Tumgik
#in exchange for the dream not dragging my sibling down to die with me (who was the fix to save me cuz originally they werent there)
quietwingsinthesky · 9 months
Note
your investement in the Castiel/Raphael au got me invested, tell me more
Okay, okay, okay so. To understand my thought process on this, you must understand that the thing that peeved me off the most about spn’s writing and what I think did the greatest disservice to Castiel’s character, is that there are no angel characters who really reoccur over a couple seasons. (Ideally, to me, some of them would have stuck around the whole time but eh, pipe dream.) Or, hell, not even reoccurring but fuck, why does Cas never mention anyone? Yes, he gets scenes where he’s sad about his siblings/his species being destroyed as a whole, but as an audience, him putting a face to that, or many, and mourning them specifically? That would have done a lot.
So, okay, I am perpetually upset at spn tossing out all its interesting angel stuff and by the end, them basically being kill on sight monsters with zero nuance and Cas being ‘the exception’ to that, the one who was ‘too broken to be an angel anyway’.
This is why Raphael should survive the Godstiel arc. Not even that they don’t die, I do think Cas should kill them. I just think they should be brought back with him, too. Leave it ambiguous who brought them back, because of course they won’t believe it was God, God is dead, but who else could it be? Cas with the remnants of his Godstiel powers?
But to have them cohabitating together without knowing what they’ve done to each other… Like, if you thought Dean was jarred by walking in to see Cas married to a random lady, imagine him getting to that house and seeing Raphael. Seeing Raphael & Cas exchanging inside jokes, talking about how they picked names for each other when they couldn’t remember their own, and just being generally affectionate. (Also, personally, for me? Raphael being like v explicitly genderless, that not being something that goes away when they think they’re human, and Dean just having to Deal With That with his whole gender issues thing.)
And then the fucking devastation of that being torn down when they remember who they are. That they’ve been at each other’s throats for years. That the whole reason so much awful shit happened is because neither of them would back down, neither of them could, and it was Heaven and their siblings that paid the cost no matter how much they both originally intended to protect them.
And for Raphael to still stay with Castiel when they see him absorb the Cage trauma off of Sam like… gosh… the double whammy of them maybe seeing too much of Lucifer in him for a moment, corrupted by the Mark and his time in Hell and someone Raphael could never have healed but why wouldn’t they take the brunt of the guilt for failing… and then also like. This is Castiel. He is the biggest thorn in their side Ever. But he needs help. And the only other person offering to stay with him when he needs it most is a demon. (Some of its got to be a bit of a pride thing. You think Raphael is going to leave their brother to be nursed by a demon?? Absolutely not.)
It’s the lingering affection of their amnesia. The looming anger of their past. The guilt that weighs on them both for how far their war went and how much damage they can’t undo.
And if they make it through this, things would obv change a whole lot. For one… Raphael purgatory jailbreak anyone? Alsjfhflshkf I’m joking but also like. God, the image of Raphael saving Cas from Purgatory (and maybe just Cas, too, because they still don’t even like Dean alsjfjksjfk sorry bud it’s alright you get to have gay vampire sex). Purgatory, the catalyst for how bad shit got. And Cas is trying to hide there and be punished but also, in a way, hide from having to face what he did, having to look heaven and other angels in the eyes. Raphael stomping in there, slaughtering a fuckton of Leviathan trying to get a bite of Cas, and dragging him out kicking and screaming like! ‘No! You don’t get to wallow! We made this mess! If I have to live with it, you have to live with it!’
Anyway, I also wrote a little ficlet for their hospital time as a proof of concept? I think it came out okay. If you’d like to see.
The bed at the hospital is only built for one person.
It’s such a small detail to focus on, but for the past few months, Raphael has slept with Castiel next to them, back to back like they were expecting an attack even while they were unconscious. Now, Castiel has a bed that only he fits in, and Raphael does not sleep.
It was a bad day. They pass their hand over Castiel’s forehead and feel the tremble that upsets his vessel, the sweat cooling on his brow. He doesn’t scream, but he hasn’t, not for some time. He stews in silence. He tells Raphael what he sees or hears, though sometimes all he gives them is a description of the room itself, like he’s not sure if even that’s real and he needs them to confirm it. He trusts them to help him construct his reality. 
Raphael is a doctor who is more used to losing patients than to saving them. A mechanic who never manages to iron out the last few problems before the car swerves off the road. An archangel who could not hold Heaven together.
They are not someone Castiel should put his faith in. They haven’t earned it, but they are here. That’s more than can be said for a lot of beings, including his beloved Winchesters. Raphael stayed. 
It’s what they know.
Castiel’s hand shoots up and grabs their wrist. They still, the tips of their fingers just barely behind his hairline. He squeezes their wrist, once, twice, and his eyes open. His breathing is disordered. He’s not looking at them.
He called them Lucifer twice, once afraid and once exhausted. Then, later, Anna, three times. Balthazar, five. Uriel, eight. He always figures out that they aren’t his ghosts in the end and apologizes.
“Raphael,” he calls them tonight, or not exactly because his vessel’s vocal cords strain into Enochian. He only dips from their holy tongue to speak to their demonic guard dog, since she doesn’t understand the language and reacts to the sound of it like the grinding of metal. With Raphael, he remains an angel. It’s almost like he’s making up for the months they spent thinking they were humans. Every conversation they had circling things they couldn’t remember and didn’t have the words for. 
In a kinder world, they would have had more time to remain in ignorant bliss, but this is the way of things. Knowledge destroys. It casts them out. It locks them up.
The walls aren’t really the thing keeping Castiel in here.
“You would have made a better God than me,” Castiel says. Raphael’s mouth twists, and they aren’t sure if it’s disgust or humility.
“Or made the same mistakes.” Castiel tilts his head to look at them. He does not look at the eyes of vessels anymore. He forgets that human courtesy. He peers at souls with open curiosity. The center of Raphael’s grace sits at the base of their throat. Without thinking, their other hand follows his gaze to touch the divot of their collarbone, blocked by the high-necked sweater they’re wearing. They still feel cold, even now that they know there is something holy burning within them. 
“No, you would have been a better God,” he repeats himself. “You would have controlled the leviathans, and you would have… You would have created an end that justified the means.” He squeezes their wrist again. “Paradise.” It's been a very long time since they let themselves think of that. Long before Heaven's civil war even started, with doubts borne by Michael's failure to secure Dean's consent. 
“As many angels would have ended up dead.” Raphael may be blunt about their own failings here and not face judgment. The two of them are a pair of collapsed lungs. What stones does Castiel have to throw that wouldn’t shatter his house first?
“But the rest…” Castiel’s gaze drifts and snaps back. “You would all be happy.” He’s not including himself in that category. Raphael notices and does not argue for their ability to show mercy. “You would have accomplished something.” That lingers under all of Castiel’s guilt, empowers it, because for all that he feels he failed, he’s upset by the fact that even his failure hasn’t gotten them anywhere. No one’s death won him anything, not even his own. He’s still alone, and none of their siblings ever came any closer to understanding freedom. 
Except one, and they don’t want the knowledge. It tastes like burnt coffee, and Raphael doesn’t pull that from any vessel’s memory. They have held a mug in their hands, let the liquid roll over their tastebuds, swallowed it down despite the grimace on their face. They remember Castiel smiling at them as he accepted that he shouldn’t touch the coffee machine anymore. Only, he still answered to a false name then, identity wholly unmade into someone who could love Raphael, who could be treated as an equal and a companion in turn.
“We’d be at peace,” Raphael says and tries not to let Castiel hear the bitterness in their voice.
”What did it look like?” Castiel asks, and then he changes it, so minutely that it shouldn’t matter, but it does. “For you, what did Paradise look like?”
There are a lot of answers that Raphael could give him. If he were not Castiel, if he were still the stranger who shared a life with them, they would tell him everything.
But he is Castiel. They’re not allowed to forget that again.
”I don’t know,” they lie. “All that mattered was getting there.” Castiel tenses under them suddenly, eyes flicking away. His grip crushes. “What?”
”Wounds,” he says, quickly, points at a bare wall. He looks back at them. Raphael stares long and hard at where he pointed so that he knows they take the truth they give him seriously. It’s only a wall.
”No,” they tell him, “don’t look at that. You aren’t seeing it right.” Castiel’s relieved. He relaxes again.
”What were we talking about?” he grasps for the topic.
”Paradise.”
”Yes.” Castiel breathes in, eyes shutting, and he smiles. When he opens his eyes again, it’s like he’s forgotten the momentary disruption completely. “Can I guess what it would be like? You can tell me how wrong I get it.” Raphael lets their fingers drift through his hair again, simple preening that calms them.
”There’s no harm in it.” Or plenty, but it’s the wrong place, wrong time, wrong angel, for any of Castiel’s words to have an effect. Castiel thinks. His voice buzzes at the back of his throat, a single note lost from its chord.
”A coral reef,” he settles on, “where everyone has their niche and their role to play, and they help something beautiful grow around them. And it’s alive. All of it is alive.” Castiel has not let go of their wrist this whole time. He was a clingy fledgling, too. Of course Raphael remembers. They remember watching over all of their little siblings, the role that should have been shared between them and Gabriel eventually falling onto only their shoulders.
(Because who could ask Michael to raise more little brothers. Who could ask him to lend Raphael a hand. Who could ask him to shoulder more than he would have to in the future. Who could ask him to be there in the present.)
Castiel is one of the few left who can still cling to them and the one they should yank their wrist from and abandon.
“Was I close?” Castiel asks. He trusts them.
Raphael passes their fingers through his hair again.
Death was peaceful. They don’t know who brought them back. Only that it wasn’t their Father. A different God, perhaps, one who knew how to feel regret, dragged them out of the only rest they’d ever known to drink bad coffee with him.
“Yes,” they lie, “that sounds beautiful. That would be Paradise.”
7 notes · View notes
dameronology · 3 years
Text
welcome to the jungle {frankie morales}
summary: after taking a job with the delta guys, you cross paths with frankie morales. even though you’re at each other’s throats at first, it proves to be the start of something beautiful.  (for @what-the--curtains​ - i hope you enjoy!!) - 7k words
warnings: swearing, mentions of ptsd
this is kinda ambiguous in terms of the timeline of the film but i sort of hint to the first half being before the events of t.f and the second half being after -- with that said, you can take it as you would like :D
- jazz
Tumblr media
Your brother had dog sat for a few days.
In exchange, you were flying out to Colombia in the middle of your work week. 
You believed in favours, but these two did not feel like they were equal. 
Still, you were a person of your word - and getting to fly to South America was exciting. The job itself was exciting, if not a little...eyebrow raising. His friend, an ex-Delta soldier, needed somebody to ID a body. That part didn’t bother you - you were a forensic archaeologist after all and it was quite literally your job description. The suspicious bit was the circumstances under which you were doing it; Santiago Garcia hadn’t been entirely clear on the phone, but he’d said something about witnesses and getting the government off of our backs. You’d met Santiago a few times and you knew what kind of work he did - military stuff. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was probably an under-the-radar kind of affair. But, you’d never been one to back down from a challenge. 
So, here you were on a warm Colombian Tuesday afternoon, suitcase trailing behind you as you trekked towards a dusty old air base. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on your back in a way that had initially been comforting, but was now just plain annoying. You didn’t know how long you were going to be here, but packing three jackets now felt like a stupid idea. The one one you’d worn on the plane over had been long discarded and tied around your waist, which only added to the struggle of dragging your case up the steep, sandy hill. In the distance, you could see an ATC tower glinting under the sun - the streams of light bounced right back off of it, causing you to shield your eyes with your forearm. The taxi you’d gotten from the international airport - not like this sandy little place - had only taken you so far. At least, of all things, the boots you’d opted to wear were built for this kind of thing. 
A few hundred meters up the road, you finally saw another sign of human life. A 4x4 was parked outside the abandoned terminal entrance, three men leaning against the side of it. You spotted Santiago standing a few metres away on his phone, thumbs tapping away. He didn’t look any different to the last time you saw him; dark and curly hair, a semi-friendly smile and stubble littering his chin. You hadn’t seen him since your brother’s birthday party a few months ago. 
‘Hey!’ The former soldier offered you a grin when he saw you, holding his arms open. ‘Long time, no see!’
‘Hey, Santi!’ You replied, giving him a pat on the back as he pulled you into a hug. ‘And yeah, it’s been a while. Then again, when was the last time you were in the country for more than five minutes?’
‘I’m in high demand.’ He shot back. 
Pulling back from the embrace, Santi pointed to his colleagues. There was Will and Benny, two blonde boys, both in military gear. It didn’t take much to figure out that they were brothers; same smirk, same stance, same eyes. Even if Santi hadn’t pointed it out, you would have figured as much. You were naturally deductive - came with the job. After the brothers, there was Frankie. He had dark eyes and hair, the latter of which was covered by his hat. Unlike the other three, he was wearing more casual clothes, just with a tac vest over the top. You kind of got the vibe that he didn’t want to be there - that was...comforting. 
‘What’s all this?’ Frankie asked, gesturing to the heavy metal suitcase behind you. 
‘Just...stuff. Tools.’ You replied. ‘Things I need to do my job, I guess.’
‘How heavy is it?’ 
‘Light enough that I was able to get them onto a commercial flight?’ You offered. 
‘The plane is already at max weight.’ He replied, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours. 
‘God, give ‘em a break, Fish!’ Santi slapped him on the shoulder. ‘It’ll be fine.’
‘Remember last time you said it would be fine-’
‘- hey.’ He cut him off with a harsh look. ‘We don’t talk about that.’
‘So I can bring them?’ You raised your eyebrows. ‘Because I can’t do whatever it is you need to do unless I have them.’
‘Yeah, it’ll be fine.’ Santiago gave you a comforting smile. ‘Let’s head to the jet and we’ll talk about the job.’ 
Swinging your duffle bag back over your shoulder, you picked up your suitcase and began to follow the guys further up the hill. There wasn’t anybody else around -- just sand, sun and rusting old jets. There was one in particular that they seemed to be headed towards. It was only mildly less eroded than the damaged ones around you, but the engines were running and the cargo doors were open. Santiago took your bag from your hands as you approached it, tossing it in with the other luggage. 
‘Do not throw that one, Garcia!’ You demanded, flinching slightly as he took your suitcase. 
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ He shot back. 
‘Sure thing.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘You brought a medkit right?’
‘No. Why?’
‘There’s one in my duffle bag.’ You replied. ‘Side pocket. Can you grab it?’
‘We don’t need one, we’ll be fine-’
‘- Santiago Garcia, do you want me to report back to my brother that you took his baby sibling on a jungle-wide expedition without the correct medical supplies?’ You challenged. 
Santi swallowed, mind briefly flashing back to the time he’d almost been decked by said brother for letting you walk home alone. ‘Fine.’
Your triumphant smile only lasted a split second; as soon as your eyes fell on the plane, you realised you still had to get on it. Fuck. 
The engines seemed to be working fine, but it was just...old. And eroding. And making a funny sound. You were by no means an engineer, but even just binging a few episodes of Air Crash Investigations made you feel qualified enough to know that this was not where it was at in terms of air safety. You could have taken it up with Frankie, but he didn’t seem entirely approachable. 
You did trust Santi, however - though sometimes that seemed a little against your better judgement. Every crazy story that your brother had relayed back to you from their time in the military involved him making questionable decisions. Hopefully, opting to fly this hunk of metal wouldn’t be one of them. Here’s to hoping it was aerodynamic. 
‘Are you getting in or…’ Frankie peered down at you from the stairs, eyebrows raised. 
‘Yeah, sorry.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘This thing is safe, right?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘What is it to me?’ You snorted. ‘Just, y’know, that I’m about to fly a few hundred thousand feet in the air and if it falls out of the sky I’ll die.’
‘I know what I’m doing.’ Frankie shut the door behind you as you climbed aboard, twisting the handle shut. ‘I’ve been flying for years.’
‘I’m not saying it’s you.’ You brushed past him, shoulders bumping as you did. ‘Captain fucking Sully couldn’t fly this thing.’
‘The guy from Monster’s Inc?’ 
‘No, the guy who landed the plane on the Hudson? They made a movie about it, with Tom Hanks-’
‘- you should sit down now.’ Frankie turned away from you. ‘We’re about to take off.’
Your mouth fell open in slight disbelief. What an asshole. 
Santi called your name, signalling for you to sit with him in the cockpit. The seats on the plane hardly looked comfortable, and your brain was mentally working out if it was safer to sit over the wing in a crash, or by the tail. You’d definitely seen it in a documentary once, but you couldn’t remember exactly what they said. Perhaps the best option was to just be less dramatic. 
Taking a seat between Frankie and Santi, you pulled your seatbelt on and shuffled awkwardly. This was fine. Absolutely fine. Frankie was a trained pilot (and a dickhead, but that didn’t take away from his flying skills) and you were going to be fine. Fiiiiine. Maybe if you said it once more, you’d believe yourself. You were going to be fine. Yeah, there we go. 
A few deep breaths and you were certain. Or, at least you’d convinced yourself to be certain. 
‘So.’ Your eyes momentarily flicked over to where Frankie was adjusting some controls. ‘What exactly am I doing here?’
‘A few months ago, the boys and I were involved in the shoot-out.’ Santi began. ‘Pretty standard for the type of operation we were on.’
‘Right. Standard office work.’ You muttered. ‘Do go on.’
‘We thought everyone who had witnessed it had been recorded.’ He continued. ‘And everyone who we spoke to verified that it was a justified shootout. No dirty work, no ulterior motive. All valid, from a legal perspective.’
You thinned your eyes. ‘I don’t think I like where this is going.’
‘We ID’d all the bodies at the time.’ He said. ‘Including a Ricky Martinez. Except now, a guy claiming to also be Ricky Martinez has come forward, claiming that his version of events is a little different. Like, different enough to incriminate us.’
‘He’s lying, right? You guys were the good ones?’ You urged. Santiago’s silence was anything but comforting. ‘Right?’
‘Morals are all a matter of perspective.’ He replied. ‘Our labs ID’d Martinez’ body twice but we need a third party opinion before we can completely dispel the guy pretending to be him.’
‘Guess that’s where I come in?’ You asked, leaning further back into the seat as the jet began to move. 
‘Exactamente.’ Santi nodded. 
That didn’t sound too bad. Between excavating the grave, running tests and returning the body, it would take a few days tops. You could manage that. 
The jet began to pick up speed, making its ascent towards the runway. Frankie did look like he knew what he was doing -- heck, the man looked bored, even.  He barely even had to look at the dash controls as it moved forward, hands moving freely and easily to manoeuvre the plane down the runway. 
‘What are you staring at?’ Frankie glanced over at you. 
‘N-nothing.’ You replied.  ‘Shouldn’t you be focusing on the road-’
‘- that’s a runway.’ He cut you off. 
‘Whatever.’
You were thrown backwards in your chair from the momentum of the take off. The plane angled upwards as it went up in the air, tilting sideways as it balanced out. You felt your stomach drop as the ground disappeared from beneath you, the push of the engines pulling you up higher into the sky. There was a clunk, signalling that the landing gear had retracted. 
Well, the plane had fulfilled its first purpose: taking off. That was a good sign. 
‘So,’ Benny peered over at you. ‘What’s your callsign gonna be?’
‘My name, presumably.’ You quirked a brow at him. 
‘We have Ironhead, Catfish and Pope.’ He continued. ‘But Will and I were talking, and we thought Barbie was gonna fit well.’ 
‘Oh, really?’ You sniffed. ‘And why might that be?’
‘Because you’re young, and pretty hot-’
‘- so your call sign is Benny, right?’ You cut him off. ‘Short for Benjamin? That’s really clever. Did you come up with it yourself?’
‘Maybe Eye Candy will be beter-’
Benny was cut off when you reached across, leaning over Santi to smack him in the chest with your balled up fist. All four of them jumped in surprise at your action - clearly, you weren’t somebody to be fucked with. You hadn’t worked your ass for years to get your degree to get discredited like that. 
‘Make a comment like that again and I’ll drop kick your ass out of this plane.’ You jabbed your finger towards him. 
Benny thinned his eyes at you. ‘Frankie wouldn’t let you do that. Right, Cat?’
‘You heard ‘em.’ Frankie’s eyes didn’t move from the clouds ahead. 
--
To give credit where credit was due, Frankie was good at landing planes. 
Specifically, he was good at landing planes in places where planes should not have been landed. Not that he’d had much of a choice when the engines gave in half way through the journey, a couple hundred miles over the thick Colombian jungle. 
In short, you’d been right the entire time. The damn thing wasn’t safe. Of course, you weren’t going to say I told you so right then, since it felt like a little bit of a sensitive subject. 
Now, the five of you were standing next to a pile of what-used-to-be-a-plane, defeat plastered over every one of your individual faces. You were lucky to all have made it out okay - just about. Santiago had taken a hit to the head, Benny had bitten his tongue pretty hard when you’d collided with the ground (fitting) and Frankie had split his head open. You and Will were the only ones who hadn’t sustained any injuries. He had proven to be much more tolerable than his brother. 
‘Okay, we just gotta…’ you looked around, eyes taking in the debris around you. ‘We just gotta stay calm-’
‘- stay calm?’ Frankie cut you off. ‘You’re the reason the fucking thing went down! If you hadn’t taken all that extra weight-’
‘- do you ever shut up, Morales?’ You snapped. ‘And I’m no genius but I don’t think the engines catching fire was anything to do with me bringing an extra bag onto the plane!’
‘I’m the pilot.’ He reminded you. ‘I know what I’m talking about.’
‘Maybe it was the weight of your ego that made it go down.’ You chided. 
‘Hey - Patrick, Spongebob!’ Will finally yelled. Both your heads snapped in his direction, eyes wide. ‘Can you keep it in your pants for two minutes so we can work out how to make it through the night?’
‘Right, sorry.’ You nodded. 
You glanced around the crash site, brain calculating for a minute as you took in what little was left. The plan had landed on its belly and skidded for a few hundred metres; consequently, most of the luggage had come out on the way. That left you with the one remaining bag, the medkit you’d scared Santi into bringing and the strewn camping kit that had been ditched in the back of the fuselage. 
Pulling your phone out your pocket, you sighed when you realised that you had no signal. What had you expected? Four bars in the middle of the jungle? Probably not realistic. You did, however, have a compass app. That was something. You thought for a moment, glancing between the app and the sun’s position in the sky. It was splintering through the trees, washing heat over you like a bucket of cold water. There was a small stream a few metres away, which was a source of water at least. 
‘It’s just gone four, maybe five in the afternoon.’ You announced. ‘So we have about three hours till the sun starts to set. The water in the stream runs that way so if we follow it, we’ll find the source. People are more likely to set up civilization around a source of water.’ 
All four of them looked at you like kids who had lost their parents in Walmart.  Were they really ex-military? 
‘So, what?’ Benny frowned. ‘We...set up a new civilisation?’
‘Oh my days.’ You muttered under your breath. ‘I am spoon-feeding this to you! It means that there will be a town with people.’ 
‘That’s smart.’ Santi nodded. 
‘But before we do that, we gotta sort this out. Will, d’you know how to check for concussion?’ You asked, to which he nodded. ‘Okay, you check Santi and I’ll clean up Frankie’s head. Then we gotta gather those camping supplies and head east. Best case scenario, we find a town before sundown. Worst case scenario, we camp out for the night.’
‘Who put you in charge?’ Frankie asked.
‘Me.’ You replied. 
Taking the medkit from Santi’s hands, you quietly thanked him and led Frankie over to some rocks. He didn’t seem all that pleased when you forced him to sit on one - and he was even less pleased when you pulled his hat off. It revealed a tangle of dark curls, some of which you had to push back to get to the mark on his head. Some may have debated the importance of mentioning such a detail, but you couldn’t help but notice how soft his hair was. 
You knelt down in front of him, pulling the supplies out of the little medical kit. There weren't many, but there was enough to give him something temporary till you got to a proper hospital. If you got a proper hospital. 
‘It’s not too deep.’ You observed, running your thumb over the creases of his forehead. ‘Just a couple stitches at worst.’
‘Don’t you normally stitch up bodies?’ Frankie asked. His brown eyes were glued to the floor, following the outlines of the boot-prints that you’d left. 
‘Yeah, it’s the same kinda principle though.’ You laughed slightly. ‘Despite your attitude, I’m not gonna give you Y-incision stitches.’
‘Thanks.’
‘At least not in a place people can see them.’
Frankie snorted, but it translated to a hiss of pain as you dabbed an alcohol wipe at his forehead. Despite everything, you had a slight admiration for him. He’d managed to land the plane safely as the situation allowed and despite a few minor injuries, things could have been much worse. You didn’t quite feel like vocalising that to him when you were still stranded in the middle of the jungle, but if you ever got out? You might get Santi to pass the message on. 
‘D’ you think it’ll scar?’ Frankie quietly asked. 
‘Maybe.’ You admitted. ‘Just take a deep breath.’
‘Where did you even learn to do this stuff?’ He asked, letting out another small grunt of discomfort. ‘The stitches and the compass shit.’
You shrugged. ‘I’ve been around the block a few times. You kinda learn to be prepared.’
‘Really? As a morgue worker?’
‘Not a morgue worker.’ You grumbled. ‘Then again, I am stabbing a needle through your skin so I suppose I’ll allow the discrepancy.’ 
‘What is it you do then?’
‘I’m a forensic archaeologist.’ You explained. ‘So it’s my job to retrospectively work out how people died, whether it be because their body was found a long time after they died or because they had to be exhumed from their original resting place.’
Gently pulling the needle back from Frankie’s forehead, you cut the thread and dabbed it again with an alcohol wipe. You brushed his hair back down and placed his hat back on his head, offering him a smile. For the first time since you’d met him, he returned the gesture. 
You dusted off your knees and took a place on the rock beside Frankie, examining your handy work. Considering you’d been in a plane crash not quite an hour ago, it wasn’t too bad. At least if it did scar, it was in a place his hair covered up. And in your defense, scarring wasn’t usually something you had to worry about with your other...patients. They usually went back in the ground not long after you dealt with them. 
‘You’ll wanna sit down for a minute.’ You replied. ‘D’you feel dizzy at all? Sick?’
‘I was just in a plane crash.’
‘Me too, funnily enough.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘I s’pose it’s the most interesting job I’ve worked in a while.’
‘Same here.’ Frankie said. ‘I normally work for a flight school, so this is...something else.’
‘It’ll make me grateful when I get back to the office.’ You agreed. ‘Because it has four walls, air conditioner and co-workers who don’t give me ridiculous nicknames.’
‘Right.’ He snorted. ‘Benny can be...Benny. He doesn’t mean to be an asshole.’ 
‘Benny wasn’t the asshole.’ You quipped, nudging him with your elbow.
At least Frankie had proven now that he could talk to you without being insufferable. You couldn’t work out if you’d warmed to him or if he’d warmed to you, but doing somebody’s stitches was unarguably one hell of an icebreaker. He was just a little closed off; quiet and reserved, you figured. You didn’t know what him and the Delta guys had been through, but Santi had mentioned a few things in passing that pointed to a heavy past. That was something you could relate to - your job was no walk in the park either 
‘It’s not...personal.’ Frankie glanced off into the distance. 
Will had managed to salvage the remaining bag from the jet, meaning that Santiago could use it as a seat. Benny was sitting with them, talking amongst themselves. You would have to move soon, in order to find a suitable place to camp before sundown, but taking a minute to recover from the last hour was also important. You’d barely stopped to sit down since the plane had gone down, and now you had, the shock had hit you. Your suspicions about safety had actually been correct. Not that it mattered now, but at least you had a plan to get everyone back to civilization as soon as possible. 
‘So you being an ice cold bitch isn’t to do with me? That’s a relief.’ You joked. Frankie smiled in response; his first genuine one since you’d met. 
‘The witness that you were going to ID was from the last job we all worked together.’ He explained ‘It went bad. Really bad.’
‘From what Santi said, it sure did sound like it.’ You replied. 
‘I hadn’t seen anything as bad as we did then since I was stationed out in the war zones.’ He continued. ‘So being back here, and being with the guys, has just put me on edge. I’m sorry if I was an asshole.’
‘You don’t have to say sorry.’ You shook your head. ‘I mean...actually, yeah, you were an asshole but I get it.’
‘You do?’
‘Forensic archeology is no walk in the park either.’ You replied. ‘It’s my job to work out how people have died. Most of my work is on crime scenes or in war zones so I’ve seen some...dark stuff.’
‘It sticks with you.’ Frankie quietly murmured. 
‘Yeah, it does.’ You said. ‘I know you might not think it on the surface, because it’s the usual sort of job that leaves stuff weighing on your shoulders-’
‘- doesn’t matter.’ He cut you off. ‘Trauma is trauma. Regardless of how you got it or where it came from, it’s valid.’
You gave him a small smile. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. 
---
Later that night -- and after a few hours of walking -- you and the guys had settled down into a makeshift campsite. It was just at the edge of a clearing, not too far from what looked to be a small town glinting in the distance. You did offer to keep going, but between the injuries the group had sustained, it was easier to stop for the night. You had enough of a combined skillset to find some fruit growing to snack on and to start a fire.
Santiago, Will and Benny had long passed out. It wasn’t until after they had done so that you realised there was absolutely no room left in the tent. It was only built for two people, let alone five. Where that left you in terms of sleeping arrangements, you didn’t know, but the chances of even getting to rest felt low. Your brain was on full overdrive, tired eyes darting constantly around the distance. How safe was this place? You’d managed to convince yourself that the plane was secure, and that had gone down like...well, like the fucking plane. 
You were sitting on a log, drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick. It was just something to keep your brain occupied as you fought off the tiredness. The jet-lag from your flight to Colombia had hit in full force and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed -- the bed that wasn’t there. 
‘So, are you keeping a look-out?’ 
You jumped at the sound of Frankie’s voice, twisting around to face him. ‘Something like that.’
‘I can take over if you want.’ He offered. ‘You should get some rest. You’ve saved our asses like three times today.’
‘Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t fit into that tent.’ You replied. ‘I can hear them snoring from here.’
‘Is it worse than the alternative of me keeping you company?’ He softly smiled, taking a seat beside you. ‘I’ll promise not to be an asshole anymore.’
‘We spoke about this.’ You reminded him. ‘I get it. It’s okay.’
‘I still feel bad.’ He sighed. ‘Especially after you stitched me up and led us through the jungle. We woulda eaten something poisonous and died if you hadn’t stopped Benny going near those mushrooms.’
You chuckled. ‘Don’t feel bad, okay? You’ve had bad experiences before and it’s natural to be anxious.’
‘I shouldn’t have taken it out on you-’
‘- Frankie!’ You cut him off with a groan. ‘I’m about to be an asshole if you don’t stop saying sorry.’
‘So we’re good?’ 
‘We’re good.’ You smiled. ‘Thanks for keeping me company.’
‘Santiago, in no uncertain terms, made it clear that he would come for our kneecaps if we left you alone in the dark.’ Frankie admitted. ‘I think he likes you.’
You chuckled, shaking your head. ‘I think you have the wrong idea. Santi is only so protective of me because he’s one of my brother’s best friends, and I guess by extension, that kind of makes him my brother too. They go right back to high school, and then they did the academy together.’
‘That’s a long time.’ Frankie nodded. ‘So you and Santi, that’s...nothing, right?’
‘Absolutely not.’ You snorted derivatively. ‘And if it was, my brother would probably end him.’
‘So,’ He took a stick from the floor, joining in with random doodles you were carving into the ground. ‘Be honest: if these stitches scar, d’you think I’ll look rugged and handsome?’
You peered over at him, eyes creasing as your smile grew wider. ‘Sure. Why not?’
‘Ouch.’ He dramatically grabbed his heart, shaking his head. ‘The correct answer was no Frankie, you already look rugged and handsome.’
‘Okay, it would make you look more rugged and handsome.’ You rolled your eyes. ‘Better?’
‘Better.’ He grinned triumphantly. ‘When was the last time you stitched up a living, breathing human?’
‘College, I think.’ You replied. ‘My roommate got into a fight and didn’t have insurance, so I did some makeshift stitches with a cheap sewing kit we found at a 24/7 corner shop.’
‘We’ve all done it.’ He laughed. ‘I’m glad the stitches you gave me were actual, professional ones...right?’
‘Obviously!’ You exclaimed. ‘You’ll probably want to get them redone when we get back to...y’know, civilisation.’
‘Naturally.’ He nodded. ‘I appreciate you stitching me up. The others would not have been able to do that if it had been just us.’
You shrugged. ‘It’s nothing, really.’
‘What if - and feel free to blatantly reject me for my earlier actions - I took you out for a drink when we got back? Y’know, if we ever get back to civilisation.’
‘Yeah, okay.’ You smiled. 
Normally, Frankie wouldn’t have been that bold -- and you would have absolutely rejected someone who had made such a terrible first impression. But, said impression had changed. He’d been an asshole but you could see why; you could reason with it, even. God knew that you also had a tendency to become withdrawn and irritable when you were retracting back to the darker corners of your mind. Bad days on the job were hard to shake. They stuck with you for a long time. 
The conversation continued, though you couldn’t recall exactly what it was about. Nothing and everything. Growing up and going to college - or for Frankie, the military. You compared stories of Santiago; Frankie’s were better, but yours were pretty good. He told you about how he’d got his piloting license back, and you in return offered a tale of the time that your brother had gotten a DUI. 
Between the warmth of Frankie beside you and the crackling fire in front of you, it became harder and harder to fight off your exhaustion. You would have been tired enough if you were from this timezone, but your body clock was hours out of whack. With your eyelids getting heavier and the dark sky above you, it wasn’t long before you’d flopped into the pilot’s side with defeat. 
‘’M sorry.’ You murmured. 
‘It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.’ Frankie replied. He moved his arm around your shoulders to support your weight from falling off the log - also to give a sign that he was more than okay with it. 
You rested your chin on his shoulder, peering up at him. Now that his cold facade had slipped away, you could admire him a little bit more. Warm chocolate eyes, a strong jawline, and a face that just felt kind, even despite initial impressions. The warm glow of the fire illuminated his face with a soft hue, making the lighter tones of his eyes a little more visible. 
You were both still lingering from the adrenaline of the plane crash, hearts pounding in your chests and brains wrestling with the idea that you’d both made it out with minor injuries. Was that what had made you bold? The sudden reminder of your mortality? Because you never would have kissed him if it had been a normal night.
He met you halfway, lips gently capturing yours in a soft kiss. They were a little chapped from the humidity of the jungle air, but intoxicating and enchanting all the same. He tasted very, very faintly of tobacco and a little bit of mint -- had the bastard had chewing gum this whole time? Not that it was relevant. Not that anything else in the world was relevant. Not when Frankie Morales was kissing you.
Neither of you said anything after; he simply pulled you into his chest, resting his head on top of yours. Between the mental exhaustion and emotional ping-pong game that you were partaking in, you wanted to sleep. 
And sleep, you did; tangled together on the dirt of the jungle floor, not a worry in the world. 
---
Time passed. 
It passed quickly and slowly all at once. 
Once you’d found a little town and got on a coach to Medellin, you did what you came to do: identified the body, cleared their names and closed the case. Your duties at your actual job called you back home and less than a day later, you were on a plane home. 
After that, everything was a blur. You tried to keep in contact with everyone, but life was demanding as ever. Thanks to a promotion at work, you were being kept busy 24/7. Santiago finally retired from active duty and moved back to your hometown, near to his parents and to the guys. Even with the group chat he’d made - affectionately titled Plane Pals - it was hard to constantly keep up with everyone. 
You and Frankie had texted for a while, but it sort of faded out. Whenever you were able to make it back home to see him and everyone else, he was busy. You’d both tried to make plans a few times but they’d never come to fruition. You still texted each other happy birthday every year, but that was it. Like that night in the jungle, he quickly became a thing of the past. A distant memory that sometimes felt like a dream. 
It made a good dinner table story, especially for first dates. You told it on many actually, actually -- only one ever went well. So well, in fact, that you’d ended up in a four-year-relationship. A marine biologist called Simon; not boring, but not necessarily exciting either. He was nice...enough. Nice enough that you didn’t find a reason to leave. 
Looking back, you probably had a million reasons to leave. He was an asshole, for one. The last time he’d treated you right had been your first anniversary - and for some reason, you’d stuck around to celebrate your second and third and fourth. Everyone around you was settling down, and you felt that pressure too. 
Even Santiago fucking Garcia, the biggest flirt and bachelor you knew, was getting married. You’d RSVP’d a plus one - Simon, obviously - but the week before you were due to fly home for the wedding, things had finally reached a bitter end. You weren’t sad about him; more sad that you’d wasted four years of your life on the Walmart equivalent to Ned Flanders. 
On the brightside, your brother’s respective relationship had also gone through a shitty demise, meaning you could move your seats at the reception next to one another. Like Santiago, he had also retired from the military and was living his best life - even though it had taken six months for him to start speaking to his friend again. He hadn’t taken well to the idea of Santiago taking you on a job that left you in the middle of the jungle. 
‘People are gonna ask where Simon is, aren’t they?’ You muttered. 
‘Cheer up.’ Your brother nudged you. ‘I know what’ll help - let’s make a bet.’
‘What?’ You groaned. 
You were standing outside the church, waiting to be called inside. You’d waved at Benny and Will as they came in. The latter had kids of his own now, but Benny was focusing on his boxing career. He hadn’t called you Barbie again though, so that was something. 
‘I bet you twenty bucks that Santiago is divorced by the end of the year.’ Your brother grinned. 
‘No! That’s horrible.’ You slapped his arm. 
‘Whatever. That’s $20 you’re missing out on.’
‘I hate that we’re related.’
‘Me too.’
‘Shut up!’
‘You said it first!’
The two of you were cut off by someone clearing their throats.
You almost did a double take when you saw Frankie Morales stood in front of you. He didn’t look that different to his six-year-old Whatsapp profile picture; he wasn’t wearing his hat, instead wearing his hair pushed back, and rather than his old tac vest, he had a suit and tie on. You had a sort of vision of him in your head from that night, but it didn’t do him justice. He was even better in person. 
‘Catfish!’ Your brother jeered. ‘Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!’ 
‘Says you!’ Frankie gave him a slap on the back. His eyes then fell to you, and his demeanour changed a little. ‘Hey.’
‘Frankie fucking Morales.’ You murmured. ‘How’re you?’
‘Thriving.’ He replied. ‘You?’
‘Also thriving.’ You smiled. 
‘I was sorry to hear about the divorce, man.’ Your brother, as clueless as ever, didn’t sense the sudden onset of tension. 
‘Divorce?’ You blinked in surprise. ‘Is that really something you should bring up-’
‘- you brought up your break up at dinner last week-’
‘- only because you brought up yours first-’
‘- guys!’ Frankie cut you off. ‘It’s fine, really. I appreciate you looking out for me but it was a while ago now. Besides, I’ve got Leya. She takes up all my time.’
‘Leya?’ your eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that your girl-’
You were interrupted by a bell ringing, signalling that it was time for the guests to enter the church. Did the universe hate you? What kind of fucking dreadful timing was that? 
‘I’ll see you guys at the reception, right?’ Frankie asked. 
‘Sure thing, dude.’ Your brother waved him off.
The pilot turned on his heel, giving you a smile as he headed for the church. He was the best man after all, and his presence probably was needed. 
‘You asshole!’ You have his shoulder another whack. ‘I was talking to him!’
‘Jesus, calm down! And why do you hit so hard?’ He huffed. ‘What’s so important?’
‘Who’s Leya?’
‘I dunno! Do I look like Gossip Girl?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You’re mean.’ He grabbed you by the arm, dragging you towards the church entrance. ‘And mum made me promise to make sure you wouldn’t play Doodle Jump during the vows.’
‘That was one time!’ You snapped. 
Thankfully, the actual ceremony passed quicker than you thought. Santiago’s new wife was beautiful -- you hadn’t met Yovanna before, but both her and Santi had greeted you with a bright smile as you entered the reception. It was in a large hotel room, decorated with strings of fairy lights and a large dance floor. A lot of thought had clearly got into it. 
It made you a little sad to think about. How many weddings had you been to in the last five years? How many times had people looked at you and your former boyfriend and said you’ll be next. You weren’t even sad about him. If anything, you were mad that you’d let yourself think about marrying him. You could do better. You were going to do better.
‘Is that girl over there eying me up?’ Your brother’s voice pulled you back to reality. ‘I swear she’s been giving me heart eyes since they brought dessert out.’
‘Which one?’
‘The one in the cute dress! Brown hair, dark eyes-’
‘- that’s Santi’s cousin.’ You rolled your eyes. 
‘And?’
‘Santi’s cousin who is a lesbian?’ You tried to suppress a laugh. ‘Who has been with her wife for 11 years and has three children?’
He groaned. ‘Why must you find such joy in my pain?’
‘It’s what siblings are for.’ You grinned. ‘I’m gonna get a drink. D’you want anything?’
He only let out another groan in response - you took that as a no, simply giving him a pat on the head as you stood up. 
You’d tried to ask around with a few mutual friends if they knew who Leya was -- either they hadn’t seen Frankie in a while, or they pushed to know why you were asking. You couldn’t exactly play that one as suave. Nobody took a casual interest in the personal life of somebody they barely knew -- even though you did know Frankie. Quite well, actually. He’d practically recounted his entire life story to you that night. Told you things that not even Santi knew. 
‘What can I get for you?’ The bartender asked. 
‘Uhhh…’ you glanced up at the menu. ‘Is it an open bar?’
‘If I had enough money for every time someone asked me that tonight, I’d be able to pay for all the drinks.’  She shot back. ‘So, no.’
‘Jeez.’ You muttered. ‘How much for a double rum?’
‘Fifteen bucks.’
‘Fifteen?!’ You spluttered. ‘How much is tap water?’
‘Y’know, I still owe you a drink.’
Like earlier, Frankie had suddenly appeared unannounced. You couldn’t help but grin when you saw him leaning against the bar beside you, a goofy smile plastered across his face and his undone tie wrapped around his left hand. Your eyes flickered up to his forehead, examining it for a minute. 
‘So the stitches didn’t scar?’ You asked. 
He pulled back his hair, shaking his head. ‘Nope.’ 
‘You lucky duck.’ You quipped. ‘So. About that drink?’
‘This shit is insanely overpriced.’ Frankie said. ‘I can steal us a bottle of wine if you’re willing to hide and drink it?
You glanced over at your brother, who was now crying to one of Santiago’s great aunts, piling cake into his mouth. 
‘Yeah. I’m down for that.’ 
--
Five minutes later, you and Frankie were out in the gardens of the hotel. It had been raining all day, but there was an undercover patio not too far from the main reception; the walls were made out of white wood, with red roses trailing up the side. The fairly lights tangled beside them illuminated the place in a gentle glow, blue evening sky providing a beautiful contrast. Even though the showers had stopped, you could still smell the rain in the fresh evening air. 
‘Wine?’ Frankie led you to a seat by the edge of the patio. ‘I stole it from the head table so it's the expensive shit.’
He tore the cork off, handing you the bottle. Neither of you had brought glasses, but you didn’t mind drinking from the same bottle. You’d kissed already - what was the point in formalities? 
‘I hate it to break it to you.’ You paused to wipe your mouth, recovering from the bitter taste. ‘But that’s champagne.’
‘Still alcohol, right?’ He took it from your hands, taking a swig. ‘And it’s free!’
‘You’re right.’ You chuckled. ‘So...I believe we have four years worth of catching up to do.’
‘D’you wanna go first?’ Frankie offered. ‘I heard you got a promotion.’
‘I did, yeah.’ You grinned. ‘It’s a thousand times more work but I get more control over what jobs I take, so that’s good.’
‘Anyone special in your life?’ He asked. 
‘Cut the shit, Frankie.’ You groaned. ‘I know that Santi updates you on every second of my life as it happens.’
‘You got me there. He mentioned a...Steven?’
‘A Simon.’ You corrected. ‘But Dickhead or Asshole works just as well.’
‘Damn, I’m sorry.’ Frankie gave your leg a light squeeze. ‘What happened?’
‘He didn’t deserve me and I stayed with him too long.’ You shrugged. ‘I didn’t think I had a reason to leave.’ 
‘Not having a reason to leave isn’t a reason to stay.’ He murmured. 
You didn’t know whether to bring up the D-Word. D-i-v-o-r-c-e. He hadn’t seemed that phase when your sibling had so eloquently and gently brought it up earlier, but you knew Frankie was good at putting on a front. It was why you’d clashed when you first met. 
‘Am I allowed to ask?’ You quietly said. 
‘It’s nothing bad.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean it is bad, terrible actually, but it was two years ago now. We only got married because she got pregnant and then left the minute our daughter was born.’
‘Leya.’ You didn’t mean to say the name out loud, but it made sense now. ‘Leya is your daughter.’
‘Yeah.’ Frankie warmly smiled. ‘I hate what happened but I’d do it all over again ten times if it meant having her in my life.’
He spent the next few minutes telling you about her. She was named Leya after a certain space princess, though Frankie had changed the spelling to make it less obvious (to which you had argued it was still quite obvious, but a cool name nonetheless). She was currently three years old, often got confused between Spanish and English words, and enjoyed Power Rangers. All in all, she sounded like a great kid. Above all, it was obvious how much she meant to Frankie. His whole face lit up when he spoke about her. Her mum was entirely out the picture, meaning he was doing the whole thing by himself. 
‘She sounds amazing.’ You beamed, peering down at the picture on his phone. ‘She looks so much like you.’
‘Thank God.’ Frankie murmured. ‘I dunno if it being a dad has made me more introspective, but I think about that night a lot.’
‘Me too.’ You replied. ‘Not the thing about being a dad. The other part.’
He laughed. ‘I got that.’
‘What do you think about?’
‘You, mostly.’ He admitted. ‘The fact I was an asshole. The fact you basically saved us all. The fact I never got to take you out for that drink.’
You took a swig of champagne, poking his arm. ‘We’re doing it now!’
‘I know.’ He grinned. ‘I just...I know it was only one night but we might not have been around to tell the story if you hadn't been there.’
‘You were the one who landed the plane safely.’
‘Which wouldn’t have mattered if you didn’t do all the stuff after.’ He reminded you. ‘The thing I think about most, though, is that kiss.’
You froze slightly, head slowly turning to look at him. He was peering down at you now, brown eyes intently gazing at you, not unlike they had the first time you’d been in this position. Now, you weren’t both beyond exhausted, or stuck in the middle of the jungle. You were safe and sound, right here with one another. 
‘It was a pretty good kiss.’ You edged slightly closer towards him. 
‘A very good kiss.’
‘Maybe we should do it-’
Frankie cut you off, meeting your demand before you could even finish it. He was just as you remembered; chapped-but-soft lips with a hint of mint. No tobacco this time. He gently placed a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you further up towards him. It was like you were both reliving the memory of that night in a dream - something you’d done many times. Your memory of it had faded over time but this? This was vivid and giddy and entirely consuming all at once. 
‘You know,’ Frankie pulled back for a moment, keeping his hand on the back of your neck and forehead pressed to yours. ‘I asked Santi about you a few years ago, pretty much the minute I realised I was ready to move on from...her.’ 
‘You did?’ You murmured. 
‘That’s when he said you’d been seeing Simon for a few weeks.’ He admitted. ‘I was gutted. Kept wishing I’d got there first.’
‘I wish you had got to me first.’ You lightly chuckled. ‘It would have saved me a lot of pain.’
‘If I were to ask out now, what would you say?’
‘Fuck yes, obviously.’
‘Good.’ He pressed a brief peck to your lips. ‘I admire the enthusiasm.’
That night - well, actually it had probably been the night in Colombia, depending on who you asked - marked the start of a fresh start for you both. What had initially started out as an attempt to seek solace in one another during a difficult time had led you to something more: something whole, something fulfilling. 
If someone had told you the first time you’d met Frankie Morales that the unfriendly pilot was going to become the best thing that ever happened to you, you probably would have slapped them. Or laughed, or cried, or all three. That night you met, you thought the emotions you were feeling were from the plane crash -- adrenaline and warmth and panic. 
As it would turn out, it was simply the feeling of knowing -- knowing that Frankie Morales was it.
240 notes · View notes
lildevyl · 3 years
Text
DSMP FanFic Recommendations I
So, a few days @nastiiuu did a nice Recommendation of a DSMP FanFic called Evermore. So, per request, here's a list of different DSMP Recommendations that I have from my History, Mark For Later, and from my Bookmarks! Sorry, @nastiiuu that it took me a while to get this up! But I hope you all enjoy!
Stay safe and I will put the Summaries and Tigger Warnings in as well!
So, I will start off with the one the @nastiiuu recommended a few days ago!
Evermore
Summary: Prince Theseus, a child of blonde and blue, a child of isolation and a crave for touch. He's the youngest in the Royal Family, and somehow the most forgotten. The most neglected. The most alone.
Tucked away in his tower, the young prince watches the world move on without him, watches his family welcome two new princes into their arms, and yet reject him when he cries desperately from nightmares or shivers from a painful wound.
"Wilby?" The child had murmured, all curious and hesitant at once. He was tucked in his older brother's lap, watching as his other sibling sparred with their father. "We'll always be together, right? Forever and ever?"
Wilbur smiled. "Of course, Tommy. Forever and ever."
The Hanahaki rising in young Theseus' throat says otherwise.
TW: Isolation, Hanahki Disease, Angst no happy ending, Character Death, Villain!Dream, Manuplation.
The Exchange: My Life for Yours: I'm still reading this one, I'm on chapter 17 and it's ssssssssooooooooo good right now!
Summary: Tommy was a liability. Too annoying and too loud.
Techno didn't care about this child.
"Unless of course, you want call on that favor"
"Ok"
Then why he suddenly did?
TW: Villain!Dream, Canon Diverse, Kidnapping, Demons/Dreamons, Demon!Dream, Dreamon!Dream, Isolation, Manipulation, "A Deal with the Devil."
The Inevitability of Change: I just got caught up with this one and oh my Ghoul! This is intense and so good! I can't wait for the update!
Summary: Fuck it, he was allowed to do this, it would be better for everyone else anyway. They could do whatever they wanted and he wouldn’t be in their way. He wouldn’t cause problems anymore and he could have the perfect life that he had always wanted.
The egg extended a blood vine out to him. "Do we have a deal?" There was a level of smugness that Tommy recognized all too well from all his wars with Dream, it was the sound of an opponent knowing they’d won.
“We do, you dumb ugly bitch.”
or
Tommyinnit hated change. He'd witnessed so many people he cared about in his life change and hardly ever for the better. He just wished things could go back to the way they were when he had everything he ever wanted, a loving family who cared about him, a best friend who was always by his side. He craves this so badly that he makes a deal with the egg to get everything he's ever wanted.
or or
Tommy becomes a coraline kinnie
TW: Derealization, Unreality, Manipulation, Child Abandonment, Violence (later chapters), Explosions (later chapters).
Ties of the Puppet
Summary: Tommy hates how his mind feels trapped at that moment with Tubbo. The look in his eyes one Tommy had been forced to see far too many times. Wilbur’s eyes.
or
Tommy struggles with the trauma of his life and unhealthy relationships, Wilbur tries his hand at redemption, Phil and Techno learn to heal what's been lost.
TW: Mental Health Issues, Violence, Abuse, Redemption Arc for Tubbo, Healing for Tommy/Phil/Techno, some of the characters will seem a little OOC, Canon Diverse.
Forged By Truth (Or the Lack there of)
Summary: After his escape from exile failed spectacularly, Tommy only needed to be reminded that Dream saved his life a few times before it starts to sink in. Once his exile can continue again far away from any more distractions, Dream proceeds with his plan to craft the perfect weapon.
TW: Manipulation, Mention of Character Death (Character doesn't really die but the other characters don't know that), Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Protégé AU, Tommy becomes Dream's Protégé, Angst, Whump.
Mask: I'm still working on this one but it's really, really, really good! A lot of Angst and Manipulation. So, please be careful when reading!
Summary: Dream knew Tommy was a naturally clingy child. That's why he found such satisfaction in having him exiled.
Dream didn't plan on Tommy clinging to him.
Dream was going to take advantage of the situation.
All Tommy needed was a bit of a push and then he would be completely broken.
Ready to be remodeled into the perfect weapon.
TW: Suicidal Thoughts, Attempted Suicide, Manipulation, Emotional and Mental Manipulation, Protégé AU, Broken!Tommy, Angst, Angst (possibly no happy ending but I'm not sure), Whump.
Lion's Cup, Tiger Stripes: I just finished this one and it's so good! Exile Arc but with a twist! Guest Appearances by Sad-ist, Late-August, Derivakat.
Summary: Tommy Innit knew what Dream was doing and was sure as hell not going through with it. So, by the third week of exile, as Dream starts to escalate his punishments, he leaves. One month later he runs into Purpled and hires him as a bodyguard while he travels.
Or Tommy runs away, stays in one village for a month to clear his head and decides to go travelling while dragging Purpled with him.
Or road trip pog.
TW: Angst, Angst with a happy, Found Family, Violence, Testing, Scares, Explosions (later chapters), I think that's all.
Valley of Serenity: This is a very long fic! It's about 60+ chapters so feel free to read in increments but this is a really good fic! Redemption Arc and Healing for the SBI Family!
Summary: After blowing up a nation, Wilbur throws a sword down at his father's feet and begs to be killed.
Phil, however, takes one look at the state of his children and decides he has other plans.
(post november 16th au where wilbur doesn't die. instead a family leaves the smp entirely, and learn how to live with each other again.)
"Fuck, I - I can't forgive either of you right now," Tommy says quietly. Despite the words, he hugs Wilbur tighter. "One day, though. I think one day I will."
"And we're still brothers, right?" Wilbur dares ask. Techno inhales sharply beside him.
They get a choked laugh in reply.
"Yeah. Brothers."
TW: Angst, Mention of wanting to die, Healing, a long road of healing, Mental Health Issues, Family Bonds, Angst but I think there is a happy ending, Violence, Mention of the L'Manburg exploding. Redemption Arc, Healing.
Breathing's Just A Rhythm: I finished this fic a few weeks ago and my ghoul! This is so good! Time Travel Fic with Dream, Schlatt, Tubbo, Tommy, and of course CHAT!
Summary: POGTOPIA??? WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE?? TIMETRAVELBLADE. technotravel
“Chat, I did not time travel,” Techno said exhaustedly, “I don’t know what gave you that idea, but please calm yourselves.”
The voices started obnoxiously whispering at the top of their lungs. HE DOESN’T KNOW. PANIC
Or: Tommy, Tubbo, Jschlatt, and Dream all end up in the past. (Oh, and the Chat comes too) (mcd is a villain, this fic has a happy ending)
Or OR! Dream attempts to Time Travel in the past but winds only go back a few months ago during Pogtopia Area and he winds up bring a few unexpected victors with him! MEANWHILE: Karl is trying his damnest to fix everything with Time Travel Fiasco that Dream caused! B/C the Future selves and the past selves switched!
TW: Graphic Violence, Bodily harm (later chapters), Kidnapping (later chapters), Explosions (later chapters), Betrayal (later chapters I won't say who!), Isolation, Manipulations, Mental and Emotional Abuse, Trauma, Therapy (Finally these boys gets some), Good!Schlatt, Villain!Dream, Redemption Arc Wilbur and Schlatt.
I think I got them all?
Wrong Place for Redemption: This one of the stories that helped inspired Breathing is Just a Rhythm! Time Travel Fic!
Summary: -Previously titled Time Will Decide. Name taken from lyrics in 'A Sadness Runs Through Him' by The Hosiers
“Okay, why don’t you go see him.” Tommy didn’t know what he thought the afterlife was going to be like, hell he didn’t even know if it was a real thing. Maybe he’d see Wilbur, possibly Schlatt, but he didn’t expect to see a white castle and Karl.
Or where Tommy looses his final life to Dream in the prison only to be teleported back in time.
OR where Tommy is given a second chance and isn't going to blow it, not even if things start to get revealed (things that change everything) and discoveries are made.
This whole book has TW's: Child abuse, violence/murder, gore/blood, implied/referenced suicide, suicide, drinking, etc.
Parental Rights: Another good on going fic for me! Can you tell that I love some SBI/Found Family Fics here?
Summary: Sam wants to be there for Tommy. Wants to be his dad. Wants to be the one Tommy comes to when he's in trouble or excited over something. He'd happily legally adopt Tommy, but well... Tommy's actual father is in the way of that. Sam thought with how distanced Phil was with his son it would be easy to persuade him to give his parental rights over to Sam. But well... Tommy's stubbornness had to come from somewhere, right?
TW: Sleep Walking, Mentions of Exile, Healing Arc for Tommy, Healing Arc for Sam, Healing Arc for Tubbo, SBI, Healing Arc for Techno.
Allium: This is still on going, but oh man! This is getting really good!
Summary: What if Dreams plan for the Disc War finale had worked?
Tubbo dead, Tommy in the prison, SMP under his control. Allium Ashes.
TW: Major Character Death, Ghostbo (Ghost Tubbo), Manipulation, Isolation, Imprisonment, Prisoner Innit, Making someone believe they are responsible for something they didn't do, Kidnapping, Rescue Mission.
And How Can I Compete (With The World At Your Feet): God AU and this is really Fangtastic! Rated M for Graphic Violence and Attempted Sacrifice.
Summary: Tommy has been kept away from the world and held captive for four years, and now he’s about to be used as a sacrifice to a god. A blood god, to be specific. The Blood God. But, instead of accepting his captor’s sacrifice, the Blood God is in debt to Tommy. And he’s going to save him.
A universe where Technoblade, Wilbur, and Phil are all gods who have become quite protective of a mortal fifteen year old without a home.
This concept was based on a text post I saw, I think! I can’t find it anymore, but if you see it let me know!
TW: Blood, Violence, Attempted Sacrifice, Villain!Dream, Villain!BadBoyHalo, Occult Setting, God AU, Blood God!Techno, Angel of Death!Philza, God!Wilbur, Angel!Tubbo, Angel!Ranboo.
Death's Forest: This is a nice little One-Shot for the SBI, and Dadza fans! Set during Tommy's Exile. Don't worry! Dadza to the rescue!
Summary: “Can I see him?” Phil asks, blinking owlishly, as if he’s simply just asking. As if he’s not holding a threat behind those light words.
“Don’t push your limits.” Dream responds, and Phil only smiles with a slow nod.
The next day, Dream wishes he had answered differently.
Or
Phil isn’t quite human. He wants to visit Tommy during exile.
TW: I don't think there's any TW here, but if there is, please let me know!
Prince Theseus: Royal AU! Hybrid Tommy. Prince Tommy (Theseus).
Summary: Prince Theseus Craft of the Anartitic Empire, A child who could bring joy to anyone's day left to be forgotten by his family left to spend his days in his tower with nothing but his Maid and dear friend as company
Left to watch his older brothers laugh and smile as his father looks at them with love and the eyes of a proud parent he never saw directed to him, watch them both receive the love he craved so desperately from his father. Left him to envy his brothers yet grow jealous as that jealousy turns to a small flame of hatred growing steadily as time passes leaving him to make his final decision.
No longer will he be known as Theseus but as the Amazing Tommyinnit who could do anything who will prove his former family wrong and show he is better than what they think.
Which leads him to where he is now, a runaway prince who finds a new family brought together by hardship and their love of traveling the endless seas.
AKA :
16 yr old Prince Theseus changes his name to Tommyinnit and runs away from his royal family who neglected him and finds a real family on a ship who just so happened to be pirates as well.
TW: Isolation, Mention of a Minor Character Death, Running Away, Royal AU, Hybrid Tommy, SBI, Neglect, Pirates, Found Family, Angst, Hurt and Comfort, Magic.
Therapy Marriage: Okay, I'm adding this one for some Wholesomeness, and Fluff with some Angst but there should be a Happy Ending!
Summary: but for some reason, tubbo (and possibly ranboo, although he doubted this was his idea) had got it into his head that tommy needed therapy or some shit.
which, fine, maybe he had a little bit of an issue. he did freak out at damage, and weapons, and he had reached out to puffy, but he was okay! he didn’t need tubbo to pity him.
but- here was where the weird part came in- tubbo wanted tommy in his marriage.
TL:DR Tubbo wants to help Tommy and decides that the best method is by marrying him as well. Ranboo just goes along with it.
*****
Okay, this post has gotten very long! I do apologize for that! So, I'll add others to another Post!
33 notes · View notes
Text
Part 1: Home
Summary: Trevor making his way back to the castle after defeating Death.
This is what it was, a shockwave, and then the sun pouring from the cracking skull.
I’ve done it. And so I give the world to Alucard and Sypha. 
And he was hurling through the multicolored cavern as if worlds whirled and orbited around him. This was his ascendancy, he figured, this was the multi-windowed passage toward the end, those countless levels of Hell his aunt told him about. He’ll see them all again, his father, mother, siblings if God wasn’t fucking around. What a story he'll bring to them.
But then his jaw was slammed rudely into the dirt. He lifted his head to breathe and cough out the grass blades and pebbles. A few seconds later, he squinted. Perhaps he was hurled into a circle Hell after all, perhaps taking down the Evil wasn’t enough to God. If he had the energy, he would have chuckled at the idea that God decided not to throw him in Hell.
When the haze faded and the numbness faded, he suddenly fathomed the sound of water. 
God must have flung me into the wrong Corridor. There was a sun, one that was clearly rising. It looked too nice, too serene.
Only then when he dragged himself to the water to dunk his red-welted arm and drink like a hungry beast and splash it onto his cuts and bruises did he suppose he was brought back to Earth. The spires were nowhere to be seen. This was not familiar territory. He looked for Sypha, for Alucard, but then remembering their two small shapes, the dark of Alucard’s cloak and blue of Sypha’s robes, outrunning the collapse of the bridge.
His family trained him to heal the overexerted body after the battle. Rest was important, reusing muscles in the intervals of rest was key. He turned himself over and laid on his back and let himself watch the clouds on the oranged dawn sky. How long did he hurl through the Corridor? It felt like a second and eons. It was night when he slayed Death--slayed Death, what a story for Belmont generations, he hoped to have landed in the corridor with then.
And so he was alone again.
He drifted off and awoke to blinding sunlight. He was still there. This was not a dream. After letting a few clouds pass his eyes, there was nothing to do but lug himself up and stagger forward. He looked at the direction of the river. He did not know this river but there’ll always be towns near rivers. So he followed it upstream.
When night fell, he was sleeping under trees again to settle his bones. In the mornings, he skimmed the grounds for trail mixes and non-toxic mushrooms and bushes for edible berries, thanks to old Speaker lessons, a blending of Belmont teachings derived from their recorded conversations with Speakers (Belmonts could document, Speakers could not), and a bit of the additional knowledge Sypha gave him.
What was that village again? Alucard was with a village headwoman. Perhaps it should have helped to ask before they had to run off to deal with the matter of the madman and the Rebis.
The river trails did lead him to empty villages, with burial grounds and hollowed huts and cabins. It took some deduction and a map he salvaged along with a black cloak to shield him from the hot sun. He did not stay on the path but kept it in sight as he walked through the secluded trees. If there were highwaymen or that damn “pirate of the road,” he didn’t have the energy to really deal with them. The thrill would be nice though.
From the map, he surmised that Danesti was that nearest village to the castle. He vaguely recalled it being nearly a stop when he set off on the road with Sypha. 
--
When he made it to Danesti, there were lumps of burial grounds and a ravaged fortress. But at least there were a few souls, loading wagons, perhaps moving to leave behind the memory of carnage and some that lingered near the burial grounds on their knees, paying their respects.
Trevor found another useful thing. Or it found him. A sturdy black horse with a white diamond on the forehead that nuzzled him when he entered the scratched open gates. It had a steady saddle and pouches. 
No soul around seemed to be interested in it. The horse probably lost its owner. Better not waste a ride. He summoned his strength and threw himself on, the aches rippled through this body, from head to toe, but it was worth it to not move his achy legs even if the road bumps popped waves of back spams.
He so looked forward to a bed, that bed in Dracula’s castle that he stayed in before he went off to adventure with Sypha. He and Sypha slept in different rooms then.
Sypha. He hadn’t talked about it with her. He had seen Belmont women spout curses at their husbands before they would ask God for forgiveness. It was probably a lucky guess the moment Sypha starting screaming curses, but he also noticed she refused her monthly rags and the smell of cooking meat irritated her--“Get that fucking frying pig away from me, Trevor.” It suddenly occurred to his brain that they weren’t as careful on that Lindenfeld bed. Damn it. He always took precautions with any one-night stand he was with. He had no interested in progeny, especially not ones hidden from his knowledge, for this was not a world for new Belmonts. For him and Sypha, an extra mouth to feed was just not in the cards. 
But now, it seemed that the possibility was closer. Death was defeated. 
He had to know if they would live through it all. Sypha probably knew it already of course, before he did. She would figure that out before it did. It was best if Sypha simply confirmed with him before they could have that conversation, if they could rejoin her caravan (Speakers had childbirth knowledge and ways to expel pregnancies) or lay low at the castle (Alucard ought to have knowledge as well). 
Sypha should have been the one to tell him. But he understood if Sypha wanted to murder him for not bringing up. 
He had to know they if would finish Targoviste, although god knows fuck what happened now that they had to abandon it. Every time they moved from troubled town to troubled village to follow the next reported human sacrifice, Sypha would mutter, "We cleared out the night creatures and vampires for them, but we have to trust the people now to save themselves the best they can."
If they had time in that castle... But of course, facing the slews of night creatures and then Death, it was his last and only chance to acknowledge his suspicion to her, regretting the conversation they’ll never have. She knew how to take care of herself and other people, so he had to bring peace to her mind to let her know that he knew--suspected--of something growing and existing within her and that he had faith that it would grow into something wonderful.
Now unless God was fucking with him and threw him into limbo, he’ll ought to find her. The Castle was the natural first stop, at least to talk to Alucard. But it had been, what, a few weeks? He surmised that it was enough time that she would be venturing to her caravan.
--
“Trevor, if you die, I’ll return to my caravan where I would mourn for you, my rude idiot. And I’ll give them every story, our victories and your idiocy.”
"Haha. Also, I'm not going to die."
“If I die, join my caravan. Gain knowledge, exchange it. You don’t have to have the Speaker robes or the mantle. But you won’t be lonely and you’ll be around my family.”
That was the backup plan. She discussed this under the blanket, her cool bare skin against his torso. 
“And what if I rather be alone than with Speakers?“
Her answer surprised him. “Go home, to the Belmont Hold. And you can be lonely there then.”
“Are you forgetting who occupies the Hold?“
“Exactly. You two can be alone together.”
--
She was being generous to make a plan for him. But truth to be told, he would have been happier to wander alone again. At least that's what he told himself. He realized, if Sypha was gone, if her bare flesh wasn't against his right now, if God decided to snatch her from him, he thought about what he would do. She wasn’t wrong. He realized he would have been drawn home to curl up in that tree, and this possibility would also come with seeing Alucard again to break the news.
The spires. The castle.
He could see the spires of the castle now. Alucard that asshole better have that soft bed ready. And with luck, Sypha would be still there or he’ll have to rest to find her.
She probably left. 
As he rode closer to the castle, Trevor could hear people, wagons, horses clopping, and the sawing of wood and clinking of hammers. How long has it been again? Perhaps the refugees were still here, practicing caution in case the demons came back for their village.
Feet scurried close. He was quite ready to fall now. Quite ready to let the Earth be his mattress. The horse came to a halt. He could let the generosity of humans do the rest from here.
The aches yanked him down, two gentle hands graced his back, softening the blow. He squinted as the hood fell and the sunlight poured. He recognized the feel of those small hands as one feels when putting on old clothes.
It was just his luck. There were her big blue eyes, and he was more lost in those seas than he ever was in what his aunt called the “countless levels into Hell.”
“Hello Love.”
--
Next up: Sypha’s angst during those two weeks.
--> PART 2
COMMENTS OR REBLOGS APPRECIATED
Check out my other fanfic on AO3
Tip me on Ko-fi or leave a comment
45 notes · View notes
fiveisnumber1 · 3 years
Text
Timeless - Five Hargreeves x Reader Side Story
I’m in the process of working on the next part of the main story of Timeless but I decided to write this short little side story so I hope y’all enjoy!
Main story parts:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28
_________________________
The Tattoo - “A Family Reunion” Side Story
January 17th, 2014:
After a long day at school, Diego had come to pick you up. Holding the straps of your backpack you walked towards his car. Although the Umbrella Academy had pretty much faded out of the collective thoughts of the public, Diego still tried to keep a low profile for you. You never knew if there were any die-hard fans around so it was better to be safe than sorry. Getting into the passenger seat Diego happily ruffles your hair saying,
“Hey kiddo, you made it to Friday. Congrats on finishing your second school week.”
“Thanks.” You replied softly
It had been hard starting school again. You had been there for only ten days in total and it was completely different from what you knew. Public school was nothing like the private school your parents used to send you to. It was loud and rambunctious and there was never a quiet moment. It was good because you were never alone with your thoughts but the semi-structured environment wasn’t something you were equipped for. And on top of it, you were surrounded by kids your age but they weren’t your friends. You didn’t have friends anymore. As Diego drove away from the school you looked out the window watching the other kids pass by as they got on busses or into their family’s cars. Turning back to sit straight Diego asks,
“Anything interesting happen today?” 
“I pulled a knife on a kid at lunch.” You reply nonchalantly
“I’m not saying you were wrong. But why?” Diego asks
“He had a bow and arrow on him and startled me.” you responded
You hadn’t expected anyone to come up to you during lunch. You typically minded your own business and sat alone. Well, not completely alone. You sat at the same table as a girl from your music class. You knew she played the viola but other than that was quiet and reserved. You two never really talked but every once in a while you’d glance at each other. The kid that approached you though was more outgoing and made his presence known. He was in your gym class and always seen with a taller blond boy. You didn’t know why he had decided to come over to you but nevertheless, he did and even after you had pulled a knife on him he decided to sit down across from you and start talking. You didn’t really respond but you did listen to him. He kind of reminded you of Diego but maybe this would be just a one-off experience. 
Diego had thought about your response for just a quick second before responding,
“That’s reasonable. I’m proud of you for protecting yourself.”
“He didn’t seem like too much of a threat but okay.” you stated
Diego let out a small laugh. Of course, you wouldn’t see some 13-year old with a bow as a threat. Diego continued to drive as you told him about your classes and what you were studying. He listened happily as you discussed the experiments you were doing in Science class and how you were writing poetry in English. The two of you soon came to a stop as you arrived at the boxing club you were both a part of. On Friday’s you would come along with him before going back to the academy the next day. Entering the building you sat down on a nearby chair and started working on your homework as Diego trained with another member. Typically, he would work with you but because he had a match coming up soon he needed to focus on himself. 
Every once in a while though you would go up to the side of the ring and ask for help with a part of your homework. Sometimes you actually needed help but other times you just enjoyed the way your brother’s eyes lit up when you told him you needed him and the proud look on his face when you finally solved the problem. When you had finished your homework you would drag the chair to the side of the ring to watch your brother spar. Swinging your feet back and forth as you sat on the chair you tried to study the practice fight so you could improve your own fighting skills. During the fight though you would catch quick glimpses of Diego’s wrist and the Umbrella Academy tattoo that resided on it. You hated the sight. It was as if Reginald permanently branded him, connecting him to something he never decided to be a part of in the first place. It was a marking that would never go away just like the childhood he was robbed of as part of the Umbrella Academy.
The hours passed and soon it was time to close the club down for the day. Most other club members left and Diego grabbed the mop and bucket from the corner to start cleaning. Cleaning up the club was his livelihood. Al, the owner, was kind enough to let him turn the boiler room into a bedroom and give him a decent wage in exchange for training people during the day and cleaning up at night. You were always so proud of him. Your brother worked hard, harder than anyone else you knew. Even during his time in the Umbrella Academy he always pushed himself to do his best and then some. You admired it and wanted to work just as hard as he did. 
As he cleaned, you tried to help him though. Using your powers you did your best to liquefy the dried sweat and blood so it would be easier to clean. By the time he had finished, it was late and you had grown tired. Diego puts the mop and bucket away before coming over to you and saying,
“I think it’s time you get to sleep.” 
You nodded your head and let out a yawn standing up so you could head to the boiler room that Diego called home. Placing a hand on your back Diego guided you there. You rubbed your eyes before climbing into the bed. Diego tucked you in nicely before sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking your hair until you fell asleep. Once he knew you were completely asleep he carefully got up and went over to a chair across the room. He sat and watched you for a while to make sure you were okay but soon enough he drifted off too.
You started to toss and turn in your sleep. A chill creeping into your bones as images of snow rushed into your mind. The voices of your parents and friends surrounding you. Frantically you look around for them and see silhouettes. Familiar figures extending their hands as they call our your name, beckoning you to them. You rush towards the figures but the snow starts to pick up. The figures become obscured. You run around calling out their names but no one responds. From behind you, you hear the sound of snow crunching as if someone was running away. You turn around from the direction your family and friends were and follow the footsteps in the snow. Up ahead you see a figure that grows clearer the closer you get. 
“Five.”
You pushed yourself to run harder. To try and catch him. When you feel you’re close enough you extend your hand to grab his jacket but just as you do he vanishes. You trip and fall to the ground.
“No!” You called out as you sat up straight in bed.
Your body shook as tears started to prick your eyes. You looked around only to see the boiler room and Diego sitting on his chair off to the side. No snow, no figures, no Five. You took a few breaths before quietly getting up from the bed and heading over towards Diego. Carefully, you shake his arm quietly calling,
“Eggo. Eggoooo.”
Diego wakes up startled but soon calms down when he sees you there. He can see the tears building up in your eyes glisten from the light of the lamp. He always left the lamp on because he thought it would ease the nightmares but they still seemed to happen.
“Bad dream?” He questioned softly
You nodded your head in response. Diego opened his arms allowing you to sit in his lap before he held you close. You were so small and you didn’t deserve all this pain you were going through. He knew from his own experience of how difficult it was to be young and struggling with the pain of traumatic events. Tears slipped from your eyes as you dealt with the fallout of another nightmare. Diego slowly rocked you as he held you, the same way mom did for him when he was still small. When your vision cleared slightly you could see the image of the tattoo on Diego’s wrist. You reached out and using your pointer finger you began to trace the image over and over. Diego noticed what you were doing and questioned,
“Princess, why do you keep tracing that?”
You looked away from the tattoo and up at your older brother.
“If I trace it enough times maybe I can erase it away.” you explain quietly
“Unfortunately, that’s not how it works.” Diego responds
“But heat breaks down ink, if I can just vibrate the molecules enough I can make it go away. I know I can.” You elaborate 
“I’ve come to terms with it you don’t need to make it go away.” Diego softly replies
He hadn’t come to terms with it though. It was an awful reminder of the despicable man who he called his father. The same one whose roof you were now living under. Diego wished that he made more money, that he had a place where he could keep you safe from that man, but he didn’t. He knew you were fiercely independent and smart, but so was Five and their dad still did enough damage to make him run away through time. Five was the whole reason you were even in this mess. Diego wanted to seem strong for you though so he kept his feelings to himself on the matter. He might not have come to terms with it but you were the focus now, his focus, and his residual problems matter much less than making sure you would be okay.
“The one day I wasn’t able to be there...I went with my dad to bring your child to work day and yours did this.” You stated as you continued to look at the marking
It’s true. He did pick the one day where you were busy. You had talked all the week before about bring your child to work day and how it worked. You had gone every year with him since you were 3. He and his siblings were all excited to hear what it was like when you visited the next day but that excitement was ruined by the permanent scar they all received. 
Diego remembered that day in vivid detail. They were all summoned to the parlor and before they knew it the carnage began. Klaus got his tattoo first as punishment for being intoxicated. It was a vicious punishment for such a minor action. Allison went next and cried the whole time. When she finished Klaus held her as she continued to spill tears. Then it was his turn. The needle scared him but he put on a tough face to show that he had the mental fortitude to be a leader. He didn’t even accept comfort from his own mother. Luther and Ben went next and then Five was last. Five had looked at the front door the whole time, probably hoping you would show up unannounced and stop it before he was marked. It didn’t happen. All of them knew that their father chose this day on purpose. It was cruel. Diego looked off in the distance as the memories replayed in his head. He still tried to cheer up the conversation though by lightly joking,
“If he did it on a day you were around you would’ve burned the house down.” 
His joking didn’t work though as you sadly followed up,
“All of you hid it from me. Why?”
“We all knew you’d feel exactly like this, like it was your fault. We made a pact not to say anything because it would hurt your feelings and I’m sure you could guess who led the efforts on that idea.” Diego responded honestly
You nodded your head. Of course, he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.
“I always felt like you knew, but you never said anything so I wasn’t sure. How did you find out?” Diego added
“Vanya.” You respond with a yawn
“Of course it was Vanya.” Diego mumbles
You could feel yourself growing tired again. Your eyelids started to droop as you explained,
“She had drawn the image in black marker on her wrist and when I asked why she told me. He didn’t say anything until I brought it up.”
You didn’t like referring to Five by his name. You barely mentioned him because the wound of his loss was still too much. Diego didn’t understand how someone who cared for you so much could cut you so deeply. It didn’t make sense, but he couldn’t change the past.
“I could’ve protected you all...” You mumbled before falling back asleep
“It wasn’t your job to protect us.” Diego quietly replied
He held your small sleeping figure closer to him and rocked you once more.
“But it’s my job to protect you.”
67 notes · View notes
bitch-i-migth-be · 4 years
Text
Crash Course | Chapter 04: A Busy Queen Bee
Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman,  
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton,
Characters: Danny Fenton, Jazz Fenton, Ghost Writer, Clockwork, Observants, Pariah Dark mentions, Random ghosties mentions *boo*
Words: 2′549
Tags: BAMF Danny, BAMF Jazz, Sibling bonding, Shenanigans, Swearing
Summary: He swore his sister was trying to make him go into cardiac arrest - considering his halfa status that was quite the accomplishment-
But there was no other explanation to his sister’s stubbornness, and if he knew her at all there was just no talking her down from interning at goddam Arkham.
A/N: The academy location is what the Gotham Academy Comic brought up to the table on it’s pages. Gotham Academy IS across the road on that comic.
 Complete madmen, I’m telling you. That’s child endangerment right there and like HELL I’m passing up this opportunity HAHAHAHA.
 This is going to be a disaster.
CHAPTERS: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7
-.-.-.-
Danny was quickly writing down on his journal every single little thing that could be helpful to deal more efficiently with his workload, had been rather busy lately, and normally he would just wing it and be done with it, but this time there were some things he had to take into consideration before he started to poke bears with sticks. 
One of the most important?
When you are dealing with ghosts, you have to take into account that they have a thing called obsession. 
It’s their drive. The reason behind their actions and continual existence upon this world, and as such, a good way to guess what makes them tick.
Danny liked to pretend he was not a slave of a fucking obsession, but considering he was still fighting the ghosts, with no payment to speak of, and after the massive amount of times someone had used his face to scrub the streets-
The fake it ‘till you make it ideology only carried you so far in life.
His friends called it a hero-type obsession. 
Danny didn’t think that fit quite right. 
When he couldn’t turn a blind eye on one of his, particularly reckless, actions he preferred to describe it as a protection streak.
Obsessions were ‘born’ the moment of one’s death, after all. 
And there had been nothing heroic in the way he had died. 
He had been scared shitless.
The moment it had clicked in his head that he would most definitely die right there, all the reasons why he didn’t want to die yet flashed by his mind, all those places left to visit, his dreams of going to space, going out with his friends, his family- My god, Jazz …
He would leave his sister behind.      
He was leaving her alone in this godforsaken house with their parents. 
Even after all the years the Fenton siblings spent calling living in the Fenton household ‘survival’ they had only been playing around. It was supposed to be just a joke. Something to lighten and make fun of their weird family dynamic. 
It wasn’t supposed to escalate like this.
And now- n-now their parents had demonstrated that they were apparently more than capable of killing off — if accidentally — one of their children, what the fuck would prevent them from murdering the other one?  
Who was going to protect his sister?
The fear for his well being had rapidly transformed into dread for his sister’s future. A tremendous and sudden rush of protectiveness had inundated his being. 
And that was it for him.
The next time he had recovered some semblance of coherence he had awakened as a fully minted halfa and there was no going back. 
 Some months later, after learning more about his situation and what it meant, he had been capable of identifying what was the drive behind his ghost half. Jazz had been the catalyst, but apparently the sheer feeling of protectiveness had been what his soul had latched onto. So while his sister was a big priority, he recognized that he still felt somewhat inclined to protect in general. 
He still refused to call it an obsession, though. 
So Protection Urges it was.
Apart from keeping a constant watch on their house —for both their sake’s, truly—, when the ghosts started running wild all over the place his new ghost instincts had come to the conclusion that a safe town meant a safe sister — and a happy sister. Jazz would blow a fuse worrying about getting lynched by the town when they realized the older Fentons were at fault of the destruction of their homes. And he would worry about his sister getting skewered. An intervention was in order —, so, most of the time this protection was reserved for the humans, considering the weak things tended to get trapped in the crossfire between the ghosts and their obsession or even other ghosts.
There were also moments when humans would turn against other humans. But in a place like Amity — where the citizens felt a certain level of kinship against the ghostly invaders and tended to stick together — those tended to be scarce and far between.     
The occasions where his protection streak would show up in favor of ghosts weren’t as numerous, but they existed. They tended to be either when the G.I.W. got their imbecility involved, his parents were hell-bent on getting subjects for dissection or when other fucking ghosts insisted on being fucking assholes.
After all the time he spent dealing with ghosts it was undeniable there were good ghosts out there, and no matter the reason, when he helped these ghosts out most of them tended to be openly grateful. Some promised him their allegiance, others gave him their respect, and a good bunch of them would find subtle ways to stay under his protection. 
Once the almost disaster that had been Pariah Dark was over, some of the ghosts had started to actively request  his protection.  
Some of the most aggressive ghosts had started to back down, shit, even Walker was not bitching at him as much as he used to these days. He would think he was going soft, but he still looked at him like something the dog had dragged in — which, ok, that was true sometimes because Wulf, or even Cujo, but there was no need to be rude —, Danny didn’t really mind, Walker wasn’t his favorite person either. 
So things were a little better for him when he visited the Ghost Zone, and he could make things somewhat better for the weaker ghosts that relied on him for protection. As far as Danny was concerned he was doing fine in his protection duties. Fast forward a pair of months and the Ghost Writer was kind enough to inform him that while he was doing an excellent job with the fighting aspect, he sucked in all the others.
Apparently, when a ghost asked for the protection of another ghost they were requesting a lot more than just a ‘fight for me’. — And how the fuck was he supposed to even know that? — This, of course, also meant that they were willing to offer a lot more in exchange. But Danny wasn’t as focused on what he could get in return as in the fact that he was apparently lacking on his role as protector. 
Not on his goddamn watch.
Damn his fucking urges.
Later on, with more time and experience to sort through this wreck waiting to happen and after he finally got the chance to met more of the sovereigns of the Infinity Realms and personally witness their interactions with their people, he would start to understand what exactly this new role he had stumbled upon meant. 
For the moment the only thing he deemed as the first priority was supplying the ghosts under his care with a safe space to exist. 
According to the Ghost Writer, giving them a safe space would normally translate into welcoming them into his lair, because the weaker ghosts that normally requested protection didn’t have the proper energy levels to make one of their own.
The problem with that was that he didn’t have a lair. 
…Not necessarily.
GW hypothesized that, as he was so attached to his hometown and spend the most part of his time in there, it was likely that his ghost half recognized the entirety of Amity Park as his lair, and as such his instincts hadn’t seen the construction of one for his own use in the Zone as necessary. Or something along those lines. 
That had been a bump on the road for his plans. 
Nonetheless, a Fenton does not know when to fucking stop, so he kept at it. 
When he nagged clockwork about it the older — or younger, whatever he was at the time — ghost had said that winning a fight against a ghost king meant inheriting their lair by right of conquest. So technically speaking, Danny did have a lair now, no matter how creepy the thing was.
That was all good and dandy but didn’t quite resolve the main problem.
Because now the problem was that Pariah’s goddamned keep — now Phantom’s —,   was ‘guarding’ one sleeping murderous king, and two fucking powerful artifacts. And opening the doors to what amounted to a small army of random ghosts while those things were there was not a good idea. 
But, seeing as Danny was not about to expose ghosts or humans to each other, there was no way he was letting his ‘people’ into Amity, so the castle it was.
Considering the significance the crown, ring, and even fucking Pariah held for the zone, the Observants would have to get involved for decision making, because of course, they had to shove their nonexistent noses on everything.  
As anyone would have predicted, it was a goddamn pain to reach some kind of agreement when such uptight guys were involved. The halfa acknowledged that finding a place to these things was important but after two hours of debating back and forth over it, the situation was getting ridiculous. 
Danny, being pretty annoyed already, had asked if they could just melt the damn things and be done with it. 
The Observants nearly had a coronary. 
Clockwork would have succeeded in looking chastising if he hadn’t been so busy trying to hide the smirk blooming in his face from witnessing the eyeballs’ ruffled distress. 
They explained to him exactly why doing something like that was completely foolish, Phantom retorted that leaving two ancient artifacts of immeasurable power, and a psychotic slumbering ex-king in a creepy castle guarded by fear factor alone was fucking foolish.
The Observants countered saying that if the new high king would just fucking accept his position and wear them then they wouldn’t have to worry about the artifacts. Phantom disagreed in principle because the new high king would have to be as imbecile as the last one to let himself get possessed by a fucking ring.  
The halfa dutifully ignored most of the implications thrown in that particular conversation.
Happiness belongs to the ignorant.
In the end, they had all acquiesced 
A good thing, because Danny had been more than prepared to throw the tantrum of the century if any of them tried to get that goddamned cursed ring anywhere near his fingers, and there was no fucking way he was going to parade around wearing a fucking crown on fire — or otherwise—, he had an ice core for ancients’ sakes.   
In the middle of the ghost-catfight, Danny had stated that he would only agree to use the damn artifacts as long as they found a way to get rid of the goddamn curse of the ring and make the gaudy crown less of a fire hazard.
The Observant sniffed pompously, saying that the notion of them not knowing how to do such a simple thing was ridiculous, Danny’s eye twitched as he sneered, because ‘Why the fuck haven’t you done it already then?’
The Observants shifted nervously. Danny sneered harder. Clockwork stopped trying to pretend he was not enjoying himself. 
One of the Observants finally disclosed that the issue was not the knowledge but the power needed to pull off such a thing. With newer things, transferring powers from a thing to another was relatively easy. With millennia-old artifacts with such amount of power inside, though? Near impossible. Not even taking into account that the artifacts Danny wanted to ‘mess with’ were — however cursed  — an ancient heritage of the Infinity Realms.
“Then we ask for help.” Phantom said curtly, crossing his arms over his chest. 
This declaration resulted in a row of rapid blinking among the Observants. It was fucking weird to watch. 
“Ask who for help, exactly?” Came the uneasy reply.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he drawled, pushing his hand through his already messy white hair and massaging his aching temple while he was at it. 
“I think what Daniel is trying to say is,” Intervened ClockWork after letting Phantom loose on the Observants as long as he could get away with. The boy was a real wonder. “If we need power and permission to ‘ mess with the ancient heritage ’ then the better option would be to consult with the Kings and Queens of the Infinity Realms. Wouldn’t you agree?” the ghost of time finished sending a playful little smile to the ruffled Observants. 
At the end of the day, all this chit chat resulted in the official formation of the High Council of the Infinity Realms. 
For Danny, the best thing about this Council was that most of them, like him, had a bone to pick with the Observants.  
Which didn’t mean that they agreed with him on everything he put forward, but it still makes him quite satisfied, all things considered. 
Once established the first order of business had been, of course, dealing with the artifacts and Pariah. 
Phantom suggested from the get-go stashing pariah into a more discreet, less flashy location than his previous castle, and transferring the powers of the ring and crown into new non-cursed-or-flaming-and-better-named jewelry. 
These things had been a trademark of the ruthlessness of Pariah’s reign, after all. 
Taking into account that all of the ghosts sovereigns had either been present for Pariah’s carnage or were more than aware of the repercussions it caused, it was not much of a surprise when it was an almost unanimous vote in favor of the notion. It would have to be discussed further to decide on the precise details, but for the most part that was the general sentiment. 
The Observants had seethed for a while, but they couldn’t do more than resign themselves after the majority of the votes cast were in favor of a complete change.  
They had still insisted on keeping a goddamn crown as mandatory, and he could have kept going with his bitching but Jazz had been trying to teach him how to pick his battles, and this one was not worth more of a sore throat.
All of this hassle because he wanted to give some homeless ghosts safe heaven into his previously non-existent lair. 
Once done, with the artifacts and Pariah taken out of the keep, he realized some redecoration was in order before anyone lived in this place. He thought about asking ClockWork but decided to let him deal with the Council Shenanigans and went to bother the Ghost Writer instead.  
The dude sure had some strong opinions on color schemes and furniture. 
Danny shook himself out of his daydreaming, he had gotten carried away. 
He put his pen down, taking advantage of the little break in writing to stretch his cramped limbs and back like a cat before looking over his chicken scrawl spread all over the journal’s pages. 
If he dealt his cards well a single chat with the High Council and a visit to the castle would be more than enough to start the preparations. 
Danny’s eyes zeroed in the last column of names he had written on the page.  
That only left the more- mmh, particular cases. 
He let his chin rest on the palm of his hand, releasing a low hum while a little smirk slowly made itself comfy on his features.
Now, for the fun part.
-.-.-.-
NOTES:
You might be wondering, “Did she just made Jazz the root of Danny’s obsession?” And the answer is yes. Yes, I did. -.-.-.-
Frostbite’s name in the Latin American (Or is it from Spain? Don’t know :v )dub is “Congelación” (which means ‘freezing’) and I don’t know how to fucking deal with that. It does not sound anywhere as cool as the original :’v
Maybe it’s because I’m not used to hearing “congelación” applied to something as awesome as a goddamn ghost yeti.
Or maybe not.
Who knows. -.-.-.-
I swear I’m trying to get these two to Gotham, but It feels like I’m dragging Danny there kicking and screaming. Which is- appropriate, I suppose. -.-.-.-
There would be more details of the High Council integrants later (I think?) and the dynamic I’m going to put here, not like you can’t guess some of them already *wink wink nudge nudge*
64 notes · View notes
todorokitops · 4 years
Text
I promised to post the small, fluffy shigadabi drabble I was talking about, so here it is. The shigadabi is established, and this drabble is from a very late scene in 1a Tenko au (the au background is in my pinned post). I guess all you need to know is they’re both 16 now, Tenko is part of the Aizawa-Yamada family, Dabi is part of the Midoriya family, and this is right after Yamada’s birthday party dinner when everyone’s just talking and relaxing and having fun. No angst. Just... soft. Okay, enjoy.
~
By Porch Light
"hiding away again?" tenko asks, and when dabi registers the voice, he finds the aqua-haired teen sitting down next to him with a drink in his hands.
behind them, past the sliding glass door that's just a crack open, he can still hear the adults laughing and talking over wine, exchanging stories about yamada. the chatter is muted, but warm and cozy, as is the soft, orange light from the back porch lamp above their heads which lights up half of tenko's smirking face.
dabi blinks, then shakes his head, snapping himself out of it. he'd been zoning out for a while now, just looking out onto the back garden. even though the sky's dark and speckled with stars now, the aizawa-yamada kids don't seem like they're lacking any sort of stamina, especially as hitoshi playfully chases a squealing eri around in the grass in their little game, the others protecting her by being defences to hide behind, or just tackling hitoshi while they laugh.
it's nice, he thinks, to see the rowdy group of teens and their little sister actually getting along this well, considering they hadn't always been together their whole lives. this dysfunctional family the two pro heroes had built... it had ended up being the home all the kids needed.
and tenko had joined it now too.
he smiles, stealing one more look at the others playing a few metres away, before taking a sip of his own drink. apple juice. he'd let eri have some earlier too. the taste is sweet on his tongue, and he doesn't think anything could taste better.
tenko hums, leaning closer to him so their knees knock together, looking forwards once more to where dabi's gaze was. he watches his siblings play, seeming to admire the way katsuki sweeped up eri onto his back and carried her away from her chaser with a victorious laugh, while shouto made small bumps of ice on the ground for hitoshi to trip over without really hurting himself as he pursued them.
"well, you're sitting in the shadows, brooding over your drink, staring at my siblings like you're planning their murders."
dabi snorts.
"old habits die hard, i guess. and for the record, it's apple juice."
tenko raises an eyebrow. “seriously? let me try some."
he reaches for dabi's drink, and after a moment of hesitance (he loves his apple juice), he passes it to him. tenko lifts the glass to his lips, the cool night air sending a breeze through his hair as he sips lightly.
he stares at him for a while, before tenko brings down the glass.
"okay, you were right. apple juice.”
dabi smirks for some reason, stealing it back from the boy. "yep. so you can take your broody, angsty vision of me and toss that out the window. 'm just enjoying my drink and the night air." he adds after a moment, "and the porch light just doesn't reach this side of the stairs."
tenko laughs, then licks the remainder of the apple juice off his lips, seeming to savour the taste. he drinks his own drink this time. coke, apparently. he finishes his sip, leaning his head properly against dabi's shoulder now, tucking his feet in on the wooden stairs. they don't need to say much more as they watch the others play by the light of the porch.
the fireflies have come out now, small and bright, and dabi leans his head against tenko's, holding his drink between his knees as he gazes at the tiny glowing orbs that appear every few seconds.
even eri's stopped giggling from the game to admire them, patting katsuki's shoulders so she can be put down. as soon as her feet touch the ground, she's playing a new game, chasing the fireflies that dart away lightly from her grasp, a wide smile on her face. hitoshi pants and bends over his knees, sounding tired, and shouto puts his right hand over his forehead to cool him down.
tenko's hand wanders down his arm after a while, and dabi's used to this by now, so he puts his glass down on the stair in front of them, before splaying his hand out, palm-up to the skies. humming contentedly with a reverberation that passes from tenko's body to his, the shorter male's hand slips into it gently, letting their fingers intertwine.
dabi squeezes his hand softly, the gesture reminding himself that this is his life now. this cozy night, accompanied with stars, quiet laughter and fireflies all around them, he's part of it. he isn't quite so separate anymore.
they'd never intended for any of this to happen, no. villain or hero. civilian or vigilante, he'd found this life and tenko in it, and that went beyond any of his wildest dreams.
it still doesn't feel real for the other male to be sitting right next to him, thumb rubbing over the back of his hand, humming a soft tune with his head under his own.
in the distance now, the others seem to be watching katsuki, cross-legged on the grass, make small explosions in his hands similar to the fireflies all around them. he smiles smugly, but softness is evident in his features too when eri shuffles closer on her hands and knees to watch the sparks fly like she's never seen fire before. dabi can hear the soft clapping from the others having sat down as well, and even a small "sugoi, kacchan!" from his brother, who's joined them without him realising.
hmm... perhaps he'd been more focused on tenko than he thought he was.
the boy's hair smells like fresh laundry and sunday morning lie-ins, like warmth and comfort, like clean blankets with a hint of peppermint. his fingers have lifted now to trace circles into dabi's palm.
he readjusts them slightly, moving so his arm wraps around tenko's waist protectively. the shorter teen just nuzzles under his chin without a word, content with the new position. he searches for his fingers like magnets to a pole, and when dabi offers them to him again, he's playing with them once more, closer to his body this time.
his gloved fingers caress dabi's own carefully, thoughtfully, and his soft humming turns into a familiar melody he's heard before.
softly, dabi hums along, his chin on top of tenko's head, his arm still wound around his waist like he's the only thing that matters.
and tenko's song fades into soft laughter.
tinkling, raspy laughter, genuine and whole. laughter that was so rare that the taller teen's chest feels tight just hearing it. the knot loosens after a moment, and he feels the urge to drag tenko closer, hold him tighter.
but he just lifts his chin off the laughing boy's head, intertwining their fingers properly again, and tenko finally moves from his leaning position to look at him.
his eyes shine under the porch light once more, glinting with unsaid words. the scarred and less chapped lips curve up the more he gazes into dabi's own, and then he squeezes his hand tight as fireflies dance around them and distant warm laughter fills their ears.
he leans in, and their lips meet.
tenko tastes just as sweet as coke and apple juice.
~
So yep, that’s all I got for now. It’s definitely messy and rough, but I won’t fuss too much over it. Till next time~
- todorokitops
Tumblr media
Fanart by the awesome @ragingfangirl666 who I owe my life and probably my firstborn tbh 💕
60 notes · View notes
lambourngb · 4 years
Text
Get me out of here - places to go when canon is complicated
It’s Day 3, time to celebrate those stories that I turn to when I can’t deal with canon, or when I don’t have the emotional energy to untangle all the emotions I have for what’s going on in canon. Alternative universes, the safe harbor for us. Below are a mix of rewrites of canon, remixes of canon, or out right not even set in Roswell- to fill every type distance you want from canon- from near to far.
The first story I’m reccing is a long one,- so pardon the very long review below.
my love is a life taker by @jocarthage (267,600) So one day, Jessi popped into discord to share a dream she had about timetravel and being able to save yourself in the past basically, particularly Alex getting to give his baby-self a hug, and we all went, “holy shit that’s a cool fic idea please write it!” and really reality sucks right now with quarantine and whatnot, so what better thing to do than follow a WIP? I can’t tell you how badly I needed to something to look forward to as I was staring down a milestone birthday with all my plans in tatters, and this story filled the void.
Okay- now about the actual story itself, the world building about time travel in this is incredible but easy to absorb. Jessi dumps you straight into the action in chapter 1 with Alex, at 28, assassinating an Iraqi intelligence agent in 2009 that averts a bomb that was planned on US forces. You learn so much about both the story-universe and Alex here- one, that even dressed in mask and killing someone, Alex is kind and uses morphine as an overdose and has arranged for his victim’s family to be compensated, you learn that time agents can only visit places they themselves have visited during that time, and Jesse Manes had dragged his son, who was ‘time aware’ to every place of war and ruin on the planet before he was 18 and that, Alex’s victim, even as he’s dying, recognizes what a shit childhood Alex had but that Alex doesn’t.
The next part is where Alex’s time crystal malfunctions, instead of returning him to 2018, it takes him to 1998 where an 8 year old Michael is getting beaten by his foster dad and Alex, out of his time line mysteriously, visible to only Michael, saves him, but only temporarily. We all know with abusers, until you’re out of the house, it’s just a matter of time before the next beating. However, with one act, Alex at 28 starts putting into action (even though he doesn’t recognize it at the time) the steps to save his own life as he works to save Michael from his childhood. Each mission, each jump through time, Alex meets Michael, always a year apart and only for 1000 seconds, or almost 17 minutes. Jessi takes you through some of the darkest points of US foreign policy, only as Alex takes control of his life, he also starts to change the missions, and change the world. The details of places, people, food, etc are authentic from the author’s experience, if you don’t click on the links at the end of the chapters and disappear down google-rabbit holes about the events in history, well- you’re made of stronger stuff than I am.  There are lots of heavy subjects discussed, but there’s always care and honesty behind the intent. The way Michael grows, the way Alex grows, and of course the journey to the present time when they could be together? It’s like pining on steroids but it’s so wonderful. I wish I could pull out one thing that I loved in particular in this story- but it’s impossible, only to say that I love that I could disappear completely within the confines of ‘my love is a life taker’ knowing that I would be kept safe by the author, that goodness prevails.

when I’m oceans away by @neapeaikea (28,000) this is a post-2008 shed canon-divergent AU where Alex Manes, after the best/worst night of his life bolts from Roswell and leaves Michael behind. 10 years later, on the hunt for a child conceived at Caulfield, Michael walks into a youth home in California and finds Alex. A few things, I love that this author writes an Alex who didn’t join the Air Force but still lost a leg, I don’t really enjoy disability erasure in modern AUs (I’m better at looking past that in historical or sci fi aus) . It’s pretty clear after five minutes that the connection between the two men is still there and strong despite anger, secrets and guilt. The teasing and flirting between them is great but so is the acceptance of baring their vulnerabilities. I loved the care they take with each other, and the tie in to an alien child is just so perfect.
Crucibles (series) @ninswhimsy (9,000)- I’m cheating and naming both here, but obviously nin had her finger on the pulse of fandom, by writing crusade-set queer stories before The Old Guard ever boomed into a fandom from the movie. I was lucky enough to trade DMs over the ideas of holiness and the body, and how Alex would have treated himself, certain of his doomed soul, and how Michael would have responded in turn. It’s no secret I love everything Nin writes, but this series stuck in my mind. I will be drifting off to sleep, and think about Alex walking through the ancient city of Aleppo, ready to be done with his burden and Michael there with soft palms and scented oil, and boom! I reach for my kindle to re-read it.
no regrets if we walk this new road by @andrea-lyn (97,000) This author has written so many amazing AUs, some quite far away from canon events like her Mummy AU or her Avengers AU, but I have to say, I have a very soft-spot for this rewrite of season 1 for a lot of reasons. I mean, it’s 2020, so my appetite for Cop!Max is definitely at an all-time low, so the idea of exchanging his job with Kyle’s was extremely appealing. At least Kyle is a POC holding the badge, not a white man like our canon. Anyway, politics aside, this story is special to me for the scorching good Isobel/Kyle relationship that develops, the way Isobel sharpens herself into a lawyer (not an event planner) and how Michael rounds his own edges off in turn by becoming a teacher (and being secretly married).  Each deviation from canon made complete sense once you alter the way Rosa’s death affects the pod squad, and how they covered it up ripples out toward Liz, Kyle, etc. 

Layer on layer, down on down by @dotsayers (9,440) I love sci-fi tropes, especially time-loops, but they are incredibly hard to write (I know, I abandoned mine a while ago) so this story stands out because of just how well done the execution is and also the angst. Michael in a time loop about Caulfield, like how great/agonizing is that? The plot is so good, how it ties into Caulfield and why it happens in the first place, like wow.  The care, and the hurt, and the fatigue that Michael has in this story, oh you just want to wrap him in a blanket. There’s a tiny throwaway line about how one of the first things Michael learned to do in foster care was to make himself heavy and unmovable- and you instantly picture kid!Michael not wanting to be removed from a house - like my heart broke! The structure of the story, with the background of his just how much he loves Alex but how badly it hurts to see him die, really makes this study of 1x12 special. Along with all the angst, there’s tiny gallows humor lines, so am I weird, that I laughed through a couple of these scenes even as Michael kept dying?
Petty pace by @aewriting (11,600) Aewriting has a couple of stellar AUs, so trying to pick just one was difficult, but I rather feel this story is sadly underappreciated it (mind the tags). It was a remix of @iwontbeyourmedicine ‘s fantastic ‘Freaky Friday’, where the humans and aliens swap roles. Alex in the role of Michael basically was something I had never pictured until Ly wrote that story, and now feel utterly changed by it, especially with this backstory- the idea of Jesse Manes bringing a foster child home? Incredibly well done because there’s an off the charts level of menace in this story. The way Jesse watches Alex, who at first mistakes it for how a pedophile might size up a victim, but then catches on quickly that it’s so much worse in a lot of ways. And Alex is such a loner in the beginning, even as he reconnects with his pod siblings Liz and Maria, he’s still planning on keeping his head down and leaving Roswell far behind. Like freedom is literally the only thing he can conceive of for himself, no real dreams outside of that until Michael slips under his defenses. I probably could have saved this story for angst day- because the second half of the story, if you don’t sob while you read it, then I dunno. It’s helpful to read Ly’s story right afterward as a reminder that things do get better for Alex ten years later. In a lot of ways this story is sadder than canon (though there’s no murder of Rosa/4th alien), I’m comforted that at least Alex has Liz in the aftermath, alike in heartache in a way that Michael didn’t have because of the pact he and Max made about Isobel in canon.
Unexpected tidings by @bestillmyslashyheart (24,800) Another rewrite of canon, that explores a couple of very interesting questions, like what would it look like if Michael never made it back to Roswell as a kid but met Alex by chance in 2008? Imagine the cornerstone of the Lost Decade love affair revolving around the mundane questions of a long distance relationship that wasn’t built on the pain of the shed or Rosa’s death? Marlo writes an amazing take on this, that is both real and deep with the normal couple problems, before introducing that spanner in the works of oh yeah, aliens are real. With Michael on the east coast, and Alex finishing off his service in Roswell, Project Shepherd still entangles Alex with Liz bringing him in on the secret in hopes that with his hacker skills he can track down the third alien child that Max and Iz remember so they can warn him. As interesting as the current plot was, I found myself absolutely revitted the slow piecemeal reveals that Marlo doled out about Alex and Michael’s relationship over time. (I also while rereading this recently got very nostaglic for season 1 Alex who didn’t trust Jesse as far as he could toss him.) 
Don’t Punish Me For What I Feel by @winged-fool (3,600) Tarsus IV AU - another wonderful author with a catalog of great AUs, both sci-fi and dark, and honestly it was difficult to narrow it down to one. This story, well in 2009 I was a hard core Trek movie fan, so when I saw a trek-fusion story appear, I knew I would love it just on that basis. The thing is, this gave me Michael as the Captain, a surprisingly rare role for these space fusions, even though genius level repeat offender Jim Kirk and genius level repeat offender Michael Guerin seems pretty married in my mind as a connection. As a Tarsus-like story, all the tags are well earned by the story that Alex finally shares with Michael. It hit on so many levels, the hurt/comfort level for sure, but also to have a story where Michael is this stalwart protector of Alex was really nice to find. 
this isn’t the ‘holiday best friends championship’ by @usbournejez (6,090) alright to leave this on a lighter note, my final AU rec is this masterpiece by Kieran that was part of Malex Secret Santa gift fics- and what a gift it was to all of us! The way she writes established Malex is first-rate, because she always includes their canon-levels of snark/sharpness but it’s never directed at each other and that’s something I love. Here we have Alex, where we learn in just a few short lines, is a huge control freak but has the extremely big emotional handicap, and that’s his love/fondness/deserve to caretake Michael. Emotional cactus Alex who is soft for Michael? Love it. There are small drops of angsty backstory peppered in this, but really that just fuels just how sweet and wonderful the main theme of the story- which is Alex might hate the whole world at large, he loves, protects and worships Michael (and vice versa). As someone who can bake cookies, but that’s about it, I was still enthralled with the baking details and this story has never failed to encourage me to eat dessert before dinner basically. 
40 notes · View notes
willowwisk · 3 years
Note
Heyy, you said it's ok to give you prompts?
Can you write a destiel fake/pretend relationship maybe? (Any setting works except HS please) You don't have to, of course.
And could you add me to the taglist?
Thank you, have a good day/night!!
AHH! yes of course!  the fic is below the cut. its an au where dean needs to bring a date home for new years.
God. Damn. his father. that son of a bitch. All last year he dragged dean to bring a girl home for the holidays. all week it was “ooh dean, maybe you'll have a girl next year, ooh dean, when re we gonna get to see your girlfriend” what a tool.
but this year he finally stopped and thought. what if he DID bring someone home. stopped the annoying passive aggressive comments? easy. but who could he convince to fake date him?
that was where he hit a wall. No, really. he ran into the wall in the hallway of his dorm. shit. he needs to learn to think AND walk.
“What the fuck was that noise?” he heard from deep inside their studio dorm. “CAS!” he yelled, opening the plywood-esk door. “you’re a genius! I could just kiss you!” dean shrieked, hugging Cas. he would have no problem getting Castiel to relent to his idiotic plan.
“what, dean?” Castiel asked, slightly confused. “ok, so you know that Ryan Reynolds movie?” dean asked, knowing that cas would have no problem remembering every Reynolds movie to exist ever, the man was a wet dream.
“you are going to have to be more specific dean” cas added, becoming a little frustrated. “Sandra Bullock. Alaska.” Dean said. 
“OH, you mean the Proposal? we watched it last month, right? We saw Ryan’s ass?” Cas realized. dean laughed. leave it to cas to remember that. but yea. that's the one. 
once he explained to cas his little predicament and promised him he wasn't going to make him go to Alaska in December, they were packing their bags.
“WOAH cas if you put that in your bag I swear to god,” dean yelled, looking into cas’ duffle bag. the man was folding a Las Vegas raiders hoodie, and dean would not stand for that. 
“what the fuck dean, you know this is my favorite sweatshirt!” he said in his gravelly, back off voice. Cas really had no idea did he. “Cas, you realize we are going to Kansas, right? that's chiefs’ country. if you wear a raiders hoodie anywhere NEAR Kansas, they will shoot you point blank! not to mention my father,” dean said, trailing off.
Dean handed Cas a spare chiefs hoodie from their shared mini closet. “here wear this, I'm your size and you will get a better reaction from the entire state.
cas was shaking his head but he begrudgingly put it in his bag.
and soon enough, they were off! the plane ride was a little turbulent, so of course dean thought he was going to die the entire time. 
when they finally got on the ground, John, Mary and Sam where all there to greet him. Now, dean had told his family he was bringing home a date, but he didn’t specify the gender. they all knew he was bi; he was 20 and a sophomore in college, he was not planning on staying in the closet forever. However, his father elected to ignore that.
he was super excited to see Sam. when he was home for fall break, sam was sick in the hospital with the flu, and he was never really around the whole week. now he was better, and seemingly even taller.
 “whats up bitch!” dean called out, giving him an epic noogie. “Deeeeaaaannnnnn! You’re such a jerk!” sam said, only giving dean more gusto.
“Dean! Sam! Quit it. We are in public.” John said, rearing his ugly head and ruining the fun. “Yes Sir.” The boys said in unison, making cas cringe.
“Dean, who is this young man?” Mary asked, gesturing towards cas and breaking the awkward silence that comes after you yell at your 20-year-old son.
Dean tool a deep breath, looked at Cas and told them that he was his boyfriend. Sam shook his hand, Mary said, “oh, alright! Hop in the car and we can head home” and john said, well, predictably, nothing. He just got in the car and drove home.
When they pulled up at Deans childhood home, it looked exactly as it did when he comes every year. Nothing seems to have changed except Sam’s room since dean was born. “dean, can you take yours and Castiels bags to your room?” mary asked, unlocking the door. Dean had already assured cas that he had had bunk beds in his room since he was 12, and that there was no need to worry about sharing one bed.
Until he walked into his room. If you could even call it that anymore. His black walls? They were now a light shade of baby blue. His music posters? Gone. Replaced by Ikea paintings of bridges and shit. And the worst part, instead of his bunk beds tucked into a corner of the room, there was one big queen-sized bed.
Dean threw the bags onto the bed and yelled “MOOOOOOM!!!!” downstairs he could hear a quiet exchange and a “shit!” before he heard his mom running up the stairs. She had a lot of explaining to do.
After explaining why his room had been butchered and replaced by that Martha Stewart crap, everyone was exhausted. Their flight had come in at 10pm, ad they lived an hour from the airport.
Cas was in the bed, and dean was on a blanket on the floor. Ouch. But that’s when all hell broke loose.
There was a sputter, sputter, CLANK across the house in the wee hours of the night. Everyone was asleep except dean, and he KNEW that sound. The fucking heater had gone out. On December 22nd. In Kansas. F U C K.
Dean lay shivering on the floor, when cas screamed in his sleep. Now dean felt extra bad. He was used to cas’s  tears and whimpers in the night, since they were roommates, but he knew that straight up screams were really bad. Cas had nightmares and PTSD, like, bad. He grew up in an abusive household, and being the youngest sibling of 8, he was everyone’s favorite punching bag.
Dean knew the nightmares circled around that, but he never knew details. After waking cas a lot in his freshman year, dean finally learned that if you wake him up, its really hard for him to go  back to sleep, so cas told him to just let him ride them out.
In the middle of deans thought, cas screamed again, mixed with a chocked back sob. “no, don’t hurt him- no! NO! don’t hurt dean no no no no!!” cas whimpered.
At this point, dean was planning intervention. This seemed way worse than normal, it felt more like a PTSD dream than a normal nightmare. He needed to get cas awake, and now.
Dean hopped up onto the bed and grabbed cas’ face in his hands. “cas buddy, wake up, your safe, I’m here. CAS” dean yelps, trying to wake his friend up.
All of the sudden, cas’ eyes pop open, and! He begins to have a panic attack. But that’s fine. Dean knows panic attacks. They follow their 5 things you can touch, smell, and see procedure, and by the last touch, cas has almost calmed all the way down.
“Cas, what is the fifth solid thing you can touch?” dean asks, praying that cas has calmed down.
Cas reached out and touched deans almost frozen lips. He points at dean.  Cas then notices how cold dean is. He points at dean and puts his arms up in a ‘shivering’ gesture. Ok. So cas is going to be nonverbal tonight. Good to know. That one will be hard to explain.\
Its was also important to mention that cas had autism. He was a confusing little gay disaster that dean was somehow incredibly dependent on.
Cas had lifted his blankets and was gesturing that dean come and get in the bed, to warm up.
Dean was reluctant, but he was just so cold. So he relented.
“I hope you know im getting out as soon as the heat turns back on.” Dean said, crawling into bed.
He pressed his back to castiel's chest, effectively becoming the little spoon. Maybe this fake dating thing wouldn’t be so bad.
They had lost so many hours last night, that when the door opened in the morning, they were still asleep. “boys” mary said in a quiet voice.
This jolted dean awake, who was famously a very light sleeper, only to discover he and cas were even more entwined than before. He was now facing cas, and they were basically hugging horizontally.
“the heater is out ma” dean whispered, trying to not wake cas.
“dean, the heater came back on not two hours after it went out”
 oh my god this was so fun to write, sorry i went off of your prompt a little, i really was afraid it was going to turn into a 100k fic lol and i write wherever the plot bunny takes me.
8 notes · View notes
fraink5-writes · 3 years
Text
From Darkness Into the Lantern Light - Chapter 12
Ooohhh, we’re almost at the end, boys! If anyone sees this, I made a “limited-time” invitation on Ao3 for anyone who wants to be my Genshin friend, so I might as well extend it to y’all too.
@leio13​ is the best for editing this
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a cold-hearted queen. Although the Tsaritsa, as she was called, possessed her own divinity, she coveted the powers of the other Archons. Aiming to steal the Geo Archon’s gnosis, she sent her strongest warriors to Liyue Harbor. But just when Rex Lapis was almost defeated, he escaped to another vessel, that of a powerless baby, and was swept away to a hidden tower for his protection.
Many years after the great fight, the young and ambitious Harbinger, Childe, arrives in Liyue to grant the Tsaritsa’s desire, but, on his search for the Geo Archon’s gnosis, he ends up tangled in a mysterious man’s dreams to see Liyue Harbor’s Lantern Rite.
This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!
Ajax woke up to a widespread ache and the cold sting of shackles on his wrists and ankles. He had been chained to the far wall in a small cell—undoubtedly in a Liyue prison. Although this was the first time he had been incarcerated, he accepted the fact with a simple sigh; it was about time karma had caught up with him. No amount of diplomacy (if any would even be attempted) would be able to free him from this confinement. While he would have preferred death in battle, that fact made imprisonment all the more suitable a punishment. He would be stripped of all his worldly joys just as he had done to countless people in the past.
Still, Ajax did have some selfish regrets. He wished to see his family. Before, he had tried to content himself with sending them frequent letters and gifts, but, having been deprived of even that, he wanted nothing more than to see their faces. Nevertheless, he would have to settle for his imagination. Even if it were possible, Ajax would not be brave enough to face them. How could he tell his family—especially his younger siblings who admired him as the greatest toy seller—of his crimes?
As for Ajax’s other regret, he wanted to see Zhongli again although he had lost any right to do so. He had told Zhongli that he would stay by his side, but he had left him again and again, and this time, the gap created could not be amended. Nor should it be. As a Harbinger, he could only bring harm to Zhongli by being with him. It was too late to play games of ignorance about each other and live in artificial harmony. If betrayal was the only possible ending for them, then perhaps they should have never met in that tower to begin with.
But, no. Ajax shook all the complacent, self-pity from his mind. He couldn’t leave Zhongli in that tower. Not alone and especially not with her—la Signora. She had trapped Zhongli in her cozy web of malice and had been playing a decades-long waiting game. But soon, she would consume him. Ajax had to stop her. Even if it were an impossibility, even if the story could only be a tragedy, he had sworn to himself to be Zhongli’s hero. 
Ajax attempted to stand, but he was held down by his chains. Even still, he writhed violently, until the sore wounds from his fight with la Signora defeated him, and he lay still on the floor. 
In the end, all this power I’ve accumulated is useless for protecting anyone. 
As Ajax waited for the announcement of his sentence, he watched the subtle shift of shadows on the stone floor. Finally, a voice called from outside the cell. “Is that how a Harbinger keeps himself in jail?”
“Without the diplomacy, you’re pretty pathetic, huh?” Another voice chimed in. Perhaps, this wasn’t his sentence after all. Ajax glanced up to see a group of four familiar faces in black, white and red—definitely not the Milllelith. 
Ajax sat up to face the band of sailors. “What are you guys doing here?”
“We’re here to break you out,” the leader, Juza, answered, a ring of keys dangling in his hand, which he used to open the barred gate. “Suling forged a master key for this place. There should be one for your cuffs too.” Sure enough, he flipped through the keys and found one that could be inserted into the shackles, unlocking them one by one.
“I don’t understand. Why?”
“Shh, don’t make a fuss.” Yinxing chided Ajax. “Let me examine you. On your back.” With no room for complaint, Ajax silently followed the surgeon’s instructions. “You’ve taken quite a beating. Surely, the guards didn’t do this to you?”
“Then, we’d be in deep trouble.” Xu Liushi chuckled nervously.
“No, la Signora, eighth of the Harbingers....”
The fleet exchanged glances before Juza resumed, “Anyway, if you can walk, we need to get out of here quickly.”
The group crept out of the cell and down the hall, but it wasn’t long before they spotted their first guard at the corner.
“Ugh, already?” Furong whined. 
“I’ll take care of it,” Xu Liushi volunteered. “I can manage something.” With that he staggered sinuously down the hallway. 
“What are you doing here?” The guard barked.
“Haahhhh?? I work ‘ere.” Xu Liushi turned around woozily. “Izznt dis de harbor?”
“No.” The guard could barely stifle his laughter. “Wait, I know you—aren’t you the guy who got drunk at Third-Round Knockout?”
“Yess.” 
“Still drinking? I guess you haven’t changed.”
“Not true! I downed four bowls this time!”
“Alright.” The guard condescended. “I’ll show you to the harbor, but I’m not sure how happy they’ll be to see you.” 
Xu Liushi shot Ajax’s group a look with a slight scowl before the guard grabbed his arm and escorted him from the building.
“Well, that’s one taken care of.” Furong brushed her hands together in satisfaction.
“Poor guy…” Yinxing sighed. “He’s been sober for so many years…”
“We have to keep going,” Juza cut in. “We can meet him again at the harbor.”
When they encountered the next pair of guards, Yinxing was the one to volunteer. She meekly approached one of the Millelith. “Excuse me, sir. I am a doctor who was called here to check on the inmates, but I can’t help but notice that you seem a little unwell yourself.”
“Really?” The guard shrugged. “I feel fine.”
“I’ve never seen someone with such a concerning complexion...”
“He looks like that every day,” the other guard chimed in.
Yinxing gasped, covering her gaping mouth with her hands. “Oh no.”
“What? Is that bad?” The first guard’s laugh faltered.
“Oh, this could be very grave.” Yinxing’s eyes flittered side to side. “Could I ask you a few questions?”
“Sure, I guess?”
“Does your heart beat really fast and loudly after physical exercise?”
“...Yeah…?” The guard began fidgeting in place.
“Do you get random headaches?”
“Yeah, I guess, sometimes.”
“Do you ever feel cold and start trembling violently all over?”
“Yeah, in fact, I think it’s increased recently.”
“It’s increased? Oh dear... Oh no…”
“What is it, Doctor?”
“You could have a rare but life-threatening condition called homoios stasis. You don’t have much longer. You must get treated immediately.” She turned to the other guard. “Quick. Take him to Bubu Pharmacy. They will have the proper treatment.”
“I don’t wanna die,” the first guard whimpered as the other escorted him away.
“Well, how was that?” Yinxing returned with a smile. “He’ll be fine, by the way—except maybe a bit annoyed.”
“Let’s not linger to find out,” Juza ushered the group along. But as they sprinted towards the exit, their path was blocked by a large guard with his spear drawn.
“Doesn’t look like we can trick this guy,” Juza sighed.
“I’ll fight him.” Ajax reached for his daggers.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Furong scoffed. “We’re trying to break you out of jail. Can’t have you creating even more trouble.”
“But—”
“She’s right.” Yinxing interjected. “Besides, you are still injured. You’re going to need to gather all your strength for later.”
“I’ll go.” Furong winked at Ajax before stepping forward. “Looking for someone to fight, big guy?”
“I won’t let you guys go.”
“Oh no, of course—you have your job. But ya see, we have our own job from our boss. So, I propose a duel.”
“Call it what you want, but once I defeat all of you, I’m locking you all up.”
“Alright, fine. I never liked negotiations that much either.” With a shrug, Furong charged at the guard. Seeing she was unarmed, he loosened his guard—right before she slammed her fist into his abdomen. When he stumbled back, she landed another blow under his chin.
Ajax was enthralled by the fight, but Juza dragged him away. “She’ll catch up shortly.”
Sure enough, Furong had rejoined the group within minutes, and they met Xu Liushi at the harbor, where they boarded the Alcor.
Only when the ship had departed from the port was Ajax able to pose his preoccupying question. “Why are you guys helping me?”
“Certainly not because we like you. Captain Beidou made us,” Furong remarked offhandedly.
“Where is the Captain?”
“She’s still in the city dealing with the more… political matters,” Juza responded. “Zhongli is in danger, isn’t he? That’s why you need to deal with it.”
Zhongli? “How did you...?”
“We docked in the city around the same day as you,” the bookkeeper expounded, “and we have eyes all over the country, you know?”
Ajax thought of those adorable kids playing on the pier; were those kids ‘eyes’ too?
The helmswoman, Huixing, interrupted his train of thought. “Where to?”
“Sal Terrae.”
As the Alcor sped up north, Ajax alternated from playing with little Yue and more “appointments” with Yinxing, yet his mind never drifted far from Zhongli. Hang on just a bit more. I’ll be there soon, and then, I promise, I won’t leave you.
As the sun began taking on an orange hue, the ship anchored at Sal Terrae. From then, it was Ajax’s responsibility. He would correct and atone for his mistakes.
“Zhongli!” Ajax shouted from the base of the tower. With his many injuries, he would be unable to climb to the window. Unless Zhongli helped him. 
“Zhongli!” More than anything, Ajax just wanted a confirmation that Zhongli was still alright. “Let down your hair!”
In the ensuing moments, even Ajax's heart was silent. Finally, Zhongli's hair unfurled from the window.
3 notes · View notes
thestalkerbunny · 4 years
Text
Okay repost because for some reason the ask wouldn’t let me HIDE MY FUCKING SHIT under a read more and it was upsetting me.
The request was ‘Write something with Crowbar being a Proud Dad/Uncle Please’
Calliope paints Crowbar. It gives him time to think about the odd arrangement they have.
She asked to paint you.
And you said yes.
You sit in the office-studio really, any sense of order as a office for business affairs has been pushed aside to make room for canvases and paint, woven tapestries, sculptures,  murals, it is certainly not an office in any sense-awkwardly on the stool. The stool is not really meant for a leprechaun your size-which is misfortunate because you're relatively average sized and this would be a most awkward 3 hours since one leg seems to be shorter and the thing continuously wobbles.
You see her peer from behind the canvas and blinks owlishly at the noise of you trying to get the stool to stop wobbling.
"Is there a problem, Mister Crowbar? Do you need a break?" She asks in that soft lilting little voice of hers. You snap to attention and stop fiddling with the chair.
"No, I'm fine Lady Ohpiee. Carry on." You quickly assure her. She stares at you for a moment, tilting her head like she was a little bird of some kind before disappearing behind the large canvas again. The soft sketching of a soft tip pencil against canvas as she apparently tried to capture your form as you struggled to stay still while planning to burn this ridiculous piece of furniture that was somehow permitted into this house.
If it was anyone else, who asked you to sit for around 3 hours, still, on a wobbly little stool and do absolutely nothing, you would have said no and added a smack to the back of the head for wasting your time.
But this was Lady Ohpiee and there was a very glaring fact that made you do such a thing.
It was that you loved her, very dearly, more than an employee should love an employer.
You remember when you met her-well you met her brother first. In all sense of the situation, you and the rest of your clan of Leprechauns belonged to him. Irritable little creature, his face never smiling unless something horribly twisted was happening. The kind of individual who probably finds amusement in live vivisection footages and laughs at old people falling off cliffs. You got along with him. Mainly since it was in your nature to be agreeable and personable to whomever is in charge of you. Itchy once called you a 'brown nosing yes man' once and you decided to show him where your crowbar was made by smashing it across his face.  
That aside-Caliborn was an unruly creature. He often would spit and snarl instead of speak-you assumed this was for the lack of lips-about a sister whom he held with great disgust and disdain. Apparently this game he was playing was being played with a sibling whom he had 'plans for' later down the road and that was the only reason she was spared his ire.
Caliborn hated sleep.
He spent most of the time as he acquired the other leprechauns staying awake as best he could for as long as he could. But between his fits of anger at the world/himself/you all-he would simply pass out into a temporary unconsciousness. He had given you an order-very firmly and directly-to choke him back into unconsciousness the minute he awoke from any sleep. You did not understand this, but you promised you would comply unquestioningly.
You did not.
Your natural Leprechaun curiosity kept your hands to their side when you watched your master wake up for the first time and gaze up at you with soft green eyes instead of the harsh red ones, features much more relaxed and there was less of an risk in the air that if you stood too close, you would not be bitten (again).
She had said she was called Calliope. And she was the sister Caliborn spoke so ill of.
You had decided quickly you liked Calliope much more than your Master Caliborn. She was much like you. Personable. Agreeable. Polite. You found yourself doing less agreeing and complying when speaking with her and more along the lines of having an actual conversation. Which was a rare thing to have then, Caliborn wasn't really the 'civil discussion' kind of person.
She took an interest in you, your species, the others as well-even though they couldn't seem to wrap their heads around why Master Caliborn was being so nice all of a sudden. She said you all were fascinating and she wished to know about you all. She scribbled numerous things down in this little note book of hers-it had been in a strange little lock box Caliborn carried with him and often you caught him trying to brute force it open, along with some other artifacts that seemed to be personal just to her.
You told her what Master Caliborn asked you to do. You did not wish to be in trouble with him. That it was really nothing personal, you quite liked her. She said she understood and didn't resist much.
You choked her into unconsciousness and Master Caliborn returned.
It was like nothing happened. He commended you for your obedience and together you resumed his quest.
You threatened the others into silence to not let Master Caliborn know who they had met against his wishes. It was less making the threat, more of you all universally agreeing that Calliope was a preferable company although Caliborn was the one they needed to win this 'game' of his, and passing along this information with each new member gathered.
She was a creator where Caliborn was a destroyer. She always gave everyone her full rapt attention when they spoke-her hands moving scribbling in her notes even though her eyes were on them. She spoke sometimes about her upbringing. She and her brother only had each other, that's the way it was with their species. Two are stuck in one body until one of them simply has had enough and 'devours' the other at adulthood, taking full custody of their shared form. One full of hate and anger and the other full of love and kindness. It was just a matter of who had the stronger will. She spent her life shackled in a room with her brother as a sole companion. Who broke her things, who she could only communicate with through horrid notes he'd leave her, who wished her death more than anything in the world.
She tells you that she is accepting that she will die inevitably at the hands of Caliborn. But it was her dream for them to both live, to work in tangent together and become essentially a transcendent being. It was a pipe dream, she told you, that she should live-that they should both live. It was inevitable, really. The day would come where they would simply have a 'stand off' with each other and one would walk away. And she told you the probability of it being her walking away would be one in a million.
Of all the creatures in the world to be stuck with-she was truly alone aside from one being who hated her with every ounce of weight in his blackened soul. At least you-in your strange short existence on this metaphysical plane-had the other Leprechauns. You had at least a sense of comradery together. Calliope did not have that.
You felt a great sense of pity for her.
She spoke once of a sort of 'parent creature' to her, which was odd because Cherubs apparently did not have parents that stuck around. The parent creature also didn't stick around. Caliborn kept driving him off. With biting. and er-well bullets. Caliborn seemed to chase away all forms of remote happiness for Calliope.
She said that being around you and the other leprechauns was reminiscent of that small window of happiness when that parental creature was there. It was nice to have friends other than her brother. She never really had friends before.
You realized you did not want to lose her.
The small window of time you would have together, you showed her how to shoot. She carried a pistol with her-another item found in her little lock box-and she was a decent shot. But her aim was always wobbly. She would shoot past things rather than directly at them. She did this on purpose, you knew. She was giving warning shots instead of fatal shots-she was blatantly choosing not to kill. The only real way to drag her into practicing hitting her actual target was baited promises of telling her more about leprechauns-mostly the things her other resource (Itchy you blabbermouth you.) refused to expose.
It was enough of a motivator to get her to hit the targets set up everytime and then eagerly demand more about the strange lore and history of Leprechauns.
You knew for a fact the others were showing her things as well. Baiting her with information in exchange she learns things. You caught more than one of them showing her something. Anything. Knives, blunt weapons, guns, even her own hands. To improve the odds whether she knew it or not.
You loved this child. You all loved her.
It was when Caliborn woke up giddy and excited that you began to worry. He told you that the end of the game was near; that soon he would ascend into literal godhood and as soon as that was accomplished-as soon as the game was won, he would kill her, he would kill his sister in a horrendous 'twist' he called it. She would think they finally did it, together they had done the impossible for their kind and worked together as a single unit to win the game and Caliborn planned to jerk the rug from beneath her feet.
The next time Caliborn would fall asleep, there would be only one of them and it would be Caliborn.
At the time, you wished to have at least been able to say goodbye to Calliope. You were no good with sad goodbyes, but you still wished it. You wished to say goodbye to the little child you and the others had grown to love in secret against Caliborn's wishes.
You were still fuzzy on the details of how this all came to be, but you remember the felt standing around watching the unconscious body of Calliope/Caliborn-still as the grave and just as quiet. You did not know what kind of game they were playing inside their shared psyche. That there was no real way for any of you to help her. Only to hope that she actually took the killing shot instead of giving warning shots.
Time passed for a while. Perhaps they had both died.
You all built a home around her, a place to keep her safe. Across the desert of the strange planet you now inhabited, odd chess people built a city. And like any logical beings with no marketable skills, you all did what you had to in order to make sure you were kept flush in booze and food and cash; do crime. And so what if you accidentally became a criminal empire built on scamming gamblers, shooting, robbing and tipping over casinos, there was no 'boss' at the moment and so you had to make all the executive decisions.
And of course, rumor got around there was some great treasure in the manor, something worth having 14 men (and one woman, one of the Chess people had joined your ranks making you a threat of 15) living on the grounds to protect. Suddenly you were getting near daily visits from the Midnight Crew-ravenous and hungry to see what treasure lay behind the protective 'safe' inside the manor.
Of course it was a treasure. It was Calliope.
You'll never forget the day, you had just been sitting in the kitchens, skimming over a newspaper; the press had hopped on the Midnight Crew's case for once which was a nice distraction for the several dozen armed robberies The Felt committed in the last month. And you had heard a small scooch of the chair across from you. You assumed it to be Clover based on the footsteps and took no great interest in looking up at him until you felt good and ready to deal with whatever the smutty munchkin had to say to you at this 6am on a Tuesday.
You had sputtered your coffee when you heard that soft voice say words you'd never thought you'd hear.
"I'm sorry I'm late coming home, Mister Crowbar. My brother held me up for quite some time."
You stared at her, coffee dribbling from your agape mouth and onto your shirt front and pants. The swirls on her cheeks now full and green. She looked tired for someone who had been asleep for so long. You stared at her for what felt like hours but had to have been just a few minutes, before finding your words. The only thing your brain-for as clever as you were-could manage to say was something so simple. So unremarkable. So understated to express how you felt, your real emotions that she was finally here again. That she was here at all. That she managed to do it.
"Welcome Home, Miss Calliope."
-
"Mister Crowbar? Mister Crowbar?"
You jerk awake, you realize that you had fallen asleep sitting up. Your internal clock says that you must have been asleep for an hour or more. The stool wobbles-damn this stool, you have plans for this stool and the fireplace later today-beneath you as you straighten up. You see her peeking around the canvas, looking at you again with those glittering green eyes. Not as tired as when she returned to you, but only sleepy in the sense she spent all night awake chattering away  on her computer again.
"You fell asleep, Mister Crowbar." She remarks, getting up and wiping her hands on her black apron. "I suppose we can call it for today, I don't want to over exert my model. That and I seem to need to get more white paint. You know, Mister Crowbar, you're more of a saturated yellowy green than a solid green itself." You rub the sleep from your eyes and get off the stool of doom. The world still feels a bit askew and you wish to go find a bed and lay down for another hour and get the sleep fully out of your system. She's there, stirring the bucket of paint water with her brushes to fully clean them out. Your girl. Your talented little Mistress. You never really took in consideration how fortunate you were to have her. Naps do tend to have these kinds of revelations in your own personal history. She looks up at you-she must have felt you staring at her.
"Would you like to see what I have so far?" She asks softly, taking your gaze as interested in what she has done so far.
You say nothing as you walk around her, looking at the canvas she was working on.
It's you.
It's a remarkable realistic likeness of you, catching the bit of light that does dapple into the room from the large picture window that overlooks the gardens on the back of your jacket. It's of you, slouched a bit as eventually you had leaned a bit to the left to prop your elbow up on the table nearby, your chin resting on the palm of your hand. Half asleep, fighting to stay conscious but losing the battle. It's such a small moment of rare vulnerability you expressed in a life where you're constantly on guard and alert. You wouldn't be looking at this-or any of these things she's created that decorate the manor, this room-had she not done what she did. You would not be enjoying the level of odd comfort you do not. (Life has changed drastically. There are more chess people, a new city of sorts, same manor more or less, strange creatures called humans and trolls now fill the world. One of the humans seems to be close friends with Calliope, a Miss Roxy; you and the boys got into a bit of trouble when you all drew and cocked your weapons when she came over unannounced. Life is more even paced now with brief interludes of excitement over something) You do not wish to think about what your life would be like had Caliborn become your master. You're afraid she'll never understand the gratitude you feel towards her the way she often speaks of her happiness of knowing all of you.
She stands in front of you a bit, she's talking about something, you got lost in your thoughts again-something about how she wants to give your painted doppleganger a cigarette to give it that 'cool aloof look' that she claims you usually seem to have.
You place a hand on her shoulder and pull her into an awkward sort of side hug. She looks up at you, almost a little taken aback by the small subtle gesture of affection from you.
"I'm proud of you, kid" You say. For all the braincells you were blessed with for some reason, that's the best you seem to be able to do. She looks at you with those large eyes you fell in love with and wanted to protect.  She smiles. Which is an odd sort of thing for her-considering how her face is structured. But it's a small sort of shift in your face and you can tell she's smiling.
"Well, thank you, Mister Crowbar. I still have a ways to go yet with this piece, you'll have to come back tomorrow, I want to make sure I get all the shaded spots in." She comments, looking back at the painting. You're not sure if she understands what you were trying to convey. But it'll do.
You hadn't realized it before, but she came up to your chest. You recall her saying that she wouldn't get any bigger. She was not a fully adult Cherub when Caliborn challenged her. Usually Cherubs were adults when the 'standoff' happened and one was devoured. But Caliborn had no patience. She wouldn't get any bigger than this. She'd change in mind and spirit-but she was going to be permanently stunted physically. She wouldn't be your little girl anymore despite how small she was compared to you. She'd grow up properly. And most likely, she'd move on. Maybe she'd leave you all behind. Because that's how it worked, right? Children would grow up and leave their parents and go off into the world and start families of their own. Well that's not how it really worked for your kind-leprechauns are communal by nature, building up large clans of extended families. She'd probably move and go on to be around creatures her own age, not 14 disaster men who could barely take care of themselves most days,let alone express emotions correctly in a healthy manner. You feel a tinge of sadness entertaining these thoughts. But that was hopefully not for a long time. Maybe when the time came, you'd have the proper words together to express the pride that you had for her. 
But for now, this would have to do.
And you wouldn't trade it for anything.
23 notes · View notes
whumping-every-day · 4 years
Text
Gabriel: Nightmare
I could work on my preexisting projects, you say?? I could finish my unfinished drabbles? Nah. Let’s have a new thing I threw together with no planning or editing instead, bc in this house we die like men. 
My eternal thanks to the Gabriel Gang, y’all have been so patient with me! 
@robinshouseofwhump @pepperonyscience @angelsuperwholock @pennsss @silver-sparrow-462 @silverinkgoldenquill @kestrelsparverius @learningtowhump @shameless-whumper @latenightcupsofcoffee   @what-huh-imconfused @vickytokio @captivity-whump @pink-and-purple-flowers @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @adventuresofacreesty @kyra-plays @whumpywhumper @blue-flare10 @whumptywhumpdump   @whumpywhumper @maybeawhumpblog  @fallingstormphoenix  @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @infreidel @shadowicepuma @justanothermaltesegirl @whump-in-the-night @theawesomeawkward @promptnations @ whumpity--whump--whump @maraudersmarvelwhump @haro-whumps @whumposaurus @deluxewhump @nervous-writer  @thebluejayswhump @cagefreebirds @doublebubblebitchqueen @promptnations
Masterlist
-- 
Gabriel doesn’t know where he is.
The world feels fuzzy at the edges, like he’s seeing everything through a fog. Then abruptly, he’s on his knees – had he been pushed? Where is he? Gabriel’s head lolls against his chest, but he lifts it with difficulty, whining his confusion.
He’s outside. There’s the smell of pavement, motor oil, cigarette smoke. It’s cold; he’s shivering.
Gabriel squints up at the person above him, and his heart leaps when he sees his Master – not the first two men to own him, not the ones who had beat him and tormented him with no purpose. This is his Master, and beside him is Gabriel’s Mistress. Her jaw is set and her eyes are cold.
Tires sound on gravel, and the realization starts to sink in that something is wrong.
“Is this him?”
The words ring with memory, but they’re in the wrong voice, and they don’t bring him a sense of comfort, but of fear.
“This is him,” Stefan answers, and Gabriel’s heart sinks.
There’s a stranger approaching from the parked car, and his face is difficult to distinguish. He’s tall, and frightening, and Gabriel shrinks down against his Master’s legs. Master will protect him, surely--?
“God, that’s disgusting.” His Mistress’s voice is so full of disdain, it’s almost unrecognizable. “Look at it, clinging like that. Come on, Stefan, shake it off so we can go home.”
What?
Gabriel’s breath is starting to come faster, panic and terror overloading his senses.
They couldn’t be – they wouldn’t.
Were they selling him?
“Hand over the money, then,” Master says, and Gabriel lets out a terrified sob.
“Please, no, no, Mast-nng-!” Stefan silences his begging with a vicious backhand, and Gabriel reels, tasting blood.
“I’ve got the money right here,” the stranger says, as if nothing had happened. Something gets passed across over his head, and then Mistress lays a hand on his head. Gabriel looks up to her with a piteous whine, begging wordlessly for any scrap of her usual gentleness. But she only purses her lips and shakes her head.
“Go on now,” she tells him. “Go be good for him. We’re done with you.”
When Gabriel whimpers and hesitates, he gets a kick to the ribs with one of Mistress’s sharp heels.  
He goes sprawling in the gravel, and the stranger bends down and reaches for him, a sharp grin painted across his features.
“No!” Everyone looks as surprised as Gabriel feels, but his throat stings with how loudly he’d screamed it, and even the stranger has halted his approach.
Gabriel flings himself away, and then claws his way back to Mistress and Master’s feet.
“P-please, please,” he whimpers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t make me go with him, please – I’ll do better! I’ll do, I’ll do anything you want, please, Master, a-and, and – Mistress, I’m sorry, I’ll be better, I’ll be, please keep me, please-!”
Something slams down on Gabriel’s fingers, and it takes a long moment for the pain to register.
When it does, his keen of pain is nearly drowned out by the stranger’s laughter.
“Well, boy, I gotta say, that was real pretty.” The man crouches over him. “But we’ll be getting to that on our own time.” Mistress removes her heel from Gabriel’s hand, and his stomach twists viciously at the sight of his broken, twisted fingers.
The stranger grabs him by the collar and hauls him upright, and Gabriel chokes on his cry of pain.
“Please,” he mouths, but only the first half gets air. His eyes are turned pleadingly to his Masters – the only Masters he’s ever loved, even if he feared them too. Please, he tries again, but their faces are impassive. Mistress just shakes her head, and Master holds Gabriel’s eyes for a long, cold moment, before they both turn away.
“NO!” Gabriel shrieks, and he goes wild in the stranger’s arms. “No! Master! Please, no- Mistress, don’t leave me here, Mistress-! Please, don’t leave me here-”
He’s screaming his voice raw, and it hurts, in a way that everything up until then hasn’t. It’s strange enough to give him pause – his fingers hurt too, but it’s muted, far away. But he’s screaming, loud and hard, and he can feel that, tearing out of his throat like something living.
He’s being shaken, Gabriel realizes. The stranger, the man they’d sold him to, he’s shaking him – but Gabriel blinks, and suddenly the surroundings have changed.
“Gabriel? Gabriel, sweetheart, you’ve got to wake up. Wake up, honey, it’s just a dream.” Gabriel blinks again, utterly bewildered. That’s Mistress’s voice, but he’d just seen her turn him away… his side still hurts from her heel. “Come on, sweet boy. You’re dreaming. You’re right here with Stefan and I, you’re safe.”
Gabriel scrunches up his face in a frown, and everything dissolves around him.
The hands shaking him seem to change, somehow, and then it’s his Mistress gripping his shoulder, features drawn in concern.
“Gabe? Buddy?” Gabriel turns his head, and there’s Master, hovering beside the bed.
The bed? Where—what?
“You had a nightmare, sweetheart,” Mistress is murmuring. “It wasn’t real, none of it.”
Gabriel tries to pull in a breath, and it turns into a hiccuping sob.
“Please,” he cries. It’s so easy to keep begging, because even if he’s awake the terror hasn’t gone away, the dream seems so real, so close, and one of these days they might decide they’ve had enough of him—“Please, I d-don’t, I don’t want to go,” he sobs. “I’ll be better, I p-promise, please, please, l-let me stay.” He’s crying, and it comes in big, ugly gasps.
“Hey, hey,” Master says softly. “Easy, sweetheart, it wasn’t real…”
And then Mistress; “We’re not sending you away, little one. But you’ve got to breathe.”
Is he not breathing? The words barely penetrate the fog, but everything gets a little clearer when he drags a breath into his lungs and then lets it out. He’s trembling, and he takes in another breath, trying to still the shaking in his core.
“Please,” he whimpers one last time. His head feels like it’s spinning, and the dream is lurking so nearby, hanging over his head like it could rise from the shadows of the room. It would be so easy for his Masters to get rid of him – and they have so little reason to keep him. What has Gabriel even done since they’d bought him to deserve to stay?
A weight settles on the bed next to him, and then he’s being gently guided into Master’s arms. Gabriel folds into it like paper, and he whimpers and clings back when he feels Mistress take his hand. The mattress dips as she joins them, and she pets through his hair and rubs his back as he cries into Master’s shoulder.
“Please, I’ll be good,” he sobs, over and over. “Please k-keep me, please.”
It’s late; the clock on the nightstand reads three in the morning, and Gabriel’s tears come faster when he realizes that he must have woken them both up. But their touch is gentle while they soothe him, and Gabriel latches onto it selfishly.
It’s another fifteen minutes before he’s calm enough to articulate the source of his distress.
“Oh, sweet boy,” Mistress says sadly after he tells them about his dream. Gabriel sniffles and doesn’t meet her eyes. He feels so small in Master’s arms, and he doesn’t want to lose this feeling of safety. He’s so tired of being afraid… and he’s so tired of not knowing if he’s been good enough, not knowing if he’s been well-behaved enough to stay.
“We would never do that to you,” Master mutters, and there’s conviction in his voice. The man gently brushes a bit of hair out of Gabriel’s eyes, then cups the boy’s cheek, and Gabriel leans into it shamelessly. There’s still so much fear in his eyes, and Stefan knows that it may never fully go away. There’s too much pain there, too much trauma. But this, at least, is something the two of them can help with.
“You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Maria murmurs. To anyone else, the words could easily be threatening – but Gabriel has a way of showing raw gratitude with just his eyes.
“Tha-ank you Mistress,” he whispers wetly. “I want, want to be g-good, please…” The boy is tired; it’s obvious in the bags under his eyes, and the way he struggles to remain present in the moment. “Want to be good so, s-so you’ll keep me…”
The two siblings exchange a look over his head, and they both carry the same sadness.
“We’re always going to keep you, little one,” Maria murmurs, and Gabriel whimpers softly and clings to her.
They settle down on the bed after that, Mistress on one side and Master on the other, and Gabriel half on top of Master’s lap, leaning against his Mistress’s side. Everything is warm and sleepy and soft, but Gabriel can’t sleep yet, not with the memory of his dream so close. He’s still holding on too tight, like if he lets go, all the kindness will be ripped away.
He sniffles again at the thought, and Mistress presses a kiss to the top of his head.
“You’ve been such a good boy, sweetheart.” Master’s voice is quiet, but it still rumbles under Gabriel’s ear, and he can feel it all the way in his bones. He draws in a quavery breath.
“We know this is a lot,” Mistress adds softly. “But you’re doing wonderfully.” She gives him a gentle squeeze, and something fragile and terrified stirs in Gabriel’s chest.
He wants to believe them. He wants to stay.
“Nnn, hnm, n-not gonna, not gonna s-send me away…?” It’s timid, like asking the question might be enough to decide the answer. Gabriel’s eyes are big and scared when he lifts them to Maria’s, then over to Stefan’s, and the naked desperation there is like a kick to the gut. “ ’m still, still yours?”
There’s hope in his eyes now, too, fragile as glass.
“Yeah, bud,” Master murmurs, after just a beat’s hesitation. “Still ours.”
It’s vaguely reassuring, but Gabriel seeks out his Mistress too, waiting for her answer.
“Of course, sweetheart.” There’s sadness in her expression again, but Mistress smiles at him and kisses his cheek, pets her fingers through his hair. “You’re our good boy,” she murmurs. She gently wipes a stray tear away with her thumb, holds his eyes for a moment. “I want you to feel safe and secure with us,” she says firmly. “So if you need to… if you need to know that you’re ours. To feel safe.” Her hand settles on the side of Gabriel’s neck, traces her thumb over the fluttering of his pulse. “If you need that, then we can remind you.” She gives the gentlest little squeeze, and Gabriel whines softly and slumps against Stefan.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and his expression is awed. “Th-thank you, Mistress, and, and Master, thank you.” It’s for more than just the comfort, and he hopes that they understand. Gabriel’s not good, he’s never been good - but they are so patient with him, so gentle... and he wonders if maybe this time he could be. 
The space around his throat still feels empty, like it has ever since his former Master cut the collar off. His new owners haven’t given him one of their own yet, and Gabriel wonders if that should frighten him. But the memory of Mistress’s palm covering that same skin is fresh in his memory, and oddly enough it settles him.
He was never good enough for his former masters. But maybe this time, if they help him, maybe he can be.
Gabriel drifts off to sleep like that, curled up in their arms, and the nightmares do not return.
188 notes · View notes
countryshitposts · 4 years
Text
You're Shooting Your Bullet The Wrong Way
The Entirety of Your Life Belongs to Your Dear Mother
Countryhumans Mafia AU.
AO3 Link
Trigger Warnings; murder, death, violence, shootings, guns, mentions of rape, assault and prostitution
-
Name Guides;
Nippon Teikoku- Japan Empire
Nippon Koku- Japan
Daehan Minguk- South Korea
Choson Inmin- North Korea
Daehan Imsi- Korean Provisional Government
Daehan Jeguk- Korean Empire
Nabi- Colonial Korea, belongs to @redffeather
-
"Please, we need to find my mother!" The teenager says as he rests his elbows on to the department's desk, and America pinches the bridge of her nose as another sigh erupts from her.
(If America had to pinpoint where the whole agency started to take the whole Teikoku thing seriously and making him public enemy number one, it had to be here.)
"Look kid, our hands are full with loads of cases", America replies, not even glancing to the direction of the grovelling teenager and his uncle, who was rubbing his shoulders to calm him down. "Especially with a lot of mafia cases popping up lately, I believe that a missing woman ain't our number one priority."
"What my sister is trying to say", Canada jumps in, simply because of the fact he thinks that America saying truthful words is more criminal than the problems they are facing, "is that we will solve the case of your mother once we solve the problems evolving around the whole city." He gives her a pointed look but she rolls her eyes- her brother would do anything to prove her wrong.
"What's your name again, young man?", Philip asks the boy in front of the desk as he enters the reception desk with a notepad. "To remember your plea."
(America knows that once the boy files his name into the notepad Philip would tear the paper and burn it.)
"Daehan Minguk", the boy replies with a small stutter, and he points to the man with him, "this is my uncle, Daehan Imsi."
Philip nods, "Is he your only family?"
"No. I have a mother, Nabi- she was taken by a mob boss many years ago-"
"Wait a minute", Canada holds out a hand to stop Minguk's rambles. "Your mother was taken by a mob boss? Who, may I ask?"
"His name was Teikoku", Imsi speaks up, jaw hardening and a hand subconsciously lingering on his shoulder like it holds his most painful memories. America perks up at that name, and so do the others in the police station. "He murdered my brother - Daehan Jeguk - and Nabi had to... abide to him." His voice becomes strained as he wipes away a tear that had escaped the prison of his eye. "I told her that she didn't need to, but she tells me to run with the twins before she was dragged away by that bastard, and I never saw her since."
"Wait, Minguk had a twin?" Philip scribbles briefly on his notepad before pointing the pen to the uncle-nephew duo.
Imsi nods, "His name is Inmin, but he left our home to join a mob as he becomes more desperate to find his mother." There was a slight edge in his voice, as if that is not the only thing about Inmin they need to know- on the other hand, Minguk was quick to change the subject from his brother; he rambles on about the spots where he had previously looked for Nabi, with Canada reassuring that justice will be brought to his family while Philip nods agreeably as he takes more notes.
In the meanwhile, America looks at them with a bored look on her eyes as she disinterestedly fiddles with her pen. She had remembered being involved in a mafia mob, once- her father was a mob boss and devours territory after territory before settling with her mother for a night and having her. She didn't have much memories of it since her father keeps her from such affairs until even when he was arrested of his crimes. He remembers embracing her before the trial, before he is declared life in prison and she and her siblings bid her goodbye.
And three weeks later America discovers her father had broken out of jail, with no news of where he went.
"... America!" She blinks once again, looking around and seeing that the two were already gone, replaced with Australia and New Zealand who were handling paper documents.
"What?", she snaps at them with a scowl, completely annoyed at the fact that they decided to wake her from her dream produced out of boredom.
"We were talking about the Teikoku case", Canada says, cup of coffee in his hand. "About what we're going to do to him and his colleagues."
America groans, "So you guys are really taking this case seriously now, huh? All because of a son wanting his mother to come back..." She catches the cup of coffee sliding towards her and takes a sip of it, savouring its bitter taste on her tongue.
"Not only that", Kiwi replies with a sigh, "there's been a rivalry brewing within all mafia mob clans this time. A... territorial feud."
"Territorial feuds are the reason why dad got arrested", America crosses her arms, pursing her lips at the memory. "Alright, what's the recent news of the mobs?"
"Two mobs - Poland and Reich - had exchanged bullets today near the public square", Australia responds as he points to a sector of the map, "reason was that Reich accused rival mob boss of murdering a colleague of his."
"Wait a minute- Reich?" America tries to remember who had the name before her mind clicks to the one family of the Deutsches. They had been a rampant mafia family when she was just a nobody officer, but they heavily weakened to the point the former - and late - mob boss of the family, Deutsches Reich, had to run away to another city. "Didn't the last one die and leave his incompetent son in place?"
"Weimar's records seem to have been erased from every company he seems to have been, it seems." Australia fiddles around another stack of papers. "And replaced with Reich's records. Strange, since his kids, West and Ost still have their birth certificates intact."
"That's another mystery the others will solve", America replies, brushing the case off of her shoulders. "I'm talking about how Canada doomed us all by promising two people that we can return their mother to them."
Canada scoffs, crossing his arms, "And we will get his mother back from Teikoku."
"Canada, Teikoku's mob is one of the most dangerous mafia groups I have ever seen in my entire life." America leans back on her chair with a huge sigh, like she has done a lot other than sit on the same chair and answer calls all day.
"But you love danger, don't you?" She stops, feeling Canada's glee from a mile. Her mind tells her she's been caught in her own game and now she actually has to work in this operation to break into Teikoku's most private grounds.
America jumps back to proper shape. "First of all, I ain't seducing Teikoku to the point he spills his disgusting secrets down to the floor."
Canada's smirk grows wider. "We aren't telling you to let the asshole fuck you, my god."
"Does the guy have any relatives outside of him, himself and he?"
"He does", Kiwi starts, flipping through another load of documents. He starts to spread photos of the selected individuals around the desk. "Alright so apparently his father was the former billionaire Tokugawa Shogunate. His mother was a prostitute-turned wife named Edo, and he has two brothers, Tokyo, and Koku- the latter happens to be his half-brother, whose mother is Azuchi-Monoyama."
America blinks wildly at the two pictures of both Koku and Teikoku. Their eyes were as grey as a dark rain cloud over the horizon, threatening to spill its tears into the buildings, their hair as dark as night and smoothed into perfection (Koku's hair was longer than Teikoku's much uptight one though), their face shape more refined and so similar, even more than Tokyo, who was Teikoku's whole brother. The only things that were different is the aura they perceive; Teikoku wants respect and fear, eyes shining with dozens of ambition and malicious intent, while Koku's shine with some form of kindness and perceived innocence, like he has never done something wrong his entire life.
"They look like twins", America states matter-of-factly, and her brothers all roll their eyes at her statement.
"Yeah, which is the reason why Teikoku likes him even more than his own kids." Kiwi takes out two more pictures, "two daughters, one son; Hokkaido - mother is Ezo - Palau, and Okinawa, whose mother is the lost Ryūkyū."
"Testaments from Teikoku's colleagues and victims state that he's quite fond of his brother too", Aussie replies. "Well, someone has to bribe Koku into their bidding." He gives a pointed look at America and she scowls.
"I have a bet that Koku's his second-in-command", Canada says. "It's why he's in Teikoku's good graces."
"Well then", America stands, cup of coffee on her hand, "we'll talk about it with the others later, on what we're going to do with Teikoku's mob."
-
"Tell me, Minguk", Philip says in a much softer voice as he takes out his notepad. "Can you remember how they took your mother?"
Minguk was sitting, legs wide as his hands clasp together, expression looking mournful like a baby animal crawling back to their dead mother which had become victim to the cruel clutches of the circle of life, but the youngling must continue and will fall the same fate as their mother. He takes a deep breath, looking at Philip and everyone else in the room before exhaling loudly, sweat dripping from his forehead like he was forcefully being interrogated by a crime he has or has not committed.
"I was eight, when it all happened..."
"Hurry Minguk!", his mother's soft voice echo through the long and winding alleyways, but his little feet was not enough to carry him through a long and treacherous journey. He waddles as fast as he can, his family members a few steps ahead of him but it felt like they were running away from him now. Overwhelmed with the sense of fear and dread in his senses, eyes staining with tears he fell over and starts to cry, only to be scooped up by his father, who caught up with Nabi - who has Inmin - and Imsi.
He hears loud sounds coming from the corner they had just turned, and he couldn't help but shake a little as his little body snuggled more into his father's shirt, who was sweating much but it was fine, his father is scared, from the way his heart starts to thump.
"Appa, what's happening?" Minguk's small voice finds its way to his father's ears, and between huffs he answered.
"It's nothing, Minguk... there are bad people chasing us... but we can get away from them." There was a small loss of hope in the last sentence, something Minguk notices but did not get; they will get out of here, from the bad man chasing them away from their home.
Another loud BANG! sounds from behind the corners and with a choked cry of pain his father falls down and Minguk yelps, his fear starting to form. He lands on the hard ground as strange liquid comes out of his father's head.
"Appa? Appa!", Minguk shouts as he crawls towards his father's sleeping body, nudging at him to wake up. "Appa, it's no time for sleep, remember? Please wake up!" The young boy touches the part of his father's head pouring out the strange red liquid; it was thick and somewhat slimy, and it crawls onto his hands and clothes with a sense of vengeance. He hears Eomma scream from somewhere ahead of them and feels himself being scooped up by familiar warm arms. He struggles against her strong arms, shouting and kicking and getting the liquid from Jeguk's body into her sleeves. He needs to be there for his father when he wakes up, he needs to tell him what has happened.
"We need to leave now, Nabi", Imsi says, carrying Inmin's small frame, his younger brother looking at Appa's body with wide eyes.
(Why is uncle asking them to leave? Appa is sleeping on the ground!)
Eomma does not listen, as Minguk feels her shaking, trying to hold him as she falls to her knees and her chest heaving as she releases her nerve-racking sobs, making the whole world turn dark and blurry. Even Minguk wishes to cry too, as he tugs on her sleeve and keep inquisitively telling her what is happening, but it was as if a shield went through her and blocks out all the noise he is making. He tugs on her sleeve, on her dress and tries to uncover her face which are now being covered by her wet palms. Imsi's voice is now a muffled and distant whisper.
A small tsk tsk tsk starts to sound from in front of them, and a man kicks Jeguk's slumbering body away from them both. Minguk feels anger inside of him as he lets go of his mother - he hears her shout at him to go back to her arms - and to the towering and standing man above him.
"Oh Chōsen.", the bad man says, snickering and smirking all the way, looking at his mother. "You have no idea how much I wanted to do this."
"Jeguk paid his debt!", Eomma says through choked sobs, still looking at his father's body like she has just lost something dear to her. "Why would you do this?!"
Teikoku shrugs, as he looks at Minguk with those empty, gray eyes, before smiling maliciously back at Eomma. "For entertainment; I've been bored these past few weeks, and I figured I needed something to enlighten me."
"By killing my husband?! Putting my family in danger?!" She scoops up Minguk from where he was standing and he did not fight, as he feels his mother's heartbeat quicken.
"It doesn't have to be like this." The man steps on Appa's corpse like it was just a bump in the road, a speed bump and Minguk doesn't like it as he grits his teeth. He wants to fight him, he really does.
He pulls Minguk away from Eomma, who was now reaching for him with a small plea in her face, but Teikoku kicks Minguk away like a small animal. He starts to cry as he feels the rocky ashphalt come contact with his face and he feels two arms scoop him up, and now he is with Inmin. He massages the gash on his cheek as he looks at Eomma and Teikoku in horror.
Teikoku pulls Eomma up, her frame shaking as he puts his arms around her waist and pulls her closer into her. Eomma's eyes widen as she hears him speak and starts to cry even more than before, with uncle shaking his head.
"Nabi, don't- AGH!" Another bang sounds from the gun Teikoku was holding, straight through Imsi's shoulder, as he drops both Inmin and Minguk to the crowd, with both of them embracing each other for comfort. His ears were ringing from the loud sound, heart racing, as he closes his eyes.
When his eyes open, Eomma and the bad man were not there anymore.
Philip hands Minguk a tissue as he finishes his story, tears streaming down his face like a river with a thousand currents, the tear drops dripping into his jacket like rain in the most calming of mornings before it turns to solemn ones as the clouds go grey and dark as night, no sun to help them survive. Minguk wipes his face, sniffling a little, as everyone in this room share furtive glances with each other on what they were now about to do.
Canada casts America a look, and she crosses her arms while looking at him.
"Did you hear what Teikoku told Nabi?", Philip softly asks as he takes Minguk's hand like a father softly telling his son he had done nothing wrong.
(America can't blame him; Spain murdered his son in cold blood and now he's maddeningly trying to implant himself as a father figure to all he meets.)
"I didn't, but now, I do", his face hardens, resolve becoming more firm, "Teikoku had asked for her body for our freedom."
The entire room is silent; not even the air conditioner's buzz can penetrate nor shatter it. Philip tells Vietnam with a glance to take note and she does. America's throat was dry with anxiety, palms sweating and she didn't know why- she decides it was the officers' breathes, on how they were going to handle this situation and how they will plan this suicide mission out.
Canada speaks first, his voice deep, loud and firm to get everyone's attention. "Records state that Teikoku has brothels all over the city. Some has to infiltrate them, and others have to infiltrate his home."
-
Write; that is what Koku does in his spare time. Write anything that is on his mind with no hint of stopping as he scribbles on any piece of paper to write the words in his mind- be it inquisitive questions to everyday life, general snippets his brain manages to think of as he does work or chores (and he'd hate how he would forget the structure and saying of the words once he is now seated on a table with a piece of paper on his hands), or even the shortest of stories or little prompts his mind gears generate and letting his writing skills be honed for the best. He studies the short sentence he had made for the fourth time, before crumpling it and throwing the paper into the bin.
(His brother had gifted him a laptop on his birthday three years ago, but he rarely uses it unless it's around Teikoku or when he needed something for printing.)
A small butterfly perches on his window, and he smiles peacefully, a sigh on his lips as he stares at its wings, a fiery blaze of fire like familiar ambitious eyes staring back at him before fluttering away, only to be eaten by a bird nestling into the tree. Koku cringes as he hears the crunch of the butterfly, before deciding what he'll write next.
In the meanwhile, Teikoku takes a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it and putting the damn thing in his mouth, as he looks at the documents on his table with a content look on his face. His gray eyes look up for a moment to check what time it is in the window displayed in front of him, before his cigarette drops to the ground, mouth agape.
In front of his window are a swarm of butterflies, seemingly looking at him with those little delicate wings of theirs.
25 notes · View notes
girlseeksbook · 4 years
Text
Highlander: Where We Are (A Highlander/Harry Styles Fanfiction)
Summary: Immortals Harry and Elisabeth were set up lovers from the start by fate, but torn apart by another Immortal, Louis Tomlinson. The year is 2019 and a hundred and eighty three years later, they've reunited by a simple letter. But Louis, out for revenge is set on taking their heads. Will he succeed?
There can be only one...and don't lose your head.
Part I, 1 of 2
Holmes Chapel, Cheshire 2019
A woman waited by the lake, in Forest Park which has now turned into Somerford Park Farm apparently. She absentmindedly looked at her reflection in the water, then she'd heard a buzz. She turned around to face a man, with short brunette hair, who looked as if he had not aged a bit. But that is because he hasn't and neither has she as they were Immortals.
'Elisabeth,' he breathed. He ran his hand through his already tousled hair, as he couldn't believe his eyes. 'God, it's been so long.'
'Three hundred and three years, to be exact.' She softly smiled.
'But it's been a hundred and twenty years since I last saw you.' His forest green eyes quickly scanned her body before meeting her eyes again. 'And you're still beautiful.'
'Harry,' she sighed.
Church Hulme, Cheshire 1716
'I told you, Mum. I don't want to meet another one of your brides that you and Father keep setting me up with.' Harry checked the tied ribbon around his neck, looking in the mirror as his mother stood behind him with pleading eyes. In the face, they almost looked more like siblings than mother and son. But Harry had the sharpest jawline and lightest green eyes.
Tumblr media
'Oh, Harry, you must meet her and woo her before she is betrothed to another. She is a Debutante and you're a Marquess, Harry. You must be married and have children of your own to carry on the family name and honour.' Anne, his mother, carried on.
'I know, Mum, but I'd also like to marry for love.' Harry turned around when a man in velvet clothing came in.
'Ma'am, I'm sorry to interrupt, but Lady Elisabeth is here.' Anne and Harry nodded. Harry walked into the commons and saw her. She turned around and smiled at Harry. Long auburn hair in single braid, running down her back with honey brown eyes. Her skin as fair as porcelain. She wore a proper blush coloured corset dress.
Harry stepped forward and took her hand in his. He brought it to his lips, placed a kiss to it and released it. He was so enamoured by her beauty that he wanted claim her...Woo her, kiss her lips, and even make love to her. He felt sparks when he'd touched her hand.
'Marquess Harry Styles, I'm honoured to meet you, Miss...'
'Elisabeth Milam,' she said so very elegantly. Harry had a feeling. A feeling he couldn't explain. A feeling other than lust. Unknownst to him, she felt it too.
Five months later...
Harry stood at the lake in Forest Park, where they'd always met. They'd became close out of the five months since they'd first met. But today was an emergency...at least that's what the telegram said.
'Harry!' He looked to see Elisabeth in a long ivory dress, which usually hand maidens wore, running towards him. 'Harry!' She crashed into his arms and her lips met his.
'What is the matter, Elisabeth,' Harry asked after he broke the kiss. He cupped her heart shaped face and his thumb caressed her cheek.
'I've come to give bad news,' A tear escaped as it ran down her cheek when she lowered her head.
'Whatever it is, we can get through it together.' She shook her head as she looked up and into his eyes.
'No, we can't. I'm betrothed to Louis Tomlinson now.' Harry's face fell as he'd planned to propose to her, even though they were already arranged to marry. But that's now down the drain. 'I told Father, I didn't want to marry him. I don't love him. I love you, Harry, but he said Louis had more money and that's the only thing he seems to care about.'
'I love you as well. I'd planned to propose to you. I'd even asked your father for his blessing, but I see he doesn't keep his word. We'll be together one way or another...I promise.' Elisabeth grinned as she covered his lips with her's. They'd felt that feeling that they'd felt the first time they'd met...sparks and the pull. But the feeling that somebody was watching them, made them break the kiss and look around.
'Well, well, well...' Louis sneered. Elisabeth looked to his hand to see his sword beside him. 'I see I've been engaged to a whore.'
Harry soon filled with rage.
'Don't you dare call her as such,' Harry spat.
'Why not? She is engaged to me and here she is kissing you,' Louis smirked. 'Have you taken her innocence too? I thought we were best friends, Harry.'
Harry drew his sword.
'Don't you dare challenge me, boy, unless you mean it!' Louis's booming voice made Elisabeth flinch.
'Then, don't you dare disrespect, Lady Elisabeth. I will not have you speak to her as if she is a common whore. Now, I challenge you.'
Elisabeth backed away to another tree to get to safety.
'Harry, please don't! He is a good swordsman.'
'Good? I'm the best,' Louis boasted.
'Louis, I'm sorry. I'll marry you, just let Harry live!'
'You're going to marry me whether he's dead or not sweetheart.'
Harry swung his sword first and clinked against Louis's. Harry didn't look surprised, but very concentrated on the task at hand. However, they kept fighting and never quitting. Swords continue to exchange swings swiftly with nothing stopping them.
Then, Harry slipped and all the sudden, he was impaled by Louis's sword in the chest. Harry looked down at the sword and looked back up at Louis, who smirked as he pulled out his sword, that was buried right in his heart. Harry stumbled back and fell into the lake.
Elisabeth screamed and sprinted into the lake to hold him. As she held him in her arms, in the cold water, he floundered; and she struggled to contain her sobbing and tears.
'No, Harry, don't leave me. Please don't, I love you. I want to marry you and have your children. Please, please don't leave me.'
'Elisabeth, we'll be together...one way or another...I promise...' But it was too late, he faded out leaving a dead body in her arms. She couldn't control herself anymore as she placed his body in the water gently. She ran up to Louis and slapped him. He grabbed his face and grinned.
'Humph, I thought you were the gentle kind,' he said, then he slapped her...hard.
--
'And after that, I stuck with him for my father's sake.'
'And were you happy?' Harry became annoyed and Elisabeth became confused.
'I—'
'Did he take care of you? Did he love you? Did he satisfy you underneath the cover—'
'Harry, he killed me!'
Harry felt the colour from his face drain away, as he let his anger and jealously take control of him.
'After five years of his abuse and cheating, I got tired of it. So, I tried to leave him, but he had other plans. We lived in Church Hulme--I mean Holmes Chapel, for the first year of our marriage. But after he found out about my trips to your parents, he had us move. We lived in Liverpool for the rest of the four years.
Liverpool 1721
'Sally, can you get the groceries? I have to talk to my husband.'
'Yes, Ma'am.' Sally dismissed herself. Elisabeth went to the stairs, but as soon as she had her foot on the first step, she heard a woman's laughter.
She made her way quickly up the steps and opened the bedroom to Louis, with two women, in their own bed. She felt numb. She knew she didn't feel any romantic feelings towards this man, but they were married. And she felt as a married couple, they should still stay faithful, despite having not had sex since their wedding night...when he took her innocence that she was saving for Harry, whom she knew to be dead at the hands of Louis himself.
Louis, I want more,' one of the whores whined, while he had his head in between her legs. Louis raised his head to respond, but saw Elisabeth in the doorway. His face soured and he climbed out from his current position. He then came after Elisabeth, grabbed her hair and dragged her out of the room, and down the stairs.
'I want to leave! I fucking hate you,' she cried. 'You can keep your whores! I want to leave.' He threw her to the ground in the middle of the foyer.
'You know a lady shouldn't talk like that. Especially, Duchess Elisabeth Tomlinson,' He mocked.
She hated hearing her married name as she wanted Harry's last name and she never stopped having dreams about a life she could've had with him. She didn't notice that he'd snagged his sword.
'But if you want to leave, I can make that happen. You can even see your lover.' She became confused and looked up at Louis. Her eyes widened as he thrust the sword through her heart. He pulled it out so coarsely. As she felt her life drain from her body, she could hear him say, 'I guess it was fun having a mortal wife...for awhile, but now it's run it's course.'
A few moments later, her eyes opened in panic as she got up. She was still in the foyer, in her bloody dress, but no blood.
'Ah, you're up.' She saw Louis fully dressed as she lay on the floor. 'Now that you're immortal, I wonder what the sex will be like.'
'No, that's never going to happen. I'm leaving you,' she said with determination, as she picked herself up.
'You know your lover is immortal and you can run away all you like...But I'm going to find both of you and have your heads.'
--
'And then he left me there. I walked far, far away from where I'd lived, because I somehow sensed that if I went back there, it wasn't going to be pretty.'
'I will not let him get your Quickening!' Harry affirmed. 'Even if it costs me my head.'
'Harry—'
'I love you and would do anything for you. Even die for you, forever.' Harry and her were only inches apart, yet so close. He wanted to kiss her so bad. To feel her lips on his like he did before he died. But he knew he had to control himself for he never knew what might happen next.
'After you left me in the lake, another immortal, an Irishman, by the name of Niall Horan, found me. I was shocked that I could've sworn I'd just died. But he explained everything to me. That I'm an Immortal and others are gonna be after my head for my power and knowledge, my Quickening. He trained me in sword fighting and self-defence. I even travelled with him and that's how I saw you at the ball.
Paris 1899
'Aye, I'm not sure Paris has the best ale or not,' Niall mused as he sat on the bar stool, looking at a pint of Bière Double, contemplating on whether it really tasted that great. He was a beer connoisseur after all. A lot of times, Harry and him would practise sword fighting and sometimes it would be finding a good place to eat and a proper beer to taste...A lot of times, wine as well.
Tumblr media
'Yeah, I guess not,' Harry said, not paying very much attention to what Niall was even saying. He was distracted by the familiar woman with long Auburn hair, dancing with a man with long dark hair.
Tumblr media
She was giggling, but she was alive and he couldn't believe his eyes. She was one, too.
'I sensed a couple of Immortals when we came in, did you,' the Irishman asked Harry, pulling him from his musings.
'I was way behind you and I didn't sense them until now.' Harry lied. 'And I'm glad too, I can get her back.' Niall became confused.
'What are you talking about?'
Harry pointed to who he believed was indeed to be Elisabeth.
'That is Elisabeth dancing with some bloke and I can't believe she's alive!' Harry said excitedly.
'The Elisabeth,' Niall asked to make sure. He knew about Harry's history, especially with Elisabeth. He remembered witnessing Harry's death after he'd sensed another Immortal and two others that were to be Immortal. Niall knew the rules, he could not interfere once an Immortal was challenged by another one.
Once Louis had slapped Elisabeth, resulting in her falling to the ground. He'd looked around as he, too, sensed another Immortal besides the ones before him. Niall made sure he was not seen at all, on his horse.
'I know you're there, Niall.' Louis bellowed out. Niall gulped as he came out from behind the tree. Louis smirked, ' I haven't seen you in years...especially since around the time I first turned.'
'Wow, what a nice way to comment on my age,' Niall remained serious. 'What happened to respecting your elders? Isn't that what I taught you? And yet you still turned out to be a prick.'
'Yeah? Well, you were a shite teacher...especially out of pity, and I don't need that bullshite. But hey don't we have more Quickening for the taking?'
Niall shook his head at Louis's pessimistic views. It was hard for Louis and it was hard to teach Louis. Every time Niall thought he could get through to him, Louis would just do his own thing to rebel.
'Maybe I'll take it after I'm done with her,' Louis smirked. 'But hey I'll give you the Marquess.'
Louis picked up Elisabeth, put her on his shoulder and left. When Niall knew he was gone for sure, he made his way to the man in the shallow end of the lake and got off his horse to wait for Harry to wake. He'd witnessed Harry's panicked state when he woke up screaming out for Elisabeth, but all Harry saw was the blonde-brunette man with a horse before him.
Harry stepped forward, but Niall held out his arm halting him. Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
'What are you doing? She's right there, after all these years of believing she was dead; she's here and vibrant.'
'No, mate, You can't. If she's with that bloke, then you have a problem.' Niall was very serious. 'That man she's with, has a reputation. He's Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod. He's Scottish and very powerful mate. He will take your head if you're not careful. Do not quarrel with him and if you love her then you will leave her in peace. She's happy and if she is happy than you should be too. Now we have to go before he spots me.' Harry snickered.
'Hey! Niall, is that you?'
'Oh, for fuck's sake!'
'What did you do?' Niall, all the sudden was uneasy and twitchy. He ushered out Harry as fast as he could whist Harry was laughing.
--
Elisabeth laughed with him and he only shyly laughed. As soon as she sighed, she started her story.
'Um...Duncan Macleod was my teacher. We were both in a dark place, I was in a dark place after you supposedly died and on top of that Louis abused me and cheated on me several times. Duncan taught me several things to keep me calm. I lived in a monastery for four years studying culture and the ways of monks and even transcendental meditation. I've wanted Louis' head for so long, for you and me. After I departed from Duncan in 1743, I traveled to many other places in search of people to train me.
'I've been with many lovers, but I've never stayed long, because there was no one in my heart other than you. That night at the ball, I just ran into Duncan when he asked me to dance. That was when I saw you briefly at the bar. When I finished my dance with Duncan, I went to look for you. But you were gone. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you there and when I couldn't find you, I'd convinced myself it was just my imagination. But now I've found you and I've never been so happy in my life.'
'Me too, Elisa.' Harry grinned and she smiled.
'But just so you know, Louis is mine. I want his head.' She affirmed and Harry sighed.
'Elisabeth,' He groaned.
'No, Harry, this is my fight. He took you away from me and the torture I had to go through just so my greedy father could get his hands on Louis's wealth. I have to do this.'
'But you will lose your head! Don't you get that?!' Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. 'I love you and I want to fight this fight. If you lose your head then I will never recover. I don't want to lose you again. I could've said hello to you that night, but Niall wouldn't let me. I love you so much and I spent most of my life believing you were dead.
'I thought maybe I saw a ghost of you, but I could sense and feel you were there. Please...you know, afterwards we could live on Holy Ground and adopt a child...Have our own little family. We'll get married and have a home of our own.' Elisabeth grinned, but saddened by the fact that as an Immortal, she nor he, couldn't have children.
'Are you trying to bribe me with marriage and a child, Mr Styles?' Harry grinned this time.
'Maybe...' Before she knew it, he was too close to her lips and he kissed her. It went from sweet at first, to hunger. He hadn't seen her or felt her lips on his in a long time. He often felt it was a dream. Then he wrapped his arms around her waist, just as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Ever since she saw him at the ball when he wasn't looking, she dreamed this day would happen when they would be together again, if she didn't lose her head first. 'I wish I could take you right here on this grass,' he groaned. 'But it's soggy and it's where I died. I wonder why the note said to meet at this place.'
'I know, this place brings back so many hurtful memories that I try to forget. After you died, Louis forcefully took my innocence and then he'd said, he couldn't stand being married to a whore.' She sobbed. 'I was saving it for you and I failed. I'm sorry.'
'No, Elisa, no,' he cooed. 'It's not your fault, it's mine. I wish I could've been there to protect you. I love you so much.' He cupped her face with her hand and swiped a tear with his thumb.
It then became tense and they both heard the buzz, which meant that another Immortal was here. They turned their heads to find their common enemy, Louis. Elisabeth and Harry backed away from each other. Harry stepped forward to fight.
'Well, if it isn't my two favourite heart-breakers,' Louis smirked. He wore a bluish-grey suit with a classic Burberry coat. 'You know it was pretty easy to find you two. You couldn't pick another spot? One that didn't bring horrible memories to us?' Louis chuckled. 'Well, I did put it in the letter so...'
Harry and Elisabeth were horrified that they were tricked by the one man that wanted their heads. 
'I wonder which one I'm going to behead first,' he turned his head to Elisabeth. 'The one I'd loved, before she stabbed me in the back by choosing this Marquess over a Duke. I would've brought her anything she desired, but she stepped on and crushed that along with my heart when she chose Harry over me.' Then he turned his head to Harry, 'Or should I choose my close friend who betrayed me by going after my lady...' He drew his sword out of his jacket and Harry did the same. 'Ah, so it's Harry.'
'No,' Elisabeth called out as she drew her sword, a beautiful katana with blush-pink owl handle. 'I told you, Harry, Louis is mine!'
'Elisabeth, I don't want him to take your head!'
'It's not your choice, Harry. I want to do this if you will let me. He took everything from me...'
'Except your teacher, Macleod.' Louis smirked. 'I think I might take his head after yours and Harry's.'
'He's over five hundred years old,' Elisabeth pointed out.
'And how old do you think I am?' Louis laughed. 'A measly two hundred years? No, sweetheart, I'm over eight hundred and forty two years old. So, do you still wanna challenge me, little princess or are you gonna let your boyfriend do it?'
Doncaster 1204
'Aye, Louis, I just put some wood in the warehouse for ya, lad,' John said, as he ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair. John was Louis's boss at the lumber mill at which he and Louis worked as a lumberjacks and built houses on the side. Louis was very proud of his job and was considered a hard worker, providing for his wife and child.
He came to the conclusion, after years of trying, that he couldn't have children. Then, a blessing came along while he was hunting, a baby abandoned in the middle of a forest with wolves in the distance ready to pounce any second.
He put away his bow and arrow, so he could rescue the child. He was so happy to see the joyous look on his wife, Caroline's face when she saw that he'd rescued the child. They raised the boy as their own and named him Fredrick 'Freddie' Tomlinson.
'Yea, good day, John.' Louis walked to the pile of wood and noticed the faint smell of something burning. He followed the scent to find a spark, followed by a sudden blaze of fire spreading from log to log and up the walls, to the ceiling.
3 notes · View notes
lothirielswanmarvel · 4 years
Text
FACING GALACTUS: Avengers x Guardians of the Galaxy x X-Men (movie versions)
Word Count: 2904
Romantic interest: Thor (+ Star-Lord Love Triangle)
Summary: Our favorite Marvel heroes across cinematic franchises come together to battle the Destroyer of Worlds: Galactus.
—Character List: Movie Versions—
(NOTE: This list is provided because some Marvel characters may be referred to as their actual names, and not their hero titles. Also: two Fantastic Four characters were added to this sneak peak, but they may not be included/have a major role in the actual story.)
Reed Richards . . . Mr. Fantastic (member of Fantastic Four)
Shuri . . . Badass Princess of Wakanda (member of Avengers)
Susan Storm . . . Invisible Woman (member of Fantastic Four)
Scott Lang . . . Ant Man (member of Avengers)
Erik Lehnsherr . . . Magneto (member of X-Men)
Thor . . . Thor (member of Avengers)
Peter Quill . . . Star-Lord (member of Guardians of the Galaxy)
Mantis . . . Antennae Lady (member of Guardians of the Galaxy)
Steve Rogers . . . Captain America (member of Avengers)
Wanda Maximoff . . . Scarlet Witch (member of Avengers; relations with X-Men)
Sam Wilson . . . Falcon (member of Avengers)
Jean Gray . . . Dark Phoenix (member of X-Men)
Ororo Munroe . . . Storm (member of X-Men)
Carol Danvers . . . Captain Marvel (member of Avengers; relations with Guardians of the Galaxy)
Stephen Strange . . . Doctor Strange (Antisocial Sorcerer Supreme; relations with Avengers)
Evangeline Green . . . Angel (member of Avengers; relations with Guardians of the Galaxy)
Galactus . . . Galactus (Planet-eater. Douche of the universe. Do not engage under any circumstances)
—*—
I had three options. I was selfish, and I was a coward, so I chose the third.
“Just like Star Trek,” Reed Richards murmured at the control panel, next to Shuri.
“I’m more of a Star Wars guy,” Scott Lang said, stuffing his face with a peanut butter sandwich. To any other person, it was a harmless action. Innocent, even. In the dim lighting of the spaceship, all I could see was Scott’s jaw moving up and down. Destruction was rhythm. Crushing. Grinding into paste. Then he swallowed.
I shivered and turned away.
The first option was the simplest: killing myself. A few months ago, after the Moon Experience, stuck in space with no memories, I would’ve happily obliged. It would have been so easy. Quick, even. But I was selfish, and a coward. I chose the third.
Erik Lehnsherr and Susan Storm took up positions beside the massive machine. Their job was to keep the projector from becoming overwhelmed and obliterating us all.
His footsteps were loud. I felt his presence before his huge arms wrapped around me, holding me together like I would break into a million pieces if he didn't. Thor whispered softly in my ear, “You worry too much.”
Thor didn't really care who was around: he made it a known fact that we were together. I shook my head slightly, the back of my head brushing against his shoulder. “Can you blame me?”
“No. I don't blame you.” He was talking about more than just my nerves.
“Do you think I made the right decision?” I bit on my lip to keep it from trembling.
“I will support whatever decision you make,” Thor noted, pressing a kiss into my hair. “I don't like the thought of putting you in danger, but...I agree that there is no simple way to end this. It may be difficult, but I trust your judgement.”
“Do you really mean that, or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
“No—I will never lie to you, my love,” Thor assured me. I felt his hot breath against my ear. “However, I am starting to favor that dream of yours where you bail on everyone and flee to the realm called Mexico.”
I sighed, and tried to enjoy the comfort of his closeness. “Don't cross that one out yet. Wade said he had some extra sombreros in his apartment.”
Wanda Maximoff floated above the ground and landed near us. She looked out the large glass window that displayed the vast vacuum of space. She nodded to us. Her expression was steady, but in her eyes, I could see the terror. “He’s getting closer.”
People gathered about the machine. Wanda joined Jean Gray, Carol Danvers, and Ororo Munroe as they positioned themselves by the massive cannon-like structure.
Option two was to restrain my advanced manipulation of gravity that brought Him here. Weaken them. Weaken me. The people in this room detested the idea. They stood against it. I knew Stephen Strange didn't imply anything personal with the proposition, but I couldn't go along with it. I was selfish, and a coward. I chose the third option.
I spun around to face Thor. He cupped my face in his hands. They were strong, large, and warm. It broke my heart to drag him into this.
“If this doesn't work…” I started, knowing he wouldn't like the proposition I was about to make.
“Then we leave this world together.” Thor prompted. His confident yet swift answer shocked me.
“Wha—no! I refuse to drag you down into the fiery pits of hell with me—and I know that’s where I'm heading, I've stolen too much of Tony’s scotch that's not for company. If there is any possibility of you surviving…” I trailed off underneath the intensity of his cerulean eyes.
“Evangeline, I am not going anywhere. You are all I have left—”
“Your siblings are still alive.”
“But they’re annoying and depressing. They stab everything.” Thor’s expression turned foul for a minute, his thoughts traveling to Hela and Loki. He shook his head and returned to the present. “You are the light of my life—you are my life. I've already learned of a world where you don't exist, I don't wish to return to it.”
The last line sealed my lips. The last few months hadn't been kind to him. They weren't exactly a walk in the park for me. I looked down. Thor’s hands fell from my cheeks and captured my hands. He squeezed them gently.
“Together.” I repeated. “If we die, that's all I want.”
“So do I.”
“...I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything.”
Thor raised my hand to his lips, pressing a loving kiss on one, then the other. “None of this is your fault. And if this is the price to pay for a future with you, it's worth it.”
Thor’s hands returned to my cheeks and leaned down for a kiss. I tried to memorize every detail. The clash of his soft lips and the scratchy, ticklish feel of his beard. The hotness of his breath. Every detail of Thor’s exterior should’ve been rough and intimidating, but it was too soft, too gentle.
“I love you,” He murmured against my mouth. “Just remember, darling: the glass is half full.”
“Only if that glass is full of vodka, sweetie. I love you.”
He laughed against my lips, pulling me in for one last kiss. We broke apart reluctantly. Thor tucked a loose hair behind my ear, and joined the others by the machine.
Wanda and Scott stood together. They must’ve watched the exchange, like the infamous eavesdroppers they were. Together, they wore dubious looks.
I glared and did something that Wanda hated. WOW MY THOUGHTS ARE REALLY LOUD, SOUNDS LIKE I'M SHOUTING, GOOD THING NO ONE CAN HEAR ME.
Wanda flinched. Jean Gray tossed a scowl at me. Carol glanced between Wanda and I. “Are you guys doing a staring contest? I used to do those with Nick, I'm really good.”
“Nick Fury?” Scott asked.
“Yeah.”
“Woah. He lets you call him Nick? He doesn't even let me address him in public.”
“Hmm.” Carol stayed quiet, but her eyes widened as she turned away. Scott didn't miss this detail, and ate his sandwich with more intensity.
Peter Quill approached me next. He wasn't thrilled that after my four months spent in space with the Guardians, I rejoined my old life, specifically my giant of a boyfriend.
He stood two feet away, hands hanging casually around his belt buckle, but his shoulders were too stiff to be nonchalant.
“All the tech’s good to go.” Quill said.
My head tilted to the side. “You don't have to be here, Peter. I don't want you to risk your life because of me.”
“I want to.” He insisted. The way he said it reminded me of a kid. I smiled slightly, and Peter must’ve taken it as a good sign.
“I'm not goin’ anywhere. But...it's times like these that I wish I was still half god,” He mused.
We glanced out at the extended panel of stars. Night and light, mixed into one. Mystical and frightening. If I wasn't about to die, I might’ve found the display beautiful.
“It's a whole new world, Jasmine.” Peter replied. It was his hobby to nickname me after Disney princesses. I didn't feel like a heroine: I was dooming everyone on the ship.
“Unless you stole a genie lamp that can get us out of this mess, I don't want to hear it.” My tone was mocking, yet somehow I managed to smile.
Quill shook his head, reinforcing his hands around his waist. “Nah. But you know...if I got one wish…”
His face turned from the glass to me in a sly yet dramatic way. His gaze was trained on me. His expression was almost peaceful, day-dream like.
“...It would be to make that smile reach your eyes.” Peter replied softly.
I didn't know what to say. Thankfully, Reed Richards came to the rescue. “Star-Lord, we need you at this control panel.”
He winked at me as he backed away, and returned to the board of buttons. Sam Wilson glanced around the room, “We look good...as good as we’ll get. I think we’re ready.”
Erik’s fists tightened. “We will be.”
Jean Gray straightened. Her red curls fluttered around her elbows like thirsty flames. “It's time.”
Steve Rogers and Mantis appeared at my side as my moral support. I looked out the window, and I knew I would need it.
Option three was the most difficult, the most impossible. Galactus wanted me to become his new “Herald” for my manipulation over gravity. One incident—I barely made the planet move an inch—and I was being hunted across galaxies. I harbored these abilities for four months now, after the Moon Experience, and it felt like I was fully connected to myself, like there was an extra sense of reality that I was now tuned in to. I didn't want to dispose of them. I didn't want to die. I was selfish, and a coward. I was going to fight Galactus.
I knew He had arrived, because the lights in the sky were going out. Something was blocking our view of them—something colossal.
As the lights were snuffed out across the horizon, Mantis’ hand fell upon my shoulder. “Relax,” She said. Her tone was usually silvery and light, but now it was brittle and cracked with fear.
Steve held up his shield—everyone knew it was useless, but it was a failed attempt to calm my nerves.
“We are Vul-CANS, not Vul-CANTS,” Shuri sounded younger than before. “We can do this. Begin firing!”
They reacted in unison. Thor, Carol, Wanda, Ororo, Jean—all took aim at the massive machine in the center of the room. I looked away as the room was filled with light. My eyes burned, and dark splotches danced before my gaze as the brightness seared every surface. The air in the room was alive now, like electricity. My skin was riddled with bumps—from the fear or immense energy source, I couldn't tell which.
I watched the reflection of the spectacle on the glass. Erik and Susan had the most tortured expressions, hands outstretched, trying to keep the machine together under the stress of so much power. I unclenched my fists at my sides as pain overwhelmed my palms.
“It's not enough!” Reed shouted over the noise. Lightning crackled from Ororo and Thor. “Scott, deploy the Pym Particles!”
The machine roared out with distaste. Steve pulled Mantis and I close, his shield angled at the source of blinding light. Apparently, his discomfort with technology hadn't lessened. In this moment, I couldn't blame him.
I could feel the energy against my scalp and rushing across my cheeks. I glanced back at the window. Most of the stars were gone in the sky. It was just darkness now. Night and light were separated by the fragile glass barrier.
“They didn't do this in Star Trek!” Shuri cried out.
“Everything Zachary Quinto does looks effortless! We’re almost there, keep up the pressure!” Reed’s eyes were protected with thick sunglasses. His dark hair whipped about his face.
“Didn't Uhura dump his logical ass?” Sam shouted.
“He still has Kirk!”
“STAR WARS IS BETTER! STAR WARS NEVER PUT US IN A SITUATION WHERE WE ALMOST DIED!” Peter nearly screamed to be heard.
“STAR WARS NEVER HAD LEONARD NIMOY—SHUT UP AND DO YOUR JOB, QUILL!” Reed’s face was slick with sweat.
The entire ship started to groan. I was focused on our view of space. Two lights now flickered in the sky. They were perfectly aligned with each other.
He's here.
Erik’s reflection staggered. His arms remained up, but one knee touched the ground, and I could see veins popping out across his face. Ororo’s lips were spread apart, teeth clenched together as beams of electricity flashed from her fingertips.
Mantis’ touch couldn't stop my heart from staggering when my gaze flickered to Thor. He was doing alright...sort of. His face was shiny with sweat, but that wasn't the most concerning part. Jagged bolts of lightning protruded from his body and flashed across the interior of the ship, sending up a shower of sparks. Erik and Susan could barely handle the projector—could they keep the ship from tearing apart?
“NOW!” Reed Richards held onto the edge of the panel for support.
Shuri pulled a lever. Energy shot out of the projector, exploding across the dark canvas.
It was what the light illuminated that made me hesitate. The outline of the helmet was like the hands of God coming together, slightly caved in on themselves, but never meeting. The grooves of a face were sketched with light, creased but not wrinkled, and the rest was hidden by the massive helm, like it was shielding the being from any association with humanity. It was a face that asserted dominance, even cruel regalty, with two inhuman orbs that showed no emotion.
This was the cosmic terror that the Silver Surfer warned be about. This was the monster that left Xandar as a dust cloud. This was Galactus.
The ship had gone dead silent in the absence of the energy surge. Reed’s voice mustered me from my terror. “Evangeline! Now!”
Every action from that point on was instinctual. I was just an observer, floating out above my body watching the spectacle. I saw my arms rise in front of me, almost cupping the little speck of light in the sky. I focused on that tiny little pinpoint, pressing down against the laws of reality, imagining myself punching a hole in space.
I hoped I was doing this right. I never made a black hole before.
I caught a flicker of movement at my side. Wanda had moved to the window, crimson bands weaving between her fingers. Her second job was manipulating density. Susan joined us as we concentrated on our task.
My focus remained on the light. It started to shrivel, becoming smaller and smaller. I heard the hiss of someone’s breath. It sounded painful. I felt a new pressure pull down on my limbs as I continued to condense the tiny sun.
The small spark of light slowly shrank and melted from existence. An eternal horizon of night lay in its wake.
“Alright, that's enough. Scott, send in the rest of the Pym Particles. We need to get out of range—activate the teleporters, Quill.”
The voice sounded faint, blurry even, like it was submerged underwater. I think it was Reed’s.
It took a minute to will myself to stop. My role as an astral observer wore off and I reconnected with reality, feeling aches and pains. Susan collapsed on the floor.
Light consumed my skin and my surroundings vanished. We returned to the Grandmaster’s ship.
I winced at the brighter walls leaned on the nearest wall for support. Wanda lowered herself to the ground and lay flat, staring up against the ceiling. “I think...I’ll take that little yellow pill that Wade Wilson offered me a long time ago.”
I sank down to the floor next to her, sitting up against the wall. “Do you think I’ll get a neighbor discount?”
Thor’s boots appeared before me. I couldn't make my chin move up. He sat down next to me, wrapping a burly arm around my shoulders. His skin was usually hot, but it was blazing against the back of my neck. We communicated without words as I scooted closer to him and our fingers entwined.
Stephen Strange walked up to our party. “Did it work?”
Reed’s arm stretched out and clicked some of the buttons on the wall. The surface became reflective glass. “Let’s find out.”
I glanced over Thor’s hand at the endless night. It was too dark. Too deep, too terrifying. And those two orbs still penetrated the black veil, inching closer.
Thor’s quick reflexes shielded my eyes before the explosion of light hit. It was blinding and made my body freeze, like I was Cap stuck in the ice, numb. It was that moment in the movie theater when the music escalated unexpectedly in the dark and it made your heart skip a beat and you stiffened with terror.
The light faded. I turned, feeling Thor’s chest press against my back as we looked out at the result. Everyone was eager to see—even Wanda propped herself up on her elbows to witness the outcome.
“What...what is that?” Jean Gray was the only one standing besides our tech support. An eerie yellow shade made her porcelain skin glow.
“The event horizon,” Reed Richards answered, his words tinged with awe.
Shuri gasped. “I should add this to my story...that would really show my brother and his pathetic cat videos.”
Scott nodded dully. “Yeah...I’m never watching Star Trek ever again.”
Carol Danvers leaned forward, peering at the fiery ring at the center of space. “Hold on...I’ve seen black holes, and that is not supposed to happen.”
I felt Thor grow rigid behind me. Three words escaped my mouth. “Oh my God.”
The pitch black of the sky morphed into a magenta hue. The mass of color moved, seeming to swat at the black hole.
The swarming mass dissipated.
The magenta background gave off it's own luminescence, and the face of Galactus reappeared. His expression was still neutral. Undaunted.
“Holy shit…” I heard Peter say. “What now?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: Hi Awesome Adventurers, thanks for reading! I’ve been playing around with the idea of this novel for awhile, but I’d like to hear personally from you guys before I start publishing actual chapters. But thank you so much for reading, and please, if you enjoyed this, I’d love to hear from you! If I do start hearing from people, I will post this story on Tumblr, Archive of Our Own, and Wattpad. Your words are powerful, and I’d love to hear them c: love, fortune and glory to you!!
*Also, a few other things on this chapter: I included the Fantastic Four, but it is highly unlikely that they'll have a huge role in this series: they're just kinda thrown in here for the hardcore Marvel fans and to poke fun at Chris Evans. I also consulted a relative of mine with a physics degree, including my own research done on the topic, for this chapter. I know it's not the most perfect theory, but the idea came to me and I thought it would be cool to do! Thanks for reading!
9 notes · View notes
raendown · 4 years
Link
Pairing: none (unless I ever get around to writing the rest) Word count: 1770 Summary: This is the moment. He can feel it. This is the moment he will change the course of their future. (And he does but doesn't. It is the past the changes the future, erases itself, and builds anew.)
Follow the link or read it under the cut!
KO-FI and commission info in the header!
Amends to the Dead
Dust rises in clouds and is tamped down by streams of water and flame. Dirt sprays and gives under twisting heels. Blood spills and drips, oozing from wounds and soaking in to the thirsty earth beneath them. They clash and spring apart, come together and twist aside, again and again and again in the same dance they have engaged in since they were children. This is just another battle in an endless war and Tobirama is tired. But he is not too tired to go as he knows he must. If Hashirama will not put down the dreams of his youth then Tobirama must be the one to bear the weight of the present; it is not a duty he enjoys but it is one he knows well and he will not falter.
The moment is right. He can feel it in his bones and hear it in the screaming wind that rebounds from a jutsu on the far side of the forest clearing, shifting the clouds of steam that he has concealed himself within after his jutsu crashed against Izuna’s in a spectacular show of chemical reaction. Kunai spring to his hands and as he rushes forward he throws them ahead of himself, aiming not actually towards his target but beyond him. Injury is not the purpose of these blades. They are not for the bite but to mark the kill.
His sword is drawn as he bursts from cover, stepping in to position. Izuna meets his eye and for a split second it’s like the younger man knows what is about to happen. Surely he can see his impending death shining in Tobirama’s bloody red eyes. Tobirama hopes he doesn’t. Izuna may be his enemy by circumstance of birth, he might be cursed the way all Uchiha are, but Tobirama holds no true ill will for the other man. He doesn’t know him enough to hate him. Such is the way of life in their generation and though the Uchiha clan pose the greatest threat to his own out of the rest it does not make them different from any other faceless foe seeking to strike down what is his.
Chakra gathers under his skin until his entire body hums with power and he steps – through space and time he steps and every fiber of his being sings with the current that carries him forward. His blade is drawn and aimed, his strike will be true. Izuna will die with a blade through his chest between the third and fourth rib bones and Tobirama-
Light flashes. Tobirama jerks to a stop, unable to cry out in pain for the sheer shock of the blade that sinks in to his chest. Or quite possibly it is the shock of the face that stares back at him, expression grim and grip steady on the familiar sword in his hand.
It is himself. It is his own face yet deeply lined with age. He can hear the cries of shock as more and more people spot the strange distortion: Senju Tobirama stabbing himself through the only weak point in his thick blue armor. He can feel blood bubbling up until it trickles slowly from between his lips and still he does not move. The sword in him shifts, pulls back, and it tugs his flesh in to the motion until he falls forward against his elder self’s chest. Izuna meets his eyes over the shoulder of familiar plates of armor, as stunned and immobile as he is.
His breath ruffles white fur at the same time as hot air washes over his ear and his own voice speaks in a low, terrible whisper.
“Better my own death than Izuna.”
He wants to gasp but his lungs won’t let him. His fingers claw at the figure holding him in a strangely gentle way – and he listens to himself speak in that awful dead tone.
“I broke it all; the entire world. This moment is when it all fell apart. I ruined my brother’s dream of peace when I put that blade through Izuna’s chest. Let him live. Let Brother offer Madara his hand once more and let the world be rid of the plague that is myself.” Tobirama feels his older self bow his head, lips parting but releasing no sound.
He almost thinks that this must be the limit of human pain until suddenly it doubles, triples, as the sword inside of him is pulled out. A fatal move, he knows. His mind cannot help but remind him calmly that one should never remove an object from a wound until there is a healer ready to begin surgery. His knees collapse and his mind is focusing on the strangest things, skittering away from the gaping hole in his chest. The mud from his jutsu is uncomfortable underneath his knees. A single patch of grass in front of him has somehow avoided being churned with the rest of the dirt, shimmering a rich wet green like a beacon of growth in the midst of so much death just as Hashirama stands amidst the waves of dismissal from his own people and dreams his dreams of peace. His skin feels warm and it strikes him as odd; doesn’t every cliché say that he should feel cold?
Distraction only works for so long, just the few seconds it takes for his form to slump forward. His core is damaged, weak, and he finds he does not have the strength to hold himself upright. The same moment that his shoulder impacts the ground, bearing the brunt of his weight and dragging a piteous groan from his lips, the air is rent by a terrible screeching. Touka, he thinks distantly. She’s seen him fall.
From the corner of his vision he can see the older version of himself standing straight, holding out his own hands and looking down at them with the strangest expression of relief. Incredibly, his fingers are rapidly becoming translucent, fading in to the air around him as the rest of him begins to do the same.
“Ah, yes,” he murmurs in his broken voice. “I am disappearing, erased by an earlier death. As it should be.”
Just barely a dozen feet away Hashirama and Madara stand in perfect stillness, their weapons still resting against each other yet neither paying attention to their opponent any longer. Hashirama gapes openly when this strange vision of his brother begins to stagger towards him with one arm stretching to reach out to him in supplication.
“Brother,” the fading man calls. “Brother…how I’ve missed you…”
Mere inches before their skin can touch the fading completes itself, turning a solid man in to shards of light that scatter on the fading breeze. Another moment passes. Touka screams again and it’s as though her voice shatters the stillness. Hashirama dashes forward towards his fallen brother with a cry of his own, sinking to his knees in the mud and pulling the younger man in to his lap.
The entire battlefield holds its breath, both Senju and Uchiha, as Hashirama presses two fingers to his sibling’s neck. When he sobs with relief and lights his hands with the glow of healing green a collective shudder passes through them all, even some of the Uchiha who fear for their life each time they leave the compound without the safety of their second heir’s presence. Izuna himself backs away from the scene they make slowly, crawling to his brother’s side and watching as Touka hurls herself down in his place, a fierce light in her eyes where there would be tears on a weaker woman.
“How can I help?” she demands.
“Chakra,” Hashirama grunts. “I’ll need chakra. He’s already too far from me.”
“Take mine. Take all of it.”
“He wouldn’t want your life in exchange for his.” By contrast, Hashirama’s face streams openly with tears and he shakes his head, expression solemn and regretful as he shatters inside. “That isn’t his way.”
Madara slips an arm around Izuna’s shoulder and gestures to the rest of his forces without looking at them. Not a single one of them protest when he signals the retreat. There is no honor to be found in senseless slaughter, in striking while the enemy mourns, and so the Uchiha begin to slip away in silence. Madara and Izuna are the last to go, watching in amazement as one by one the Senju fighters approach their leader and kneel, offering their chakra to heal the man who fell.
How is he so precious, they wonder, the man who feels nothing?
It’s a question they have no need to ask out loud, one they already know the answer to. All kin are precious. More than bodies to fall and soldiers to expend, their family are their anchors in this blood-soaked ocean of death, more precious than jewels no matter that very few of them live to see their third decade. All shinobi are born to die but they are born loved. Learning to fight does not mean they forget how to feel.
Madara turns his brother away but looks back one more time for himself. He watches the friend he once considered a brother, the tears streaming down his face as he begs the body under his hands to hold on for just a little longer. He watches the man he thought the most bloodthirsty of them all bleed out from a wound none of them understand. If he survives there will be answers. Only he will ever be able to explain how there came to be two Tobiramas, how one of them looked old and worn, the desperation on his face as he reached for Hashirama, why he chose to kill himself instead of his greatest enemies.
As a man who hates unsolved mysteries Madara wants those answers. And as a brother who recognizes that Izuna could have been the one bleeding out in his arms instead, well, it leaves him hoping for something he never thought he would ever hope for.
He hopes Tobirama survives. Not just for his own sake but for Hashirama as well. For the first time in his life he understands that the only way for either of them to come out on top in this senseless war is for one to lose their precious brother, their last surviving sibling. If he cannot even contemplate the idea of surviving so much pain himself how can he possibly ask Hashirama to do the same? How can he ask anyone to suffer losses he won’t?
Perhaps it is time to revisit old dreams at last.
13 notes · View notes