside before the car has come to a complete stop, throwing stars flashing in the dark, illuminated by the lampposts. I move to exit the car, but you put a hand in my way.

I look at you, and I understand what you mean, without words. "Are you sure about this?”

“She’s more than capable," you reply. "Give her five minutes, I’m sure she’ll be done by then. Then, we can start working on a schedule that gives her her own patrols.”

“Then we have to pencil in driving lessons," I grin.

You snort, throwing a glance out the window to the darkened bank, where Robin is mostly likely thriving in her element. “Yeah, you get that one. I’m not getting in the car with her behind the wheel.”

It’s agony to wait, even though I have faith in her. There’s now way to know what she jumped into. It could be one robber, it could be ten. What if there are bystanders or hostages? Can she keep them from getting hurt?

No matter how good she is, she is my child, even though it may not be by blood. She is still my child, and I will always worry about her. You may have said she was more than capable, but every time I tilt my head towards you, your eyes are darting out the window, tapping your fingers on the inside of the car door.

The seconds tick by, but they feel like hours. When no more than five minutes have passed on the dot, she emerges, mask slightly askew, triumphant. You cheer.

“You could have told me it was a solo mission,” Robin complains when she slides back into the car.

“Spur of the moment decision,” you say. I shrug. Yes and no, we’d discussed it, but I didn’t know it was happening tonight either. But, I trust your judgement.

“I still would have liked to know.” Robin rolls her eyes. “I didn’t need the backup, but I still would have liked to know, y’know.”

“Well, you did great, love,” I say. “The situation is secure? Any injuries? Casualties?”

“Of course it is, no, and no,” she drawls out in a more pronounced form of her accent. “I was in and out before they knew what hit them. They’re tied up to the teller booth. Also, some of them might be missing mustaches.”

She wipes a throwing star with a cloth, leaving behind what looks like shortened hairs.

I ruffle her hair. She dodges. “Mom—”

“I’m proud of you,” I tell her with a laugh. I really am. Maybe not the mustache part, but I can’t control everything she does. Impromptu shaving sessions are the least of my worries.

Robin rolls her eyes. It seems to be a new thing of hers. I switch out of park and hit the gas pedal. We make it a block before the radio crackles again, Riya informing us of a fire on main street. Civilians inside. Robin cracks her knuckles, sliding her throwing stars back into her belt.

“You know the drill,” I say as I pull over on main street. Robin doesn’t need to be told twice. She slides on a pair of black gloves and hops out the car. You follow her, and I make sure the car is locked.

At least there’s no one around to insult my parking job. Other than me. I may have parked in the middle of the street, but being the one of the city's full time protectors means that no one cares. There are no other vehicles around, and I've left ample room for anyone on the other side of the street.

I hit the lock button on my keys one more time, just to be sure, sweeping my eyes over the situation. I hear the wail of firetrucks and ambulances in the air; they're not close enough.

People have started to gather on the sidewalk, but I herd them back. A chunk of flaming wood falls, and they scream.

Robin reappears, holding a civilian almost twice her size. You're right on her heels, a child clinging to your back and another in your arms, and one more holding onto the back of your bodysuit, coughing from the smoke.

"There's two more on the second floor!" you yell as you set the children down. "Robin, stay with them!"

"Okay!" Robin yells back. One of the children starts to cry, and that sets off the rest of the children. She starts talking to them in a low, soothing voice.

You turn right back around to the burning building. I lower my mask and start running in behind you.

Two middle-schoolers are huddled under a table, holding wet cloths to their noses. They look barely a few years younger than Robin. I reach out for the girl, who’s leg is wrapped up in a cast, tossing her crutches aside. You take the other, scooping him up with your arms. The girl latches onto my back, her grip slipping. I adjust my hands and lean forward so she won’t fall off.

“Hey, you’re gonna be okay,” I say. “We’ll get you guys out of here.”

You’re saying the same thing to the barely conscious boy you’re carrying, careful yet quickly maneuvering through the blazing hallway and down the stairs. I follow as hurriedly as possible. We don’t have time to spare.

“Anna’s safe?” I hear the boy ask weakly.

“Anna is okay,” you reassure him. “I carried her out myself.”

“Good,” he says with a cough, struggling to get the next words out. “Mom would kill me if anything happened to her.”

“Shhh shhh, don’t worry. She’s safe and so are you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He coughs again.

We take the door at a sprint as it crumbles behind us. I let the girl slide off my back when we reach the sidewalk.

“Where are my children?!” An angry voice demands, and a woman pushes her way to the front of the crowd. She gasps. “Anna! Dmitri!”

She wraps them up in a hug and starts crying. You step back to give them room, coming to stand next to me, squeezing my hand.

“Everyone is accounted for,” Robin says when she comes up to us. “Worst injuries are probably a couple burns and major dehydration.”

The ambulance and firetruck arrive. You make sure everyone is taken care of before coming back to the car. Robin tosses you your water bottle, and you take a drink before slipping off your mask to retie your hair.

I press a button on the wheel. “Hey, Riya, how’s it looking?”

“All clear so far,” comes her reply. “You guys took care of the fire?”

“Uh-huh,” Robin says. “Hey, Ri, where’s the nearest McDonald’s?”

“Robin,” you scold. “That’s not Riya’s job, and you know it.”

Riya laughs. “No can do, kiddo.”

Robin’s face distorts into a scowl, scrunching up her nose. “I’m not a kid.”

“You’ll always be a kid to me,” I cut in cheerfully.

“But I’m taller than you.”

“Hija.”

“Mom.”

“Mon amie.”

“Mom, tell her to stop,” she says to you.

I don’t stop. “我女.”

Robin crosses her arms with a pout. “If you’re going to keep doing that, can I drive?”

“No,” we say automatically. Riya chimes in with a no as well.

Then, “I’ve got a call about a cat? He escaped a third story apartment, and he’s currently in a tree and won’t come down.”

“What’s the street?”

“At the corner Jackson Boulevard and Louden Circle, sending the directions to you now.”

“Buckle in,” I say, turning the key.

Our night is only beginning.

translations: hija - daughter (spanish) mon amie - my love (french) 我女 - my daughter (cantonese)

#hana writes #del #robin #riya #mybatfam #family does not mean blood #did someone say vigilante lesbians #except not really because one of them is ace #but still #💜✨

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twstsimping · 4 years

Text

@just-patchy it’s your boY!!

I think there’s a little bit of swearing in here,,

I’m a sucker for angst with a happy ending

Wilting flowers

Not enough. It wasn’t enough!! Jay cursed as she lifted her magic pen again, reciting the incantation she’d committed to memory. A flurry of magic surrounded her, but still it refused to take form. Why? Why wasn’t it good enough?! She felt her frustration build up in the back of her throat, tears threatening to fall and she choked out the words again. The magic was weaker this time. It wasn’t fair! She was doing everything right! Annalise would be able to do this. She practically shouted the incantation one last time, magic flurrying around her in an explosion as she fell to the ground, dropping her magic pen.

“Mum? Are you ok?” A voice was at her side in an instant, laced with concern. Jay jumped, hurriedly wiping her eyes in an attempt to hide her earlier distress.

“Ah, Gian! What are you doing out so late?” She instinctively reached up to scratch behind his ears, but he grabbed her wrist, gently guiding her hand away. “What happened?” His voice was just as soft as usual, but it lacked the laziness. It sounded concerned, like he was pitying her. Looking down on her.

“I’m fine, I’m fine~ but shouldn't you be in bed? I want my favourite cat to be happy and healthy y’know?~” Jay was painfully aware of how forced and fake her voice sounded, and she knew it didn’t slip past Gian. He frowned at her, leaning in closer and peering in her eyes. “You don’t look so good.. if you couldn’t do the spell you should just give up y’know? Overworking yourself could hurt you..” he sighed, his expression turning a little bit playful, “if you really need me too I could carry you to bed~ a good son knows when to look after their mum after all.”

Jay knew that the comment was lighthearted. She knew he was trying to help her. But still… give up? What? Was he looking down on her? She didn’t need to give up! She just had to practice a bit more and it’d all be fine! Who did he think he was?! She slapped his hand away, gritting her teeth as she looked up at him, words spilling out before she could stop them. “Of course you’d be content with giving up. Someone as incompetent as you wouldn’t have a choice… but I have people who expect things of me! Unlike you, I have a reputation to uphold! So why don’t you just.. just keep your nose out of someone else business!” Her words were harsh. She flinched inwardly as she saw the mix of emotions cross his face. Sadness, confusion, anger. She felt sick.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. His brow furrowed and he looked around, and then back at her. “All I’m doing is trying to help!” His voice was a bit too strained, and he was painfully aware of the Kuro building in the back of his throat.

As if on cue, it started snowing. The white flakes only making the scene feel more melancholy. Jay shot it to her feet, no longer trying to hide her tears. “Help?! By telling me to give up?! If I give up then I’m nothing! But I guess you'd be happy as long as I kept buying you food! Is that it?!”

Gian got to his feet too, his brow knitted as he clenched and unclenched his fists, biting the inside of his mouth. It felt as if all the air had disappeared, and suddenly the inside of his mouth felt very dry. “No! I’d be happy if you weren’t working yourself half to death! But you’d never care about what made me happy! You’re too busy trying to fuel some… some hopeless delusion that you’re better than everyone! Well you’re not! You’re just a normal human like everyone else!” He wasn’t aware when he’d started shouting, but suddenly he felt unable to tame his voice. He didn’t feel guilty at the way she shrunk in. The way he could see the pain and betrayal flicker behind her eyes. This was for her own good, and she had to figure it out some way.

“How could you ever understand..? You’re just some fucking street rat who somehow managed to live a bit longer than the others… you’re just another asshole who could never understand!! And what makes you so much better than me anyway?! Huh?!” Jay furiously wiped her eyes. Who did this guy think he was?! He wasn’t better than her! She could pick out so many things that she did better than him! So why?! Why was he looking down on her?! She thought they were friends! She thought that he’d understand!

“It’s just like you said! I’m just some street rat! I should’ve died ages ago! Because then there wouldn’t be anyone to stand up to you, right?! Because then you’d be able to scare everyone off with your tears and your shouting! You’d get them to pity you, just so that they wouldn’t stop you! But I’ve seen my fair share of crocodile tears! I’m not letting you get away that easily!” Now he was crying too. Proper tears that fell from his eyes to the ground and left marks on the slowly building snow. He knew that she was going through something, but still! Damnit, couldn’t she see she was hurting him too?!

“I never asked anyone to pity me! You can’t get in my way for fucks sake! If god never gave me any gifts then I just have to make them myself!” Jay was angry now. It was the kind of anger that she always tried so hard to repress. The kind that seeped under her skin and made her cry at night when no one was watching. But it was here now. It’d broken out and all the years of shame and disappointment had broken out with it.

“Stop blaming god! You just don’t wanna accept that you’re not the best at everything! You wanna blame some supernatural force so no one can blame you! But I’m standing here, blaming you!” Gian stepped forwards, grabbing her arm. He forced it to the side, glaring into her eyes. His own vision was slightly blurred with tears that he desperately tried to bat away.

“Get.. off!” Jay snapped, her voice sounding weaker than she intended as she jerked her arm away. She stepped backwards, trying to regain her balance, but the snow shifted beneath her feet and she found herself falling, pulling Gian with her.

Thud.

The ground was soft, a cushion of snow saving her back. But the cold came in like a wave, seeping through her skin and into her bones. She inhaled sharply at the sudden change in temperature, trying to make sense of the last few moments. That was until she realised.. “Gian?!” She shot up, eyes darting around the snow. Her eyes quickly landed on the cat boy, who was slowly sitting up, rubbing his head and pouting slightly. They made eye contact for a second.

“Eh?” Gian was about to say something when Jay practically tackled him into the snow, openly sobbing as she clung onto him. “Sorry.. I’m sorry! I- I was just—! I just wanted to— I wanted to be good enough..!” She sobbed, burying her face in his chest. “I said some really horrible things! A— and I didn’t mean it! You mean the world to me and I—!”

She was cut off by a soft giggle. Gian patted her head, his giggle slowly turning into a laugh. “You think sorry will cut it? Eh? You said some really mean things y’know?” He was slightly surprised at how calm his voice came out. He bit his lip as it trembled slightly, tears still falling down into the snow. “If you really wanna make it up to me, you’re gonna have to do more than that, y’know?” He purred slightly as he spoke, his tale flicking from side to side as a sign that he was fully relaxed.

“Eh?! No fair!” Jay sniffled and wiped her tears, pouting up at him, struggling to hide the smile creeping onto her face. “What do I have to do then? Master Gian! Please, have mercy~!” She giggled and reached up to pat his head, hand snaking behind his ears to scratch the, smiling at how his ears twitched and he started purring slightly louder.

“Hmmm…” Gian paused, pretending to muse, before saying, “maybe head pats would help?” He grinned and pulled her tighter into a hug, shaking off the thin layer of snow that had settled on his shoulders and head. He paused for a second, then with a sly grin he continued, “winters pretty, right?”

Jay paused, slightly confused, before nodding and making a grunt of affirmation. Gian continued, “but flowers are also really pretty too. So if winter comes around, all the pretty flowers die.” Jay furrowed her brow, blinking up at him a few times to show she didn’t understand where he was going with this. She opened her mouth to speak but he quickly shushed her.

“But it’s the flowers that bloom in winter which are the prettiest.” Gian paused, smiling like he was proud of himself, before frowning and saying, “I don’t really know where I was going with that…” his train of thought was cut out when Jay kept out a wail, burying her face in his chest and sobbing something practically inaudible and him being ‘so poetic’.

Gian laughed, getting to his feet and pulling her up, drinking in the familiar scent which never failed to relax him. “Next time you decide to be some weirdo freak perfectionist, maybe do it when it’s a bit less cold.” She shivered and shook off yet again. The snow was now falling heavily, numbing the tips of his fingers.

#twst oc #twisted wonderland #fanfic #jay blanc #Gian Sidhe #i havent proof read this at all

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looselucy · 5 years

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Out of Reach

May 25th “I literally can’t get over it. Like… it doesn’t seem right.” Louis exhaled beside me, the two of us stood shoulder to shoulder behind the counter at work.

“It’s not right. Chloe and Sam?” Libby seemed almost disgusted, standing on the other side ahead of us. “It’s messed up on so many levels, I literally… I still don’t know what to say about it.” We’d seen them together that morning, meaning that something we’d all been ignoring for the past ten days could no longer be evaded. I suppose since it had all been happening behind closed doors, that made it easier to ignore, reject. But we’d seen them holding hands just outsides PJ’s café, and since they’d decided to take their little affiliation public, it opened up the discussion I’d been dreading. “How’re you feeling about it?” Libby asked me. “Um… I don’t even know. I’ve been trying not to think about it, to be honest. I don’t wanna be mad, it’s too draining and it… It won’t get me anywhere. I just don’t want them to be together. At all.” “What a mess.” Louis huffed. “I dunno how to feel about any of it.” “Same. Like, she rang me the other day and I didn’t even answer.” Libby told us. “I couldn’t!” “Fuck that, I don’t want that!” I cried. “Oh god, I hate this so much. When did everything get so fucked up?” I didn’t want people ignoring her, through sheer awkwardness or for my sake. I didn’t want people feeling like they had to pick sides or be angry on my behalf. I didn’t want any of the bullshit that was happening, but I couldn’t be surprised that the rest of them were feeling the affects of this new coupling too. We were all too close for me to pretend I was the only one who had strong thoughts on the two of them getting together. “I don’t know what his aim is, y’know.” Louis said to me. “Like… when was the last time you saw him? Harry’s birthday, like a month ago? And he was still bitter as fuck about you two breaking up, like… I don’t know. It’s just a bit of a red flag.” “You don’t think he even likes her?” Libby yapped. “I just dunno how you can switch from being bitter about your ex to being with her best mate so quickly. Like, that doesn’t add up to me.” “If he hurts her, I swear to god I’ll actually fucking murder him.” I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. I hadn’t even thought of it like that, but he made a fair point. Ever since we’d broken up, Sam had shown one minor sign of being civil and okay with it all, and even then, he ended it by making foul comments about Harry and how he predicted he felt towards me. Sam had been consistently awful to me thanks to his bitterness about our breakup, but I didn’t think he’d stoop that low, to be with Chloe just to hurt me. He’d shown the worst of himself in recent months, but I still didn’t believe him to be all bad. “I know I need to talk to her, have a proper conversation, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.” I eventually heaved, bringing my head back upwards. “Don’t rush it.” Libby shrugged. “I mean… I’m sure you’ll fix things, in time, but you’re allowed to be pissed off. I mean… it was a shit move. I’d be out for blood if I was you.” “But it wasn’t done to hurt me, was it? It wasn’t done through spite.” “But she still did it.” Libby was tough, as ever. “Like… If me and Lou broke up… I wouldn’t care how bad stuff got, if any of you lot ever went near him, I’d lose my head. I wouldn’t get over that, no matter the circumstances.” Louis seemed to like her statement, each syllable she’d spewed lifting his lips into a bright and beautiful smile. “I love you.” He told her sweetly. “I love you too.” She softened, like she only ever really did for him. Seeing them so happy and madly in love was both amazing and excruciating. To have them share those words with such ease and such honesty, like love was the easiest thing in the world. My envy was irrefutable. “You two are so lucky.” I mumbled. “It seems so… perfect.” “We took our time though.” Louis said. “Too long! I can’t believe after we kissed you went all defensive! Acting like it didn’t mean anything and you didn’t want more!” “What? I was scared!” He wailed, the two of them laughing at his foolishness before Libby leaned across the counter to share a quick kiss with him. “Okay, I’ve gotta go to work.” She told us. “Don’t have a fun Saturday night without me, right?” “I’ll probably just come sit on the other side of the bar. Keep you company.” Louis smiled. It was like they never wanted to be apart, and though I wanted to smile and blush over the way they were with each other, I found my face unable to be anything but stern as I watched them say their goodbyes, Louis walking around to the other side of the counter to do it properly. I thought of Harry more than I cared to admit. More than I could admit, given I felt I was going through the whole thing entirely by myself. I’d rang my dad a few days earlier, poured my heart out, cried for a solid hour as he tried to make out my words through my tears, but it wasn’t quite the same. When I shared with my closest friends, my words were accompanied by a brutal honesty that simply wasn’t quite there with my dad. But then there was this other part of me that was glad none of them knew, that I could just get through it on my own without it being a constant concern or conversation. It was tiring enough having to discuss what was going on with Chloe and Sam, I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to have them asking me about Harry too. He'd been absent from my life since he’d told us all he planned on moving away, and I believed it was likely he’d already gone. It wasn’t like he received a positive reaction from any of us, and I thought he would have found it easier to up and leave without a word. It certainly wouldn’t have been out of character either. I was almost angry at myself for missing him as much as I was. I wished I could be stronger than that, see it all as a good thing, because if he truly couldn’t love me then there was nothing more to give, nothing left to say. I didn’t want to miss him and have my heart ache so much, because how he’d acted and the things he’d said and the way he’d dragged my heart around, teased it with the idea of love, was not something to be desired or missed. And yet. “See you soon!” Libby called after their kiss, the bell ringing as she let herself out of my shop. “Don’t work too hard!” “Even if I wanted to.” I groaned bitterly. For a Saturday we were exceptionally quiet, which was sometimes a blessing, but as the year went on with more speed than I could fathom, my financial worries were at the forefront of my mind during most of my days at work. Whenever it got too quiet, all I could think about was the thousands of pounds that I needed to fund my mother’s care that I didn’t have. Quiet days made me feel so uneasy. It sort of felt like everything at that time made me feel uneasy. “Right… Do you need me to do owt?” Louis turned back around to face me. “I don’t think so. We’re all caught up, even with the boring work.” “Need me to go and… drag innocent villagers indoors and force them to buy wine?” “Yes!” I chuckled. “Brilliant idea.” He crinkled his nose momentarily before leaning on the counter and speaking gently. “Don’t worry about money. We’ll sort it. We’ll figure it out, I promise.” “I appreciate the positivity,” I sighed. “M’just not really feeling too positive about it myself right now.” “Understandable. But… if we’ve gotta take some extra steps, then we will.” “Like what?” “I dunno, I’ve been thinking maybe like… tasting events? Invite people here, get ‘em all drinking.” “That’s not a bad idea!” “Right? Get people drunk on half decent wines that we don’t sell much of, next they’ll be spending too much money on overpriced wine, and we’ll be laughing.” “How have I not thought about this? Why do I have zero initiative?” I wailed. “You’ve got enough on your mind. We’ve already got the license to have people drink here, so it’d be easy to sort.” “You’re a genius. If you weren’t madly in love with my best friend, I’d propose right now.” “Anything to help.” He shrugged, totally nonchalant. “Also, I have to say… Pretty bold move. Turning Harry’s money offer down like that.” I groaned, even rolled my eyes, stumbling across another conversation I’d wished to avoid. I was glad it hadn’t come up earlier; I suppose money is always a touchy subject, always difficult to discuss. “I know you probably think I’m stupid-” “I don’t.” He cut me off quickly. “I thought it was class, to be honest. And I think it took guts, so props to ya.” “I feel like there’s a but…” “But-” He confirmed my suspicions, chuckling lightly. “I just don’t want you to forget that it’s an option, y’know? Even if it’s just… the last bit of money you need to get to the final amount. I know it’s a weird thing, and probably not the most comfortable, but… Sometimes you’ve gotta put pride and comfort aside for the greater good, know what I mean?” “Well… I doubt the offer will be on the table from New York.” I dismissed. “And I don’t wanna set out to do this with a fallback plan anyway, so…” “Alright. I just wanted to put my thoughts out there.” I heard the bell chime before I noticed someone had welcomed themselves into the shop, the two of us greeting our new customer with friendly smiles. I was thankful for a route out of that conversation. “Afternoon.” Louis chirped. “Hi.” The woman chirped back before heading out onto the shop floor, looking carefully through our collection. “M’gunna go make myself look busy.” Louis leaned across the counter and whispered. “Gimme a shout if you need anything.” He walked away, heading towards a nearby shelf to do something close to nothing so it appeared as though we were actually running a business rather than just chatting and drinking brews all day. “Are you looking for anything specific or just browsing?” I offered my help, eager for a sale. “Browsing.” She turned to me and smiled. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.” I wasn’t even sure she’d finished talking before my face completely dropped, staring at her in disbelief, wondering if my mind was simply playing tricks on me, convincing me of something completely false, finding familiarity within a face I’d actually never seen. I knew I recognised her, but it was where I recognised her from that seemed impossible to believe, impossible to even comprehend. But my gut was telling I was right. I kept thinking of the picture of her that I’d once seen, and I knew. It was Harry’s mum. Harry’s mum was right there in my shop. For a while I didn’t move, my mouth wide as she perused the collection we had, none the wiser. There was a part of me that was worried I was jumping to conclusions, but the likeliness she had with the picture I’d seen was far too close to dismiss. She almost looked exactly the same as she had in the photo Harry had shown me; a few more wrinkles, shorter hair, but I could see so clearly that it was her, there wasn’t really any doubt in my mind, just complete disbelief. “Holy shit.” I whispered to myself before leaping to my feet and darting over to Louis, grabbing his shoulder briskly and whispering harshly in his ear. “Please keep her busy, I need to do something.” “Huh?” “Just make sure she doesn’t leave! Do what you’re good at, get your charm on, I’ll be… two minutes.” “Everything okay?” “It’s fine!” I rushed towards the back of the shop, needing to get out of earshot from the two of them, so I headed towards the cellar, scrambling to get my phone out of my pocket as quickly as possible. As I got to the top of the stairs, I managed to finally yank the item free, so frantic in my attempts that I immediately dropped it, hearing and watching it smash down each and every step before it landed with an almighty thud right on the concrete at the bottom. “For fuck sake.” I seethed, bolting down to the stairs and cursing as I took each step. I crouched down and grabbed my phone from the floor as soon as I could, falling backwards and sitting myself on one of the steps as I inspected the damage, the screen completely shattered but it seemed to still be working. As quickly as I could, I squinted my eyes, found Harry’s name in my contacts and called him, checking back over my shoulder to see the empty doorway at the top of the wooden stairs before turning back around, feeling sick over the sound of the dial tone. I didn’t even think he’d answer to me, not after everything. I thought he’d see my name on his screen and purposefully avoid the call. But he answered. “Fee?” “Harry, where are you? Please tell me you’re still in Rosebury? Please.” “I’m here, I’m at home. What’s happening? Where are you?” He picked up on the panic in my voice and immediately panicked himself. “You need to come to the shop right now.” “What’s happening?” “Please just-” “Alfie, you’re worrying me! What’s happening?” “Shit. I don’t… I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just gunna… spit it out.” I took a moment, calmed myself down. “Your mum’s here. Your mum is here in my shop, right now.” He was quiet for so long that I pulled my phone away from my face to check he was actually still there and we hadn’t been cut off, but of course he couldn’t find the right thing to say. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how he felt hearing that, knowing his mother was just minutes away from him after he’d waited for so many years, looked for her, written to her and bought a house for her. How could he possibly find the right thing to say? “I can keep her here, I can stall her, but you have to get here now.” I blurted after a while, but he still didn’t say anything. “Harry?” “I… Yeah, m’here. Sorry.” He murmured. “You don’t have to be sorry. I get that this… This is a lot, but… you have to get here before she leaves. Please. Please get here as soon as you can, okay?” “Okay.” He replied, voice monotonic. “Okay.” I shuddered. “I’ll see you soon.” “Yeah.” He said, and then the line cut dead. I placed my phone down beside me and dropped my head into my hands, needing to gather myself before heading back upstairs so I didn’t end up just driving her away. I had to try and remain calm, casual, not let onto the fact that I knew exactly who she was and that her son who she hadn’t seen for almost seven years was on his way to see her. I felt the complete opposite of calm.

An hour passed before Julia had left my store, a smile on her face and three new bottles of wine purchased. An hour we’d managed to keep her there. Harry had never shown up. It wasn’t uncommon that we’d get chatting with someone friendly, give them a drink or two and form a nice little relationship with them, not only because it usually guaranteed a sale, but it was nice. However, an hour was a rather substantial visit, and by the time she was buying her bottles I felt like any more attempts to make her stay would have been too irregular to pass off. Besides, Harry had made it clear that he wasn’t going to show up. His house was less than a five minute walk away from my shop, and she had been there for a fucking hour after I’d called him and he hadn’t shown up. I had to admit to myself that there was no need for me to keep her there. We’d closed up shop not long after she’d left, and my plan had been to go upstairs, have an evening to myself and attempt to ignore what had happened, but I couldn’t. I needed to speak to Harry. The sun was beginning to set when I found myself taking the path leading to his home, all too familiar with every stone beneath my feet, every tree surrounding me that sheltered his home. It wasn’t the first time I’d taken that path feeling so restless, so unhappy. But I imagined it would be my last. I hadn’t wanted to go there feeling so wound up, but it seemed to be an emotion I couldn’t supress, so by the time I’d pounced onto his porch and knocked on his door, I was loud, brazen. He was bound to know it was me. I was the only person around who was kind of in the position where I could go to his house, because even after everything, it was still a place he kept completely closed off from everyone other than me. So when he answered the door with his head already down, I wasn’t surprised. He must have been expecting me to show up. “Where were you?” My voice was quiet, stern, but he didn’t say a thing. He didn’t even lift his head to look at me. “Why didn’t you show up?” Even when I’d gathered that he wasn’t going to turn up, I hadn’t wanted to intervene too much, to tell Julia what I knew and send her his way. It had needed to be him coming to her, not the other way around. It didn’t even feel like an option to tell her where he was and put that weight in her hands. He remained quiet, a look of guilt heavy around his tired eyes. “She was right there, Harry! She was right fucking there!” I cried. “This was your chance and you… you let it slip through your fingers.” “I… I couldn’t.” He hushed. “What… What do you mean?” “I just couldn’t. I tried, but-” “How the hell do ever expect to feel better about what happened when you don’t even dare see her? How do you think you’re gunna be able to move on and feel okay if you don’t let yourself?” “It’s not as easy as that.” “It is!” I yelped, tears in my eyes. “You were looking for her a few weeks ago! What the fuck changed? I don’t understand!” “I’m leaving tomorrow.” He was shaking, maybe ashamed. “I… I couldn’t see the point, I-” “That’s bullshit. You’re such a coward. You’re such a fucking coward.” My tears finally began to fall as I produced my words with quite some bite. “She was right there, Harry! You chose to miss her and I… I don’t understand why. I’m just so frustrated with you, it breaks my heart! That was your chance to get what you’ve wanted for years and you just… You just…” I burst into tears. I was utterly irritated with him and the choice he’d made that afternoon, but more than anything I just felt so terrible for him. Because I knew it wasn’t some simple choice; that he’d thought it over and decided not to see her because of idleness or indifference. I knew full well it would have absolutely killed him, and all the damage and agony that had occurred over the years had lead him to believe he shouldn’t see her, or couldn’t see her. It was so heart-breaking to witness him deprive himself of growth that way. It was so reflective of the boy I’d first met, not the boy I’d fallen in love with. “I’m not gunna force myself back into her life. I can’t do it.” He lifted his head, nostrils broadening as he held back tears. “I won’t fucking do it. She’s better off without me. She-” “Snap out of it, Harry! Do you even hear yourself? You won’t know unless you try, and this was your chance! I know it’s scary and I know you fucked up before, but that was a long time ago! You owe it to yourself!” I blubbered, reaching to grasp my fingers tightly at his t-shirt. “I’m so angry with you. I’m so fucking angry.” “I’m sorry.” He was physically shaking, tears finally beginning to pour over. “You can’t talk about how much you miss her and how much you wanna fix things and then not fucking show up when she’s here. You’re a fucking coward.” I yanked him forward only to push him back. “Stop being so scared! Stop pushing people away!” “But Jack-” He blurted, and very swiftly stopped himself. “Jack what?” I snapped. “Nothing.” “Harry!” “I’m sorry.” He wept, wrapping his hand around mine, not to try and tease my touch away from his clothing, more like he just wanted to feel my skin against his. “Stop saying you’re fucking sorry and just fix it! Fuck.” He pulled me into him, the two of us throwing our arms around each other and just hugging, holding each other as tightly as we physically could. My suspicions over exactly what had happened with Jack and what he had said to him the night he turned up were becoming more sinister every single time it entered my mind. I knew that what he’d done, stealing his work and his faux apologies, had been bad enough in itself; but I was sure something had been said that he wasn’t telling me. It was after that night that everything seemed to change, that I could literally see the evolution of his character diminish before my eyes. Something menacing must have been said, because it wasn’t just that Harry seemed like he had when he first appeared in Rosebury, because he was worse. He moved there with the intention of finding his mum. Mere weeks earlier, if he’d known she was in town, he would have been there in seconds. Jack had fucked with his head so much that he couldn’t even bring himself to face the one person who he’d been seeking for years. His arms trapped themselves around my waist, mine around his neck, running my fingers through his hair as he buried his face against my neck, the feel of his lips light against my skin. It was difficult to comprehend how being close with him pained me so much but felt so right. He practically pulled me inside without unwrapping himself, taking steps backwards and dragging me with him. “Please talk to me.” I gasped gently. “I just wanna understand what changed, please.” “I… I can’t.” He mumbled bleakly. “Please, Harry.” “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He wept. “It’s just not right. I don’t wanna fuck it up. I’d fuck it up.” “You wouldn’t.” I shuddered, squeezing tighter. He really thought she would be better off without him. And even though he was totally wrong about that, it was clear that he wasn’t as ready as he once had been, for whatever reasons. He needed more time. He needed to take a step back and see things clearly, heal once more, because in recent weeks a haze had built around his life that he could not shine a light through. The real problem was that from what I could see, he wasn’t even trying to. He lifted his face and put his hands on my waist, gripping me forcefully as he rested his forehead against mine, eyes closed, noses touching. We were too close, too overwhelmed with emotions to think straight. I took a step back, my attempts to distance falling flat as he moved with me, my back crashing against the wall as he opened his eyes and stared deep into mine. The composition of my beaten breath was fluctuating, watching his eyes fall down to my lips. I tried to block it out, but then I picked up on his breathlessness, the minor way in which he pulled at my waist to bring my body closer to his, the subtle tilt of his head, his lips lulling themselves closer to mine. “Harry-” I whispered. “Please.” His voice was dull, a desperate call for forbidden affection. “No. We can’t.” I gasped. The only thing I wanted more than to close the miniature gap between our lips was for my heart to start healing, and that wouldn’t happen if I let myself kiss him. “I can’t leave without kissing you, Fee. I can’t.” “Stop!” I cried, losing my patience and pushing him away from me. “You can leave without kissing me, because that’s exactly what you’re doing!” “Well then I don’t want to!” He snapped, voice raising. “Harry stop fucking with my head!” I yelled back at him. “I get that you’re having a hard time right now and your feelings are all over the place, but I am not just some fucking void for you to try and figure that out!” “Fuck, that’s not- I don’t-” “It’s so unfair! Think of my feelings!” “I AM!” He shouted, before immediately dropping his head, like he was stopping himself from saying something he might regret. “I’m sorry, but I… I’m sorry. I didn’t think, I’m sorry.” It was quite clear that he wasn’t in a good place, and it hurt to admit that I didn’t feel like I was strong enough to help him. My heart had completely shattered when he’d told me he couldn’t love me, and I wanted to look out for myself, care for myself before caring for him even though it was clear he needed it. But due to the state of my heart and with him moving away the following day, it left me feeling powerless. “I need to go.” “Fee-Fee, I need you to know how sorry I am.” “For what? Which part?” I scowled. He stopped breathing for a few seconds, looked right me, and then exhaled. “All of it.” I wiped away my tears, lifted my head up high, composed myself. Harry genuinely looked weak. I hated what had happened to us. “I have to go. I can’t drag this out anymore, I have to go.” It was difficult to truly comprehend exactly when things got so disordered, so completely excruciating. It seemed to me that the days where I’d seen the two of us and our relationship as this beautiful, powerful thing were only just out of reach; something the tips of my fingers could still touch, the taste of us still resting lightly upon my lips and heavy upon my heart. It was so close but so far away I could barely see it, barely recognise what we were, or what I thought we’d been. Shaking, I stepped towards the doorway, about to walk out, walk away from him completely, but then I stopped, remembering something I knew I needed to share with him. “She lives in Cheshire.” “Huh?” “I was talking to her, and I found out she lives in Cheshire now. Holmes Chapel. So if you ever pluck up the courage, that’s where she’ll be.” He looked completely amazed, lips parted and eyes wide but silent. And in those seconds before I left, I understood why he’d wanted to kiss me, regardless of everything. Because I had to look at us then and accept that this was our goodbye. This pain. This uncertainty. This agony. It didn’t feel right and we deserved more than that, but there was nothing more to give. Maybe I should have kissed him. I’d never know whether kissing him would have made our goodbye sweeter or unbearably bitter. “And if you ever pluck up the courage… this is where I’ll be.” I sighed. With those words, I left, hoping that I’d see him again in brighter times, when he’d learnt how to destroy thunderous clouds in order for the sun to finally shine and give light to a life he’d allowed to be shrouded in darkness. I hoped I’d see him again in days where I’d be able to smile when I saw his face again rather than feel like I’d been hit in the gut. I hoped he’d come back one day, even just to visit, so we could have something good, something kinder than that awful goodbye. I truly hoped that a shared sense of peace wasn’t completely out of reach for us. But until then, that goodbye was all we had. And it hurt.

#HAPPY READING MY FRIENDS #HBS39 #how are we genuinely getting into the last ten chapters??? I'm sad

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moonlight-breeze-44 · 4 years

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Blood and Bruises

Read on AO3

When a mission goes sideways, Alec finds himself in the last place he should be: the training room. Luckily, Jace and Izzy are there to pull him back from his dark place.

Trigger warning: Self harm, mentions of blood (as portrayed in the show)

“Okay, I’m here,” Jace said as he joined Isabelle outside the training room. “What’s so important you couldn’t tell me over the phone?”

“It’s Alec,” Isabelle said, and pointed just in front of them, to the training room, which was ablaze with lights despite the late hour. Jace stepped up closer to the door and peered inside. He immediately saw what Isabelle meant.

His parabatai was wailing on a punching bag like it’d killed his family, and he showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

“He’s been like that for hours,” Isabelle stated, bringing Jace’s attention back to her. “I knocked and called to him and tried to get him to come out, but he wouldn’t even look at me, Jace. I don’t know what to do here.”

Jace sighed, running a hand over his face. “You know this isn’t the first time he’s done this, right, Izzy?”

She blanched, her expression going snow-white. “Yeah, I know. The day before he almost married Lydia, he trained in here for an hour or so, even though he had that Forsaken wound.” She frowned. “He wouldn’t let me heal it.”

Jace nodded in recognition at her story. “That’s right. And then when that demon killed Jocelyn, he shot arrows off the roof all night long. He would have kept going, too, if I hadn’t found him. His hand was dripping blood that night, and he wouldn’t talk to me.” The golden-haired boy laughed bitterly. “He jumped off a fucking roof to avoid me.” Jace bit his lip, a dark cloud passing over his alabaster eyes. “You know, when he jumped like that, for a minute there, I thought…” He trailed off.

“You thought what?”

“I thought he had actually, y’know, jumped.”

Isabelle recoiled in horror. “He would never.”

Jace nodded towards the training room, a dark look in his eyes. “Don’t be so sure.”

“We’ve got to get him out of there,” Isabelle stated plainly after a few seconds had passed. “He’s hurting, Jace. We can’t just leave him.”

“Alright,” Jace sighed. “It’s your funeral.”

The dark-haired girl turned on him with anger in her eyes. “You act like you don’t even care!”

Jace recoiled as if she had slapped him across the face. “Of course I care!”

“Then start acting like it!” Isabelle retorted. “You’re his parabatai! Go talk some sense into him!”

Jace sighed and said, “I’m not trying to come off like I don’t care about what he’s doing to himself, Izzy. You know I care. He’s my best friend, my brother. I just don’t know if we should, that’s all. What if he takes it badly and ends up doing worse?”

For a minute, she looked frightened, but then Isabelle’s hard resolve was back in a flash. “I guess that’s a risk we’ll just have to take.”

“Okay. I trust you, Izzy.”

She snorted as he went to twist the doorknob. “Rookie mistake.” She was rewarded by a small, lopsided grin from Jace as they both ducked into the training room.

Jace was disturbed to see that through all of the times he had been privy to Alec’s self-destructive tendencies, nothing quite rivaled what met his eyes then.

His parabatai was dressed in black training pants and a loose-fitting t-shirt, and his thick black hair was matted with sweat and clung to his forehead. The punching bag he was still working over, despite their presence in the room, was red leather, which was probably intentional. Despite this, Jace could still make out the darker shade of blood coating the bag. He chanced a quick look at Alec’s knuckles in between punches and wasn’t surprised to see that they were horribly shredded. Blood seeped out of the raw slivers of skin, dripping into the palm of his hand. Although the blood almost covered his hands entirely, it wasn’t enough to stop Jace from noticing the nasty bruises that snaked all the way up to his wrist.

“Alec, stop,” he implored his best friend. “Please.”

Isabelle did a double take. If there was one thing she thought she was sure of, it was that Jace Wayland did not say ‘please’.

“No, Jace,” Alec grit out through clenched teeth. “Leave me alone.”

Out of options, Jace reached out and caught the punching bag in its tracks. He knew Alec wouldn’t dare swing at it now, for fear of knocking his parabatai off his feet.

“Jace, move,” Alec said. The hard edge was gone from his voice, and now it was turned over to something along the lines of desperation.

“No, Alec,” Jace replied, his jaw set in a straight line. “I won’t let you keep hurting yourself like this.”

“I deserve it,” Alec mumbled.

“What did you say?” Isabelle stepped forward for the first time since she and Jace had entered the training room.

“Nothing,” Alec said. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I think we all heard what you said, brother,” Jace said gently. “And it’s not true.”

“Yes, it is!” Alec shouted. “I let those shadowhunters take on a Greater demon by themselves, Jace, and I never should have! It was a stupid decision and I’m the only one to blame for it. I’m the Head of the Institute, it’s my job to make sure they’re safe!” His voice broke and wavered as he said, much quieter than before, “They died because of me.”

Jace reached out a hand to his parabatai, but Alec was already turning away and reaching for his bow and quiver, which rested behind him in a heap. He strapped the arrows to his back, picked up his bow, and was out the door before either of his siblings had a chance to react.

Jace shook his head at Isabelle, releasing his tight grip on the punching bag. “See what I mean?”

Isabelle ignored him. “Any idea where he’s going next?”

“The roof, probably,” Jace scoffed, “but I don’t know what more you think we’re going to be able to do for him up there than we did down here.”

“Jace,” Isabelle hissed. “The roof.”

Jace’s head snapped up to meet her dark, coal-like eyes. “Izzy, he wouldn’t.” Despite his words, the older boy couldn’t help the cold shiver that ran down his spine.

“You said so yourself,” she reminded him. “Don’t be so sure.”

Jace sucked in a breath slowly. “Iz, he’s my parabatai. I think I’d feel it if he was going to do...that.”

“Well, for fuck’s sake, Jace, we can’t just leave him up there!” Isabelle rounded on him angrily. “He’s fucking hurting himself and you act like everything is alright!”

“Dammit, Izzy!” Jace wheeled around and threw a single punch to the red bag hanging next to him. When he pulled his hand back and noticed Alec’s blood on his fist, he had to fight the urge to be sick.

Jace sank to the floor and buried his face in his hands. “It’s not alright,” he admitted hoarsely to the girl standing over him. “I know it’s not alright. I’ve known for a while, actually.” He peered up over his hands at Isabelle. “He started this shit when we were kids, you know. Whenever Maryse would yell at him, tell him to do better and uphold the Lightwood name and all that shit, he’d come in here at like midnight and train like hell.” He chuckled humorlessly. “How do you think he got so good at archery?”

Isabelle took a seat next to him on the floor, the momentary anger at her adoptive brother all but gone. “What do we do, Jace?”

The older boy sighed sadly. “I’ve been asking myself that question for years, Iz.”

~ ~ ~

Alec’s hand screamed out in protest at the repeated movement of notching his arrow and then releasing it into the night sky, but he ignored it. He reached for another from his quiver and tried to let the pain in his hand guide his mind away from what had happened that afternoon.

Three young shadowhunters, vivacious and eager to please, had requested permission to go on a mission involving a Greater demon; against his better judgment, Alec had agreed. They were the top of their class, and they deserved a chance to prove themselves.

He laughed bitterly to himself as he notched another arrow and let go of the bow string so it soared into the tower five hundred feet away, straight and true.

Look how well that turned out.

Alec hadn’t found out until late that evening; he was about to finish up the last of his paperwork and retire for the night when his aide had come knocking frantically on his door. Apparently, a single Greater demon wasn’t the case at all - there were three, and the inexperienced, young shadowhunters had all perished.

Alec flexed his hands, relishing in the pain of the movement. He should have known. Greater demons rarely travelled alone. He should have realised there would be more. He never should have sent the three shadowhunters out to deal with them alone. It was stupid. He was stupid.

He reached a hand back to grab another arrow from his quiver and tried not to grimace at the pain of his injuries.

I deserve it.

~ ~ ~

Jace was the first to stand, offering a hand to help Isabelle up. She took it, rising to her feet and brushing imaginary dirt from her pants. “Where do we go from here?” she muttered, more to herself than to Jace.

“I don’t know,” the older boy admitted. “Before, when he did it, I tried to help at first. The pain through our bond would wake me up in the middle of the night sometimes, if it was really bad. I could feel him hurting, Izzy. The turmoil - god, sometimes I’m not even sure how he’s made it this far.” He shook his head ruefully. “I’d come in here, and I’d beg him to put his bow down, or stop with the punching bag already. But he always ignored me. One time, I tried to manhandle it away from him and drag him back to his room, but that went even worse.”

“What happened?” Isabelle asked curiously.

“That was the first time he ever punched me.”

Despite the situation, Isabelle felt a small smile turn up the corners of her lips. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“I guess let’s just go and see if we can somehow make him listen to us, then,” she said to Jace. “I know it seems kind of hopeless, and with Alec, maybe it is, since he’s so damn stubborn. But we have to at least try. We can’t just leave him up there.”

Jace nodded in agreement. “Come on.” With that, he led Isabelle out of the training room and up the stairs that led to the roof.

When they reached Alec, neither of them were surprised to see him shooting arrows into the distance. They were surprised, however, to see that there was a small pool of blood at his feet. Isabelle blanched, throwing a sidelong glance at Jace.

Shit, this is serious.

“Alec,” Jace started, walking towards his parabatai slowly, like he was a skittish animal that could be spooked. In a way, Jace supposed, he was. “What happened to those three shadowhunters wasn’t your fault. You have to know that.”

Meanwhile, Isabelle placed herself directly in front of Alec’s target, blocking him from shooting any more arrows.

Alec held his bow rigidly, arrow notched and ready to fire. “Move, Izzy.”

She shook her head. “No can do, brother. You’re scaring me.”

Guilt coloured Alec’s bright blue eyes, but he still didn’t put his bow down. “I’m fine,” he tried, but Jace cut him off with a harsh, sharp laugh that didn’t even sound like a laugh at all.

“Brother, you are so far from fine,” he said, coming up close to Alec now. Alec didn’t move away, but he refused to acknowledge the other’s presence, instead focusing his gaze on his target still, staring at Isabelle as though he could see through her to the high-rise building she blocked.

“Just let us help,” Jace begged his best friend. “Please, Alec. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

The older boy stiffened and drew his bow up higher. “Stop it, Jace. Leave me alone.”

“I’m not leaving until you put the bow down, Alec.”

The blue-eyed Lightwood dropped his weapon of choice with a clatter. “There. I put the bow down. You happy now?”

“No,” Jace murmured, stepping closer to his parabatai. “I’m not happy, because you’re not happy.” He reached up to cup the side of Alec’s face in his palm. Alec stiffened under his touch but didn’t pull away.

Isabelle abandoned her place in front of the target and walked over to join her brother and Jace in the middle of the roof.

“Oh, Alec,” she murmured when she was close enough to really see the damage he’d done to his hands.

His brow twitched with guilt and his frown deepened. He quickly tucked his hands in his pockets, out of her sight.

“Why do you always do this?” Jace muttered softly. It was a question he wouldn’t dare ask his brother any other time, but they’d made more progress tonight than they ever had before.

“I deserve it,” Alec mumbled again.

“No, you don’t,” Isabelle spoke up. “You don’t have to take responsibility for every shadowhunter that walks through these doors, Alec. I wish you’d stop being so hard on yourself, big brother.”

Alec shrugged, refusing to meet her eyes. “Can’t help it, Iz. That’s just the way I was made, I guess.”

She sighed. “Well, will you please stop? Just for tonight? For us?”

“Please,” Jace added, stroking his parabatai’s cheek gently. The other boy unconsciously leaned into the touch.

Alec sighed but didn’t answer. They let him sit in silence for a few minutes before, suddenly, the black-haired shadowhunter lunged forward and wrapped Jace in the tightest hug he could ever remember receiving.

Though no tears actually fell, they burned at the back of Alec’s eyelids, and his shaky breaths told Jace he wanted to break down, but wouldn’t do so in front of his little sister. He squeezed his parabatai back hard.

“It’s okay, Alec. I’ve got you.”

The other took a deep, shaky breath and released his golden-haired counterpart, rocking back on his heels and surreptitiously swiping at his eyes.

Isabelle crouched next to him and gestured to his bow and quiver. “Can I?”

Alec sighed and nodded once, giving her permission to pick up his weapons and take them back down to the training room. She slung them over her shoulder, kissed him on the cheek, and turned to make her way down the stairs and out of sight.

Jace squeezed his older brother’s shoulder and stood up, offering him a hand. Alec took it gratefully, allowing himself to be helped to his feet. Jace winced when he felt Alec’s shredded hands come into contact with his own. He pulled his stele from his pocket.

“Can I heal them, Alec? Please?”

Alec ripped his hands from Jace’s. “No.”

“Okay, okay.” Jace held up his hands in acquiescence. “No stele.”

Alec relaxed a little bit.

“Come on, let’s just go to bed,” Jace urged, and Alec allowed himself to be guided downstairs by his parabatai. When they passed Alec’s room, however, he turned back to Jace in confusion.

“You’re sleeping with me tonight,” Jace stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Alec rolled his eyes but didn’t have it in him to protest. Instead, he followed his brother obediently into his bedroom and got under the covers where, a second later, Jace joined him.

“I love you, Alec,” Jace said, reaching a hand out to rest on his brother’s parabatai rune.

“I love you, too, Jace.” Alec copied his movement and slowly but surely, the two boys drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, when they woke up to Isabelle sleeping soundly between them, Alec found himself feeling a rush of gratitude for his younger sister and his parabatai, who he knew would always be there for him when he needed them, no matter what.

Blood and bruises aside, Alec couldn’t ask for a better family.

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darling-egg · 5 years

Text

Jarring - Joe Mazzello x reader

Summary: You’re really bad at opening things and that somehow leads to a movie night.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.8k+

You were about to give up on trying to open the Jar, it had been five minutes and you still couldn’t open it because of your wimpy arms.

“Goddamned, Nate, had to break up with me when he knows that I can’t open Jars.” You grumble frustratedly grumbled to yourself as you laid your head down on the counter.

You thought to yourself on all the ways you could open it, ‘I could always break the it...no that would make more than one mess and I would probably cut myself. I could ask one of my neighbors, would that be weird? I mean, it’s my best bet and I have to meet at least one of them sooner or later.’

So you, in all your messy haired and pajama wearing glory, put on your slippers, grabbed your jam, and headed out.

As soon as you stepped out of your apartment you felt nerves bubble up in your stomach, ‘Why are you so nervous? Stop being such a bitch ass,’ you tell yourself before walking to the door on the left of you.

You stop and bring your hand up, hesitating before knocking twice.

A man, who looked as if he had woken up about 30 minutes ago (much like yourself), answered the door. He was wearing a grey t-shirt, sweatpants, and was sporting some messy hair that could rival your own. Your nerves from earlier multiplied by ten upon seeing how cute he was, and although you hadn’t thought of it before, you now started to feel self-conscious in your pajama shorts and a t-shirt that was humungous on you.

“Hi, my name is Y/N, I’m your new neighbor and I just--could you maybe open this for me?” You ask quickly before holding up the jar of jam in your hand.

“Sure,” he says with a smile and you hand it to him.

“How’d you do that?! I tried for like 5 minutes!” You exclaim after he opens it with ease.

“I dunno, I must be magic.” He shrugs and hands it back to you.

“Well thank you...sorry, what’s your name?”

“It’s Joe.”

“Thank you, Joe.”

“Anytime.” He smiles.

“I’m taking that seriously y’know. I have weak arms and I’ve been able to open about three jars in my lifetime.”

“Alright,” he chuckles, “see ya around, Y/N.”

“Bye, Joe.” You wave and begin walking towards your apartment.

“Cute pajamas by the way.”

The next time you saw Joe you were a drunk, crying mess; there was no actual reason for you to be crying you just got a little emotional when you were drunk.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” A frazzled Joe asks after answering the door and seeing your sobbing figure leaning against his door frame at two am.

“I-I went out with my f-friends an-an-and...” You started sobbing harder as you seemingly couldn’t finish your sentence.

“And what?” Joe asks in a soothing voice, one that a parent might use when their child got hurt while playing.

“And I g-got drunk, and m-my friend told me to drink some water b-but--” At this point you were wailing and few of the other tenants stuck their heads out of their doors to see what was going on.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Joe laughs lightly at the situation on hand, “just take deep breaths.”

You do as he says and calm down a little bit to continue your seemingly traumatizing story.

“But I-I couldn’t open it,” you hiccup, hot tears still streaming down your face, “So-so I came here ‘cause you-you’re good at opening things, and then-and then I got here but I didn’t have the water anymore. I just lost it and now I don’t know what to do!” You were back to sobbing again and the people in the apartments around you were not happy about it.

“Y/N, Y/N, it’s okay,” he laughs “I’ll get you some water, come inside,” he tells you and opens the door wider.

“Really?!”

“Yes, really.”

“Thank you so much!” You exclaim and throw your arms around him causing him to almost fall over.

After you let go of Joe and he closes the door to his apartment you notice something on his shirt.

“No!” You wail with a sob as you begin to bawl again.

“What’s wrong?” He asks concernedly.

“I ruined your shirt with my-my stupid mascara tears!” You cry “Joe, I’m so so so sorry, I promise I’ll buy you a new one!”

“Y/N, it’s okay, I can wash this shirt, you don’t have to buy me a new one, now please stop crying, we don’t want to annoy the neighbors more than we already have.”

~ ~ ~

After a few minutes you had mostly calmed down and were now sitting on Joe’s couch sipping on a glass of water.

“Y’know, Joe, I-I really like your arms,” You hiccup after setting down the water.

“You do?” He slightly laughs.

“Yeah, you-you have good arms,” After saying this you finish your water and turn to Joe.

“Can you walk me to my apartment? I’m really tired and it’s kinda scary out there.”

“Of course.” He smiles and stands up before helping you up.

~ ~ ~

“Y’know, you’re a really great guy, Joey,” You tell him when you get to your door.

“Thanks-” he starts a sentence only to get interrupted by you.

“I’m gonna ma-make you dinner one day to repay you for tonight.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“Goodnight, Joe.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

There seemed to be a bit of the theme going on. The next time the pair had seen each other was about a week later and Y/N was back at Joe’s door, only this time she had a Jar of spaghetti sauce.

“Why hello, Y/N, fancy seeing you here, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Joe asks in his poshest British accent.

“Hello to you too, Joe, you owe the pleasure to this jar, seeing as I can’t get it open,” you tell him, not even trying to attempt any other accent than your own.

“Well it just so happens that I am an expert at opening Jars,” he says then holds out his hand and you give him the Jar.

He easily opens the Jar and hands it to you with a ‘here you go.’

“Thanks, and oh one more thing,” you say before he can go back inside, “would you like to have dinner at my place tonight?”

“I would love to.”

“Cool, see you around 7.”

~ ~ ~

At precisely 7:01 your doorbell rang and you put down the plates You had grabbed from the cupboard and went to answer.

“Hello,” you say with a smile after seeing Joe when you open the door.

“Hi,” he smiles back and you motion for him to come in.

“It smells amazing in here, by the way,” tells you as the two of you get further into the living room.

“Oh pssh, it’s only spaghetti and garlic bread.”

“Well, I’m sure it will taste great.”

As he follows you down the hallway you turn to him “After we eat I was thinking we could watch a movie, if that’s okay with you of course.”

“Yeah, totally!”

~ ~ ~

After that night it became a tradition to have dinner and watch a movie with each other every Friday night, taking turns between whose apartment it would be at.

You weren’t going to deny that you liked Joe in more than a friendly way and you were pretty sure he felt the same but he hadn’t made a move yet. The closest he had gotten to making a move was putting an arm around your shoulder, and usually you weren’t the one to move things along but this time you might have to.

Tonight was another Friday night but this time it was different, well for you at least, tonight was your birthday and instead of going out with your friends like you usually did you decided to stay home.

In the middle of watching Heathers you get a phone call from your friend Nadine and after Joe pauses the tv you answer.

“Are you ready to go out tonight?” Nadine asks as soon as you say hello and you playfully roll your eyes.

“No, I actually feel like staying in tonight,” you say and give Joe a smile which he returns.

“But it’s your birthday, Y/N/N!” She exclaims and you smile at the term of endearment she had given you when you were both young before you see Joe looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I obviously know that, I’m already hanging out with someone though.”

“You are?!” She asks incredulously.

“Yes, but don’t worry, it’s no one you know,” You tell her and can hear the sigh of relief she gives afterward.

“Did you make a new friend without telling me? Oh wait! Is it a boy?!”

“Yes, it is.”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU HAD A BOYFRIEND?!” She yells into the phone and Joe looks at you bemusedly.

“Because I don’t, calm down.” You half laugh.

“Ohhh, but you like him right?”

“Bye, Nadine.” You hang up the phone and set it down on the table.

“Why didn’t you tell me that it’s your birthday?” Joe asks and you shake your head with a smile.

“Because it’s not important,” you tell him and his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

“Yes it is! You should’ve told me, I would’ve got you something.”

“Joooeee, I don’t want you to feel obligated to get me anything, I told you it’s not that important.”

“Okay, fine, I won’t get you anything.” He reaches forward to grab the remote but you stop him by grabbing his wrist.

“What?” Puzzled, he looks at you.

“Actually, you know what, there is something you can give me that doesn’t cost any money at all,” You say and he turns to you with a smirk on his face.

“Oh yeah? And what is that?” You turn and sit criss cross apple sauce on the couch so you’re fully facing him.

“A birthday kiss,” you say with a serious, unchanging face.

“A birthday kiss, huh?” He asks with a smile and you nod.

“Yeah, and it has to be a good one; not just a little peck, a real kiss. It is my birthday after all.”

“I mean, how could I deny the birthday girl her only wish?” He ask rhetorically and moves closer to you.

“You can’t.” You smile mischievously.

“You’re right,” his lips ghost over yours, “I can’t”

His lips are on yours and it’s soft yet passionate as you run your hands through his soft auburn hair. It was better than you could’ve ever imagined and you were completely at peace with the world right now.

“How was that for a birthday kiss?” He asks when he pulls back with a smile.

“It was amazing, best birthday kiss I’ve ever had,” you say and move your hands from his hair to his cheeks.

“That good, huh?”

“Yep.”

Taglist: @fairestkillerqueenofall @onceuponadetectivedemigod

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #bohrap #joe mazzello imagine

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chain-unchained · 5 years

Text

June 27

After a nearly three mile walk from the nearest functioning bus stop, an exhausted Shane finally returned to Pelican town; it was Friday, the day he and his therapist in Zuzu City had set for their weekly sessions. The trip wouldn’t be quite so bad if the bus that old Pam used to drive still worked, but it had broken down some years ago and the town didn’t have the resources to get it fixed, so that unfortunately meant quite a walk to get to a bus that did work.

It still felt awkward and kind of shameful for him to walk into that office, even though the staff there were all very friendly and understanding—not to mention the therapist, who was quiet, unassuming, gentle but firm in his suggestions to Shane to help his recovery, both from the alcoholism and the depression, along.

Shane had always known that it was going to be hell, giving up alcohol cold turkey like he was; at first, the therapist had suggested weaning, but Shane knew himself well enough that he wouldn’t be able to help himself if he had even a drop of drink and insisted on cutting it off completely. Even then, he couldn’t have fathomed the toll it would take on his body, mind and mood—the first few days were the most hellish. He had the shakes, a piercing migraine that wouldn’t go away no matter how many aspirin he took, he was physically ill several times, and sleep was a far-fetched concept.

He felt really bad for Jas and Marnie, who had to deal with all of that and the piss-poor attitude that it brought with it, though he played it all off as just a severe flu bug. Maybe it was stupid, maybe he could have really used the support during the beginning, but he wanted to get through the worst of it of his own willpower.

Today was the first day that he hadn’t woken up feeling like absolute shit. In fact, he almost dared to say that it was manageable; his head didn’t feel like it was splitting open, and it didn’t take him an hour to muster up the strength to get up out of bed. He had managed to make an actual breakfast with the extra eggs that Charlie and the girls laid for them that morning. And hell, the walk to the bus station that morning actually left him feeling pretty damn good, even though the trip from it back to town that evening felt a bit less so. Having had one of the better days he’d had in a long time, Shane decided that today was a good day to tell Marnie and Jas what was going on.

Adjusting the shopping bag that he held in his hand, he tucked the other hand into his shorts pocket and strolled leisurely through town; the sun was beginning its descent from the sky, staining the crystal clear sky a fiery orange and red hue. On the way there, he stopped outside Pierre’s and checked the bulletin board on a whim. Sometimes someone would post a note about a free piece of furniture, or Pierre would leave a notice about an upcoming sale. His sales never reached the 50% off that Joja regularly offered, but at least Pierre’s stock was quality and worth the higher price.

“... Oh, that’s right.” Shane murmured to himself as he checked the calendar that hung next to the bulletin board. “The Luau’s coming up soon… Need to dig out those stretchy shorts and get them washed soon.” Next to the Egg Festival, the Luau was probably his favorite festival—it was a festival literally just centered on eating food, what wasn’t there to love about that? ‘Maybe I should give Ashe a heads-up.’ He pondered, turning on his heel and heading south towards the road leading home. Every household was expected to contribute both an ingredient towards the Luau’s main centerpiece, the potluck stew, and a cooked dish, and he didn’t want Ashe to be left in the dark if no one else thought to tell him about that since it was his first year in town.

He owed a lot to the kid, that much was for sure. If Ashe hadn’t been so stubborn and bullheaded about befriending him, there was a real likelihood that Shane wouldn’t be there that day. A real likelihood that he would have rolled right off that cliff like he’d fantasized about. For some reason, Ashe never gave up on him, and he never let Shane give up on himself.

Without realizing it, he was already standing outside the door to the ranch; he’d been so lost in his thoughts that his legs had just carried him to where he needed to go on their own. Pausing to bend down and rub at his knee which had started to ache from the walking, Shane opened the door and stepped inside. “I’m back.” He called as he pushed it closed behind him; as expected, the shop was empty, and he presumed that Marnie and Jas were in the kitchen given the smell of steak that filled the air.

“Oh, welcome home Shane.” Marnie greeted, looking over her shoulder as her nephew came into the kitchen; Jas looked up from her coloring book and waved a little to Shane before going back to her very serious business of perfectly coloring in her favorite princess from the Welwick Court. “Goodness, don’t you look happy?”

“Do I?” Shane moved over to the table and ruffled Jas’ hair lightly, unaware that he’d had a big, goofy grin on his face since he’d walked in; it felt good to be home and not be drunk or hungover. “I guess you’re right. I haven’t felt this light in… Yoba, I don’t even know how long.”

Marnie pulled the last searing steak from the frying pan and stuck it on the baking tray with the rest to go into the oven to finish cooking. “Let me guess…” She pondered, turning to look at Shane fully as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Gus had a clearance sale on canned beer?”

The comment stung a little, Shane couldn’t deny that; he didn’t blame her for thinking that, though. He’d kept her and Jas in the dark up til now, and as far as they knew he’d just gone off to work like he did every Friday. “Hah, good one.” He managed a half laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck, his grin becoming quite sheepish. “No, actually. I’ve been drinking sparkling water instead of beer… and I feel great.”

His words made Marnie freeze, her eyes widening in surprise; even Jas stopped coloring and looked back at Shane with eyes wide. To be honest, their reaction was bittersweet. It felt good to be able to say that to them, but at the same time, he had to realize how badly his behavior had affected them in order to elicit such a reaction. “Really?” His aunt managed to ask after a moment.

“Yeah.” Shane confirmed with a nod of his head. “… Y’know, sometimes I forget that I really do have friends.” He murmured, his face softening as he spoke. “People that care about me. And it’s okay for me to rely on them. It doesn’t make me weak.”

After a moment of silence, Marnie smiled and nodded her head in agreement. “That’s exactly right. I’m proud of you for realizing that.”

“Took me long enough, huh?” Shane turned his attention to Jas as he set the shopping bag on the table for her. “I’ve got something for you, kiddo.”

“Huh?” Jas blinked, looking up to her godfather for affirmation; when Shane nodded encouragingly, she pulled the bag closer and reached inside, pulling out an unassuming, plain looking box. Her little brows knitted together as she lifted the lid, and the contents practically made them fly off of her face as her eyes went wide again. “Th…. These are real bunny-jewel slippers!!!” She squealed. As if to confirm that it wasn’t fake, she ever so carefully lifted the shoes from the box and turned them over in her hands; sure enough, they were the real deal, and they were even her favorite color—purple. “B…. but these are so expensive!” She looked to her godfather in disbelief, feeling somewhat guilty that Shane had dropped so much money on a present just for her. “How did you afford them?”

Shane smiled and patted her head. “I’ve cut back on an expensive habit, so I’ve got a lot more spending money now.” He explained, glad that he was able to finally give her a proper gift—even if it was nearly a month past her birthday.

“…. Okay….” Jas looked back to the shoes, running her fingers over the sparkly tops.

Seeing the change in her demeanor, Shane knelt down to her level so he could speak to her as an equal. “Jas… I’m sorry about what happened before.” He murmured. As difficult as apologizing was, she deserved at least that much. “I said some stuff that really hurt you, and I should never have let you hear that from me.”

Jas froze a little as Shane spoke, going completely silent as she just stared at those twinkly shoes in her hands. “When I said those things… it’s not because I wanted to leave you or hurt you.” He continued, struggling a little with how to explain it in a way she could understand without sugar coating it. “It’s not your fault. I wasn’t feeling well because, uh… my head is sick, and it makes me feel sad and tired a lot… and…” His brain fizzled out, and after a few moments of silence, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, I barely understand it myself. It’s hard to explain… but I’ll tell you about it when you want me to, okay? Right now, I just need you to know that I’m working hard to get better. And it’s okay if you’re sad or scared or mad at me. Take as long as you need to feel how you feel.” He smiled, even though he knew she wasn’t looking. “I’m not going anywhere, squirt. I’m gonna work extra hard to be here for you.”

“….” His words were greeted with just more silence, as Jas’s little frame began to quiver slightly in her chair.

Concerned now by her continued quiet, Shane’s smile faded. “Jas? You okay--?”

Almost before he could finish speaking, Jas suddenly flung herself at him, knocking over her chair as she wrapped her arms around him and let out a heartbreaking wail of relief. She didn’t care if Shane drank, she didn’t care if he didn’t buy her the toys that she wanted—all she ever wanted was to hear him say that he wasn’t going to leave her too.

“Whoa—” Shane was nearly knocked over himself, managing to grab onto the table to steady himself before he folded the sobbing child into his arms. “It’s okay, just let it out.” He murmured with a smile, holding her close as she buried her face into his chest. Of course, he didn’t like to see her cry like that, but at least he knew that they were tears of happiness this time.

As she watched the scene unfold, Marnie couldn’t help but wipe a few tears from her own eyes, smiling as she saw the person that she knew Shane had always been deep down. It meant the world to her that Shane finally saw enough of his own worth to start getting better.

“Do you want to put on your new slippers?” Shane gently asked Jas, once her sobs had quieted; with a sniffle, she nodded, lifting her face from his now soaked shirt as she did so. He set her on her feet and picked up her chair, waiting for her to sit back down in it before he helped her to put the slippers on. “So, what do you think?”

Jas extended her legs out in front of herself so she could judge them on her feet. “… I love them.” She said with a slight hiccup, unable to stop the happy smile that came onto her face. “And I love you, Shane~ Thank you for getting these for me…”

Dinner that night was one of the most peaceful they’d had in a long time; Shane actually sat at the table and ate with them, rather than taking his plate into his room like he always did. He reminded Marnie about the Luau, and they talked about an upcoming seminar on livestock regulations that would be held in Zuzu City a few days before the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies.

“I’m not quite sure what to do about that, to be honest.” Marnie admitted as she cleared away their finished plates. “I was going to ask Jodi if she’d be willing to watch Jas while we’re away, but during aerobics on Tuesday she mentioned that she and the boys were going on a family trip to the carnival. And Penny has that class that she’s been looking forward to taking for months now…”

“I don’t need a babysitter, auntie.” Jas pointed out as she finished the coloring job she’d been working tirelessly on all evening. “I’m eight years old now, I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, we don’t doubt that for a minute kiddo.” Shane leaned back in his chair with a smile. “But someone has to keep an eye on you to make sure no one tries to steal you away.” He thought for a moment, rocking back and forth slowly on the back legs of the chair. “… Hey, why don’t we ask Ashe to watch her?” He suggested, looking to his aunt as the idea struck him.

Marnie turned the faucet in the sink on and began to fill the left half to soak the dishes. “You know, the idea did cross my mind.” She admitted, turning around to look at Shane pointedly—she hated when people did that, it was so bad for the chair. “Do you think he would mind?”

“Well we won’t know unless we ask.” Catching the look she was giving, Shane promptly set all four legs back on the floor. “I was going to talk to him about the Luau tomorrow, I’ll run the idea by him then too.”

“Alright. I’ll leave it to you, then.” Marnie glanced at the clock on the wall. “Alright, little lady. It’s bedtime. Let’s go get a book picked out—”

“I want Shane to read to me tonight.” Jas insisted emphatically, much to their surprise. “Please?” She pleaded, looking to her godfather with the biggest puppy-dog eyes she could muster.

Momentarily stunned by her request, Shane managed to smile. “Sure, squirt. It’s been a hot minute since I read a book, though, so you might have to help me out.” He got up from his chair, looking to Marnie as Jas took hold of his hand; with a smile, Marnie nodded her head, and Shane led Jas out of the kitchen towards her room.

Neither of them could remember the last time Jas had asked for Shane to put her to bed. It did Marnie’s heart a lot of good to see the two of them bonding again, and she found herself unable to wipe the smile from her face as she washed, dried and put away the dishes. By the time she was done and pouring herself a cup of coffee, Shane returned to the kitchen, reaching around her—“’Scuse me, I’m just going to be rude real quick,” he said with a grin—to get a cup for himself.

“So, how did it go?” She asked, sitting down at the table with a novel of her own to read a little before bed.

“It went fine.” Shane poured what was left into his cup and rinsed the pot under the faucet. “She kept trying to put off going to sleep, though. ‘That story was too short, you gotta read me one more’ and all that jazz.” He took a drink of the bitter brew.

Marnie smiled and took a sip of her own. “… I want you to know I’m real proud of you, Shane.” She said after several moments.

It was something Shane hadn’t expected her to say. “I haven’t done anything worth being proud of yet.” He insisted, setting his cup on the counter. “I’ve still got a lot of work to do before that happens. I didn’t want to say anything until today, but the last few Fridays I’ve been going to see a therapist in Zuzu. I just… wanted to prove to myself that this is something I could do before I got anyone’s hopes up, y’know?”

“So that ‘flu’ you had a few weeks ago wasn’t really the flu, I take it?” Marnie guessed shrewdly, to which Shane held up his hands in surrender. “Normally I don’t appreciate being lied to, but I’ll let it slide this time.” She set her own cup down and opened the book before her. “Does Ashe know?”

“Yeah… to be honest, he’s the main reason I was able to get help in the first place.” Shane admitted with an awkward laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck. “For some reason, he just never gave up on me. I owe him a hell of a lot.”

“It’s real sweet how close the two of you have gotten.” Marnie gave him a warm smile. “I’ve never seen someone melt that heart of yours like he has. You should let him know how you feel at the Moonlight Jellies~”

Her suggestion puzzled Shane, her intent flying right over his head. “The… Moonlight Jellies? Wwwwhy that festival specifically?”

“Because it’d be all the more romantic, of course.” Marnie looked back to her book and turned the page slowly. “Of course, I can understand not wanting to wait that long to get together. I still remember my first romance and how impatient I was… ah, to be young and in love again.”

“Roman—lo—” Shane sputtered, his face turning red as it clicked in his head what she was getting at. “Marnie, come on, you’re reaching here. I appreciate what the kid’s done for me, and… well, maybe there is something there, but I’m way too old for him don’t you think? And that’s not to say that I have no idea if he even thinks of me like that, or if he even swings that way to begin with—”

“Shane, when you live as long as I have and work in a business like this,” Marnie interrupted his protests casually, “you learn to be a real good judge of people. Trust me, you’ve got more of a chance than you think. I just see how well the two of you get on and the side of you that he brings out. Give it some thought.”

Unable to think of what to say to that, Shane quickly finished off his coffee and set the cup in the sink. “I’m going to bed.” He announced as he cleared his throat. “Good night, Marnie.”

“Night, dear.” Marnie waved her fingers at him over her shoulder, hiding a laugh at his quick exit. Even if nothing came of it in the end, she at least wanted to make him aware of his feelings.

#sdv #sdv shane #sdv farmer #stardew valley #stardew #stardew valley shane #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley fanfiction #sdv fanfic #sdv fanfiction

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pyropsychiccollector · 5 years

Text

Goodbye Despair, Chapter 1: Destination Despair (Part 2)

Yamada panicked when the knocking came, as it always did. There were quite a few things he hated, but his morning routine getting an overhaul was definitely near the top of the list… Bad enough Ultimate Despair got captured and Miss Ludenberg had no use for him – now he was getting regular meals again! Regular meals! Oh, the humanity! And he just… couldn’t… escape their clutches! These cruel tormentors were fast learners, were agile, and were quite fearsome!

“Hello in there~!” A singsong voice came from behind the door as the knocking ensued.

… Quite fearsome, indeed.

“Um… I’ll be done in, like, ten more… no… five or six more pages, okay?!” Yamada was sweating bullets as he glanced at the door, certain that wasn’t going to fly with her…

“No excuses! Get out here, pronto!” The voice sounded more demanding now.

Yamada lamented the curfew. He truly did. Were it not for that, he would be able to hide out on another island until breakfast was over! What’s more, the others were dragging their feet to breakfast, too, which mean their captors would be keeping a watchful eye so that no one, like him, tried to flee to safety.

Truly regrettable.

“Time to make my daring escape…!” Yamada, face on his cheeks in horror, edged over to the window across from the door and stuck one leg outside before nearly stumbling back in fright. “W-Weren’t you standing at the door just now?! H-H-How?!”

Chisa Yukizome beamed smugly at the otaku.

“Funny how that works? I had a student just like you who tried to do the exact same thing!” Chisa giggled, flashing her teacher’s ID. “Moral of the story? Don’t try to ditch your teacher!”

To Yamada’s credit, he still made a respectable effort to bolt for it. Too bad for the otaku, Chisa was faster, and apparently stronger, as she dragged the otaku along by the ankles, kicking up a cloud of dust in their wake.

“I don’t wanna give up the despair of starving myself! If you keep feeding me, I’ll remember the perfection that is Diet Coooke!” Yamada eccentrically wailed.

The Imposter, dressed up as Mitarai for now and a file under his arm, shook his head pitifully as he watched Yukizome-sensei march by on her way to the hotel.

“Poor guy… We all have to learn at some point, I guess.” The Imposter then resumed his own walking.

Nearby, Hajime sweatdropped at hearing the comment. He was having serious déjà vu right now, and the Imposter being dressed as Mitarai wasn’t helping. Shaking his head and smiling wryly, Hajime approached one of the cottages and took a deep breath.

This member of Ultimate Despair despised him. There wasn’t much rhyme or reason to it. She just… hated him. For nothing more than a passing resemblance to someone significant in her past, she hated him. It was petty, and made Hajime wonder if that wasn’t the brainwashing affecting her personality. Still, for both their sakes, he avoided her unless absolutely necessary.

… And unfortunately, Munakata made it required for all Ultimate Despairs to come to every breakfast, and Hajime was the one tasked to ensure she came, at least for that morning…

Hesitantly, Hajime knocked on the door. He nervously adjusted his tie in the few moments he waited. Talking with this girl… never went well. And that would’ve been an interesting experience, considering her Ultimate talent, but then again she was a Remnant of Despair… So, things might’ve been different, had she not been brainwashed.

The brunet was pulled from his thoughts as the knob turned and the door creaked open slightly.

“Hello…?” The silky, sweet voice found its way through the crack, tinged with a touch of caution. Hajime’s hand curled into a fist anxiously at his side, and he mustered a genuine smile as best as he could.

“A-Ah… Good morning, Maizono-san. I’m here to escort you to breakfast…” His voice wavered nervously, inwardly steeling himself.

As expected, Sayaka opened the door after a few moments – a bubbly smile plastered on her face. It would have looked much cuter and not as creepy, had it not been for the glowing red eyes that marked her as an Ultimate Despair.

A mask. One that he was meant to perceive.

“Ah, Hinata-kun!” The pop idol greeted with a disarming smile. Hajime knew better than to lower his guard. “With the blue sky and clean air, I thought I’d awoken from a terrible dream!”

Hajime said nothing. Didn’t move a muscle. He waited, hackles rising. He’d been fooled the first time by this sugary sweet act… And he’d been outright humiliated and taken a severe hit to his self-esteem, as a result. His friends bolstered his spirits… but it never removed the shame of that first encounter with the former number one Pop Sensation.

“Then I remembered I’m on an island with a worthless, cheap knockoff…” Sayaka sighed airily, shaking her head wistfully when Hinata didn’t rise to the bait. “You can’t cure me, Hinata-kun. No one can. You’re better off just letting me go, if you’re not going to kill me.”

“We’re not gonna kill you!” Hajime protested, floundering a bit. “And we’re not gonna just let you go while you drive people to suicide with your music!”

Maizono shrugged uncaringly, closed the door behind her, and walked past Hajime without so much as another word. Hajime floundered for more words as he reached out toward her repeating back, but no intelligible words passed his lips, and she didn’t stop even as she turned the corner toward the pool and the restaurant. Hajime sighed tiredly and dropped his arm in defeat.

“One of these days I’m gonna make her not hate me…” He deadpanned. He nearly jumped when a voice spoke up from behind him.

“That may be impossible. She sees her beloved in you, and you are living while he is not.”

Hinata’s head whipped back and forth as he saw no one behind him. But then he craned his head upward to see Kamakura lounging on the roof of his cottage, looking as bored as ever. The brunet frowned agitatedly.

“You don’t know that! We beat Junko, and she was the one that brought the world to its knees! It should be possible to…” He trailed off as Kamakura cut him off blithely.

“Sayaka Maizono will not benefit from therapy and recovery. Every member of Ultimate Despair has found and latched onto something that brings them pain and misery. For some, that is starvation and fasting; for others, they poured money and assets, everything they had, into Ultimate Despair, an organization that they hoped would fail; and still others, they turned the people closest to them against them for the despair of betrayal. Every member of Ultimate Despair has something like this in their life.”

“And in Maizono’s case?” Hajime questioned, tense. He stiffened more as Kamakura’s emotionless eyes never wavered from his own.

“Sayaka Maizono has been unable to escape the greatest despair in her life. She has tried to take her mind off it in numerous ways… She murdered her father. Incited a mob of fans to massacre her bandmates, save for her closest friend. You were present when she threw that friend into a death game with the rest of Class 78’s loved ones; Ayaka Haneyama was the first to be executed in that game. Maizono even waged an all-out war on the idol industry and annihilated it down to the roots… But none of that pain, none of that despair, compared to losing the one bright spot in her life, Makoto Naegi. For Sayaka Maizono… her greatest despair is to simply keep on living. It is not even a matter of ‘moving on’… Sayaka Maizono has no will to live, yet despair compels her to keep going. Because for her, life is despair. If her brainwashing were to be undone, her subsequent suicide would be a foregone conclusion.”

Hajime narrowed his eyes as he clenched his fists in determination.

“I won’t let it come to that…! Even if I can’t be the one to help her… I’ll find someone that can give her a reason to keep on living!”

Kamakura didn’t say anything for a long time after that heartfelt declaration. His eyes just bored into Hajime’s. But even with that slight discomfort, Hajime would not back down. He knew he was right about this. Even after all the things Maizono had done, she deserved a shot at redemption, just like her classmates.

“Pointless.” Kamakura droned dully, finally making Hajime turn on his heel and leave. The brunet felt Kamakura’s intense eyes on the back of his head, but he didn’t care.

He wasn’t going to give up on any of them.

~*~

“Yo, Hajime! Come sit over here!”

The brunet arched his eyebrow, tray in hand, as he saw Kazuichi pat a spot next to him at the table near the back of the dining hall. It wasn’t unusual for Souda, or any member of Class 77 really, to be friendly toward Hajime at this point. Still, something seemed to be amiss, the longer he looked into Souda’s eyes. Shrugging, he obliged the mechanic.

“So what’s up?” The counselor asked, soon after sitting down and picking at his food idly. His eyes were on Kazuichi, though.

The Ultimate Mechanic could only grin and chuckle nervously as he ran a hand through his hair cautiously.

“Why would somethin’ be up? Can’t Soul Friends just stick together? Heh… Hehe…” He trailed off suspiciously. Hajime shrugged nonchalantly, sticking a forkful of food in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“I dunno… The fact you’ve been avoiding Fujisaki is just one example. Or how about when you sprint away from Sakura whenever she’s on the same path as you? Then again, you tend to pull your hat over your ears when Togami’s around…” He smiled wryly as Kazuichi shook his fist in annoyance. “… Sorry.”

“It’s not like these are people I can just get along with, y’know?! These jerks helped end the world, and they’re really mean and violent!” The mechanic grumbled sourly. His tongue rolled out of his mouth as he grinned a little nervously. “A-And anyway, it’s not like I’m worried about any of them right now…”

Hajime arched an eyebrow again.

“Then who are you worried about?’ As Kazuichi abruptly pointed his finger, the brunet followed its path until he saw a dark-haired girl sitting in the corner alone, staring at their table with an intensity that made Hajime shiver a little bit.

“I’ve been watching her, and she hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you entered the dining hall!” Kazuichi explained in a hushed, but still kinda loud, whisper. He then appeared shifty-eyed. “I don’t like it. She’s probably schemin’ something, and I can’t just let you fall into whatever trap she has planned!”

Hajime almost looked touched as Kazuichi said that with such passion in his voice.

“… Not before you get Fujisaki off my back, at least!”

Almost.

“I’ll talk with Fujisaki after breakfast, alright?” Hajime grinned sheepishly. “I can’t promise anything, though… Maizono hates my guts, and at least half of them won’t even listen to me. I dunno how receptive Fujisaki will be.”

Souda scratched his cheek and sighed in mild annoyance.

“Oi… Don’t go getting the wrong impression, alright? You’re more to me than just some guy that can talk to these crazies!” Kazuichi grinned and then gave a thumb’s up. “You’re my partner, my Soul Bro! I’d care about what would happen to ya even if Fujisaki was less hostile! … And don’t go thinking you’re not talented just ‘cause you aren’t making progress with these people! I betcha even Gekkogahara would be hitting a brick wall! We just gotta undo their brainwashing first.”

Hajime was about to lazily wave off his friend, when another person noisily set down their tray of food to gain his and Kazuichi’s attention. It worked, ‘cause Hajime nearly leaped out of his seat, and Kazuichi let out one of his well-known screeches.

“Indeed, the fires of pandemonium would spit these lost souls back out! Heed not their foul words nor any of their beguiling ways! Trust in my power, and we shall show them the path to true Hell!”

Hajime cracked a small grin as the breeder sat to his left; he was taking Gundham’s eccentricities a lot better than Kazuichi, who had yet to relax his face from the very disturbed look that he sometimes got… Poor guy always got spooked too easily.

“Hey, Gundham. How’s your morning been so far?” Hajime’s tone was light and casual, which seemed to please the breeder.

“Kehehe… It has been splendidly hellacious! My twelve Zodiac Generals had a magnificent feast before we attended to our morning duties… And then, forsooth! The supposed indomitable Ogre challenged this Supreme Overlord of Ice to a fight to the death this afternoon!” Toward the end, Gundham, whose arms remained crossed and his eyes closed, belted out a joyous evil cackle, his eyes snapping open excitedly.

The whole time Gundham had been regaling them, Kazuichi had managed to calm down and send the breeder an annoyed glance before resuming his meal. Hajime was picking at his own food, taking care to keep an eye on his dark-clothed friend in case he was supposed to pay particular attention to an aspect of his story. Both the counselor and the mechanic continued their morning meal in a mindless lull for about a minute before they both deciphered Gundham’s words at around the same time – particularly latching onto a single phrase in that maelstrom of childish descriptions.

“O-Ogre?!” Hajime stuttered, wide-eyed. “You mean Oogami?!”

“Are you nuts?!” Souda echoed his friend’s stunned reaction, hand palming his forehead. “She’s gonna snap you like a twig! Why’d you go and piss her off?!”

Gundham crossed his arms, his mouth buried in his scarf in a huff.

“Your concern is touching… though misplaced. For I have wrestled beasts even more Hellish than the Ogre, in her current form… She is but a lowly shell of the warrior she once was.”

“G-Gundham… Even if you say that, Oogami’s killed a lot of people!” Hajime made a pained expression as he faced the breeder, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “I think the only one in Ultimate Despair who has killed more people than Oogami is Ikusaba, and that’s really only because of all the weapons she uses! Sakura slaughters people with her bare hands!”

Hajime slightly winced as Gundham gave him a fierce look of disapproval, but he didn’t back down – and deep down, he believed Gundham respected that much about him. He wasn’t completely intimidated by the breeder’s ferocity.

“Let me ask you this…” Gundham remarked gravely, fixing both Kazuichi and Hajime with the same firm gaze, arms still crossed. “Among the Ogre’s ‘countless’ victims, how many were truly capable of putting up a fight with her? Most of them? Half of them? Even twenty five percent…? Nay. A meager ten percent – at best – were truly able to defend themselves against her! I read the reports, so I know that of which I speak! She hides behind a thin veil of ‘fighting anyone and everyone’, but in reality, she aims for the weak and defenseless! That is the Ogre’s Despair! She challenges me because she underestimates my power!”

With that hearty declaration, Gundham belted out yet another hearty, evil cackle. Hajime’s brow furrowed in contemplation as Kazuichi remained dismissive, calling Gundham nuts for accepting a challenge from Sakura Oogami. The brunet had to admit that Tanaka might very well have had a point… as a caretaker of animals, he would know to keep an eye out for these kinds of patterns in reports. The numerous reports on Oogami’s victims were staggering with the savage brutality involved in the murders, but Hajime couldn’t recall that little tidbit of information ever coming up – that most of her victims couldn’t even fight back. That said, it was understandable no one noticed, considering Oogami’s talent, but if most of the victims weren’t even capable of self-defense… Oogami would be getting no ‘thrill’ from her battles, merely despair.

And that would match Ultimate Despair’s M.O.

“A party…?” Togami’s eyebrows arched as he sat across the table from Munakata, arms crossed and one leg crossed over the other. “Really now?”

Munakata was leaning his elbows on the table as he laced his fingers together and stared over his knuckles at the heir.

“Up until now, we have been restricting your nighttime activities. I figured it might do you all some good to have at least one night out, spending it amongst friends.”

Togami’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at the proverbial carrot.

“You’re not going to allow us ‘true’ freedom, however… If you did, the possibility of us killing each other or plotting to overthrow you would be too great.”

“Of course we would need to be present.” Munakata reasoned diplomatically. “Consider this a way for our two groups to come together as one, even if for just one night.”

‘We don’t have to be enemies.’

Togami scoffed at the unspoken olive branch. While he himself didn’t care for socializing, he knew there were a few in Ultimate Despair who were going stir-crazy, cooped up in their rooms all night…

There were also those, however, who would demand he shoot this business proposition down like the Nazis over London. A dissatisfied faction was inevitable. At this point, it was a waiting game until Yasuke and Miaya fixed their “Despair” program… Did it truly matter if they accepted?

“I’ll run it by everyone.” Togami replied airily. He raised his head slightly as he peered at Munakata arrogantly. “Would you object to Ultimate Despair having a small meeting to vote on it? Place whatever restrictions you see fit, if it helps you sleep better.”

For Togami, this would be the only topic of discussion at the meeting; anyone else could take up their grievances with the Future Foundation for all he cared.

Munakata tapped his knuckle rhythmically as he mulled it over.

“… Guards will be stationed at all the exits, of course. But we will let you speak privately… for five minutes.” Munakata knew he was taking a real gamble here, but if this opened up doorways for cooperation between the Future Foundation and Ultimate Despair… If this allowed for any chance for Ultimate Despair to open up, and allow the Future Foundation to help them recover … Then Munakata was taking that gamble.

He would believe in the people they once were. Despair had claimed their minds and bodies, but Junko Enoshima was dead – the worst of the storm was over, and now the dark clouds could recede beyond the horizon. Damage could be repaired, even if they wouldn’t be exactly the same people they were prior to Despair.

~*~

Once the last of them trickled in and sat around the rectangular table, with Byakuya and Kyoko sitting at the heads of the table opposite each other, Leon broke the silence as the door closed behind Sakura.

“I know this is the first time we’ve gathered in a while, but anyone care to explain why he’s here?” The baseball player jabbed a thumb behind his back, towards Kamukura, who was leaning against the wall and looking as bored of everything as ever.

Hagakure blinked before pointing in outrage at Kamukura as well.

“Hey, yeah…! He’s not one of us!”

Kyoko crossed her arms and momentarily looked over at Hope’s Peak’s “grand” experiment before turning her attention back to everyone else.

“Izuru Kamukura comes and goes as he pleases. Let’s just cut to the chase and go over the proposition Togami was given; I agree that it takes precedence over everything else.”

Togami snorted.

“So you heard it, did you?” The heir was hardly surprised. The detective made it no great secret that she clearly and strongly disagreed with his decisions, as of late.

“P-Proposition…?” Yamada trailed off nervously, biting his fingernails.

“You were in the middle of a cafeteria with everyone present…” Kyoko tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “And personally, I am absolutely opposed. Regardless of the outcome of this meeting, I will not be going. Fraternizing with the enemy serves no point in this instance, and is simply frivolous. I predict none of us would be interested in taking up this offer, because it is ridiculous.”

Togami crossed his arms to mirror the stubborn Kirigiri.

“You’re opposed, no matter what? That’s fine. I had a hunch you would be. This meeting is for everyone, not just for you.” He coldly dismissed her out of hand, and disregarded the frosty glare she sent him in return.

Celes, who had remained quiet up until now, twirled a lock of hair around her finger idly.

“Togami, please do explain for the rest of the class, otherwise our five minutes will be up before you two finish your tete-tete and this meeting will have been worthless.”

“Very well…” Togami humphed before proceeding to lay it all out for everyone. Despite Kirigiri’s confidence that everyone would be united against the proposition, it appeared, for once, Togami had a better grasp on their organization’s personnel than Kirigiri did. A fact that he did not let go unacknowledged by the detective as he gave her a triumphant smirk, which she bitterly disregarded in favor of directing a silent communication with Celes.

“You’re not shitting me, right?!” Mondo had been the first one to speak up after Togami’s explanation. “They’re really gonna let us out of our rooms at night?!”

“Sounds like it’s a one-time deal…” Leon frowned before breaking into a wide grin and rubbing the back of his head. “But that’s still awesome…! Seriously sucks to be in those cabins for hours, nothin’ to do…”

“It sounds like we won’t have the same freedom that we do during the day, however…” Sakura mused, closing her eyes and crossing her arms, deep in thought.

“Plus, sounds like they’re gonna try to be buddy-buddy with us!” Asahina whined. Loudly.

“It doesn’t mean we have to be friendly with them in turn…” Fujisaki mused, tapping his chin with a frown. Mondo grinned and gave the programmer a thumb’s-up.

“Damn straight, kid! I’m just doin’ this to stretch my legs! The Future Foundation can fuck off!”

“I wonder if they’re gonna let us get drunk…” Hagakure cupped his chin shrewdly, to which Celes scoffed.

“I highly doubt there will be any alcohol… They are naïve in extending a hand of friendship, but they are not morons.” Even she had to acknowledge that much.

“Wh-What do you think about this party, Miss Ludenberg?” Yamada nervously asked, to which the gambler began twirling a lock of hair around her finger again.

“… Like Kyoko said, it is frivolous, and serves no purpose.” Celes then interlocked her fingers under her chin. “But I would be lying if the thought of defeating them at cards or Mahjong did not amuse me…”

Togami narrowed his eyes at the gambler’s stance. He had his suspicions for why she was willing to come when Kyoko wasn’t going to, but he wasn’t going to call her out on it. Wagering a verbal war with Celes or Kyoko never ended well…

Genocide Jill cackled as spit flew out of her mouth in glee.

“Who knows?! Maybe they’ll need one or two more cooks in the kitchen, and I can slice them all up?!”

Everyone stared at the serial killer, unimpressed. As insane as she was, she had to know, on some level, that was never going to happen. Fujisaki was never allowed near computers. Asahina wasn’t allowed out in the ocean. And Genocide Jill was never allowed blades of any kind – including butter knives. They all wrote off her comment as “heat of the moment”…

“I, of course, shall ensure there is order during this gathering…!” Ishimaru raised a fist proudly. Kuwata groaned in annoyance, as did Hagakure.

“You’re supposed to get wasted at parties, not treat ‘em like field trips…!” Hagakure grumbled.

“Fuck off…” Kuwata groaned.

Togami noticed a few of them had yet to give their opinions… although, Kamukura was likely to stay silent in his corner.

“How about you two? Maizono? Ikusaba?” He raised his chin at them, prompting them to speak up.

Sayaka merely beamed at all the attention on her.

“Well… I think it’s a waste of time, but I’ll come if Hinata-kun is the one to watch me.”

A few felt their skin crawl at the idol’s condition for coming to the party… While they were all for cruel treatment of the members of the Future Foundation, Maizono took it to another level when she was around Hajime Hinata. They weren’t going to touch that topic with a thousand foot pole… How Maizono conducted her affairs was her own damn business.

“I’ll go.” Mukuro intoned quietly, to the surprise of some. What they all missed, however, was how her gaze was directed at Maizono when she said that.

“To conclude this meeting, let’s just have a show of hands to confirm who will be attending this party.” Togami blandly ordered. As he looked around the table, it was going about as he expected it would… Most of them wanted to go. Kirigiri seemed to be the only holdout. Even the recluse Fujisaki and the conditional Maizono were raising their hands…

For now, Ultimate Despair was “united.” Though that did make Togami wonder just how long that was going to last…

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