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nanamikentcs · 3 years

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SIREN’S SONG

word count: 1.7k

genre: fluff (??), reader meets diluc for the first time, mutual admiration

warnings: none (gn!reader, not proofread)

summary: god isn’t some bigshot in the sky. god is a redhead playing the violin against the setting sun, while you watch in complete admiration. inspired by that new official art where diluc plays the violin.

Of the tasks undertaken this particular week, this seemed the least burdensome and most straightforward to you. One of the employees of Dawn Winery—presumably Charles (whose name you only learned recently), since he was within the immediate vicinity of the Adventurer’s Guild—put forth a commission to deliver a set of documents to the Winery itself, somewhere along the city outskirts. For a myriad of reasons—most revolving around the relatively low appeal of the commission, given that adventurers were drawn to more thrilling tasks—none had yet accepted the job.

You wonder if, perhaps, another reason for the lack of interest in the request involved an unexpected run in with the Winery’s owner.

By no means was Diluc Ragnvindr an unpleasant man. The reputable former knight was known for his courteousness, his polite nature most likely spawned by the esteem upheld by families of old. His demeanor was, nonetheless, off-putting, to say the least. He often kept to himself, speaking rarely to others beyond business and smiling even less often. Shrouded by an aura of both invulnerability and power, the young Ragnvindr’s unapproachable nature served as an effective ward against not only those he explicitly opposed, but perhaps against those who longed to forge a connection with him as well.

But, you were here for matters relating to work. Even if he hadn’t been aware of the commission, the documents you carried in your pack must’ve been important enough for a commission to be issued in the first place. Of course, having only encountered the redhead a couple of times—and oftentimes with a mind half-buzzed thanks to an alcoholic spell—your image of him was less intimidating than that of the locals’.

The sweltering heat of the sun receded into gentler warmth. You kept your eyes trailed on the road ahead of you, watching how the path changed from pavements to rough roads as you neared your destination. Hailing leagues away from the City of Freedom, you appreciated Mondstadt for the little details that solidified the beauty intrinsic to the region. Fontaine—a place you once called home—was a city known for its artistry and innovation; but Mondstadt, in its simple yet unrestrained nature, called to your heart in ways you did not understand.

By the time you arrived at the Winery, the sky had settled into a yellow-orange hue, denoting the incoming arrival of sunset. A signpost indicating the Winery’s location seemed unnecessary, considering the visibility of the vineyard from miles away. This was the first time you’d step foot onto a property so large, so busy with the duty of sustaining an entire city’s economic stability. Still, your business lay ahead of you, and you would much rather be done with your tasks before nightfall.

“Are these from Charles?” A white-haired man questioned as he sifted through the papers you handed him, addressing you but not looking away from the documents.

“Ah, I didn’t get to check who posted the commission,” you admitted, slightly embarrassed to overlook such a detail. “But it was posted in the afternoon, so it must’ve been someone in the city.”

The man—his name was Elzer, if you caught it correctly—hummed at your response, staying silent for a few moments. You shifted awkwardly, half-wondering if this was your cue to leave, yet half-expecting a proper dismissal, as though you’d still been a student awaiting your teacher’s approval.

After a brief period (which frankly seemed like a lifetime to you), Elzer finally looked in your direction, promptly thanked you for your service, and assured you that your remuneration would be facilitated through the Guild.

As you turned to leave, however, he called after you. “Ah, wait,” the tone that laced his voice betrayed just the slightest hint of exhaustion. “Could you perchance hand these over to the young master himself? These documents should’ve been given to him directly anyway.”

You stopped in your tracks, wondering if you’d heard him right. Your only instructions were to deliver the documents to the Winery. You didn’t know that they had to be given to Master Diluc himself.

“He’s at his study at the moment. First door to the left, once you ascend the stairs.” Elzer added, and, despite not having accepted the sudden request, you moved forward to retrieve the documents you’d just handed over. Following the directions he gave, you made your way to Diluc’s study, knocking once, knocking again, knocking twice for a third time, and knocking thrice for a fifth. No answer. Frustrated at the delay and the impending approach of the dark, you turned to find Elzer once more. You’d done your job. They couldn’t hold this against you, right?

Then you heard it: music created by a bow against steel strings, and for a moment you recall the endless symphonies composed by one frustrated musician after another in your hometown. Each was beautiful in their own right, but never seemed to meet the standard of perfection that greatness demanded. This song, however, was not perfect nor was it especially great—but it was indubitably beautiful.

Your feet moved by their own accord, following the direction of the violin and the mystery musician—not at all considering who’d dwelt there and who were expecting to find in the first place. The melody drew you in by some invisible thread, and before you knew it, you stood openmouthed by a door left ajar.

This was the first time you saw Master Diluc without his typical bravado. You watched as he nestled the violin in the crook of his neck, his right hand moving with grace as he shepherded the bow upwards and down, and the fingers of his other hand gliding with deftness across the violin. The sight of him and the sun setting through the window behind him was enough to root you into place. You did not understand why your heart leapt, but perhaps it was because it had not witnessed anything more beautiful.

He stopped. You wish he hadn’t but he did. His senses were keen, and though you had been too silent to make a sound, he knew he was in the presence of another. Turning to face you, an intruder in his personal area, he regarded you with an expression that furthered your surprise: he did not seem the least bit annoyed, nor did he appear to be upset at your sudden arrival. The glint in his eyes betrayed some curiosity, but beyond that, his face remained neutral.

“Was there something you needed?” He asked, as though your presence was a natural occurrence.

“Oh, I...I was on a commission...and well,” You managed to stammer out, electing to present the documents in your hand instead of relying on your ability to form a coherent sentence. “Th-These are for you.”

Diluc glanced at the papers in your hands, noticing the slight tremble to them, and sighed before setting his instrument down. As he took the documents, you immediately pulled your hand away, eager to hide both the tremor and incoming clamminess. You knew you should’ve apologized for your intrusion, thanked him for his patience, and left at the soonest possible moment. Instead, the more irrational part of your brain decided to blurt out: “That was beautiful. The way you played, I mean. I’ve heard a lot of violinists back in Fontaine but you...I mean you could easily outclass them.”

The pair of you seemed shocked by your profuse compliment. Diluc gathered himself first (and fairly quickly), clearing his throat before offering a small yet gentle smile. Strange, you thought. I’ve never seen him smile before.

“Thank you. Do you recognize it?” He asked, a faintly amused lilt in his voice. You shook your head in response. He nodded, as though expecting it. “It’s a composition from the olden days of Mondstadt. Not many recognize it anymore, more so if one were from another place. You mentioned Fontaine, yes?”

You did not understand why you could not use your voice. You only nodded, hoping he charged your nervousness to introversion. He paused to consider your response, turning to the violin he’d set down earlier, then returning his attention to you.

You watched as he opened his mouth to say something, then abruptly close it as though he changed his mind midway. Shifting his eyes away for a brief moment, he turned his gaze back towards you, asking, “Do you play?”

“The violin?” You inquired, rather dumbly now that you’d said it. “Oh, no, I don’t. I mean, I played for a little while then stopped. Hardly learned past the basics.”

He hummed at your response, unexpectedly content to hear your voice.

“I play the piano a little bit better, though.” you added, after a moment’s quiet. Perhaps it was to impress the clearly impressive man in front of you, or perhaps it was your pride in your own abilities. Either way, you felt compelled to add that detail.

Diluc considered your words, scrutinizing you in a private silence he shared with you. To both your surprise and his, he raised the question: “Would you like to play together, then?”

The invitation was extended like a hand requesting one’s own before a dance. You wanted to take that plunge, accept the invitation and waltz a symphonic dance with the man before you. But, enrapt in allure and the desire to prepare for a more impressive showcase of your talents, you said instead: “I’m a bit out of practice, and it’s going to be night soon. But next time...I’d love to, next time.”

Had you not directed your gaze towards your shifting feet and the wooden floors, perhaps you would’ve noticed the flash of disappointment in his eyes.

“Next time, then.” Diluc said, again with a small smile that rarely graced his features. He thanked you for fulfilling the commission, and watched as you turned to leave, unable to understand how one interaction could ignite so many emotions within him. With a sigh, he returned to his abandoned violin, absentmindedly plucking at the strings.

Diluc Ragnvindr, in all his acumen and knowledge of the workings of the world, could not pinpoint what it was about your exchange and what it was about you that stupefied him so much that he--only much later did he realize--had not asked for your name.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc x y/n #diluc x you #**mine

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karlnapity · 3 years

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i didn’t know we were fighting.

sapnap is always angry, and george is always calm.

when they were little and a group of four and they weren’t fighting for their lives and instead for fun, dream used to joke that sapnap carried george’s emotions for him. at the time, sapnap had loudly proclaimed he always would, and george pushed him into a river, and he laughed.

it doesn’t seem so funny now.

sapnap meets george when they’re eleven. they team together soon after they figure out they’re both alone, sapnap as fierce as george is clever. soon after, they meet bad, who takes them in with great patience and even greater kindness, and they form a great team.

dream shakes things up. within days he and george have become attached at the hip, complimenting each other in ways sapnap never has. he’s always too overwhelming, too loud, too much for anyone. everyone except for george.

at first it hurts. sapnap sees dream stealing his friend, and sapnap has never been more incensed. he snaps at dream and at everyone, and even when bad tries to get them to make up he refuses.

it isn’t until they’re stuck in a cave with zombies threatening to break down dirt walls that they talk about it, that sapnap cries about it, and dream does too, and george doesn’t.

after that sapnap thinks they’ll be inseparable, is sure they’ll be a team forever.

when the war first starts, he’s just there to have fun. it seems trivial, the idea of fighting over fucking music discs against a bunch of kids, defending a fucking drug van, and he doesn’t much care. fighting is fun and fire even more so and he gets to team alongside his best friends.

maybe eret defecting to their side should be a sign it’s important, but even that doesn’t rattle his confidence that this is just a game, and it’s not his fault everyone else is taking this so seriously.

the pet war isn’t as fun. much as everyone jokes about it he doesn’t like killing animals, but bad has always said he’s too hotheaded and too stubborn and he has to prove a point.

so he fights, and he wins, and he’s not even sure why.

“no one is forcing you,” george says, leaning back against him as they fish, and sapnap laughs.

“i am.”

and george shrugs, and that’s the end of it.

sapnap doesn’t care about elections. they’re not wars, they’re not interesting, and he thinks he’ll die if he has to hear one more slick-tongued politician monologue about governments.

george runs alongside quackity. they get along better than he expects, the three of them becoming friends quickly.

all the same, he can’t understand why george gets involved, because now sapnap has to as well.

“you don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” george says, failing to tie a tie for the fifth time. sapnap leans against the wall and laughs.

“i do.”

and george shrugs, and that’s the end of it.

sapnap hasn’t talked to dream in a while. he’s always been busy with running the server, but now there’s something more there. sapnap has never had a hard time reading him even behind his mask, but now for the first time he’s not sure what his friend is doing behind the scenes.

he feels unbalanced without him. george seems so much quieter than before, the easy banter that used to flow between them missing without their third part. they don’t talk much anymore. for the first time ever, he feels they’re disjointed, not able to move together the same way they did before.

bad, too, is different. he’s formed his own faction, with sam and skeppy and ant, and sapnap doesn’t get to see him much anymore. when he does, there’s a gleam in his eyes that wasn’t there before and screams run run run.

he confides in quackity and karl. he never expected to grow as close to them as he has, but it’s a welcome reprieve from old grievances. they meet on the roof of the white house, and he talks of george, and quackity talks of schlatt, and karl talks of l’manburg.

“you don’t need to stay by dream’s side, not if you don’t want to,” quackity tells him one night, dangling his feet over the edge of the roof. karl nods. sapnap laughs.

“i do.”

and quackity shrugs, and that’s the end of it.

and in the end, he does. he fights for manburg, even though he doesn’t care that much. it’s not fun anymore.

dream doesn’t ask him if he wants to fight by his side, he just tells him what to do, and for the first time since they met it pisses him off.

and for the first time since they were kids, they argue. sapnap laughs in his face.

“don’t give me orders,” he snarls, “when you didn’t even ask me if i was going to follow you.”

dream stares at him for a long, long moment. “don’t you?”

his voice is very, very quiet. sapnap has never been scared of dream before. his heart stutters.

sapnap first drew the face when they were little. dream didn’t even take off his mask when they were sleeping, and sapnap wasn’t so cruel he’d remove it, but he was still so angry at dream for stealing his friend and he wanted to get back at him. so he took a piece of charcoal and carved a smiley face on the empty white mask. when dream woke bad laughed at him, and dream was so angry, but he kept it in the end.

it has never, ever been creepy before. sapnap hates him.

sapnap looks to george for help. george doesn’t care.

“don’t you?” dream asks again, and sapnap sighs.

“i do.”

and dream shrugs, and that’s the end of it.

“i don’t care about anything but the discs,” dream says, and sapnap’s heart stops.

he should’ve known.

dream isn’t his friend anymore, hasn’t been his friend for so long.

he doesn’t know when it changed, when dream became someone who wasn’t his anymore, when he became someone sapnap doesn’t like, when he became some sort of monster sapnap hates, but it hurts.

he runs to george. he’s building a house with quackity, enjoying the freedom of el rapids, and sapnap doesn’t want to ruin his fun but he has to.

he bursts in, can’t help but yell. george seems surprised enough, asking for clarification, but after a few moments he quietly goes back to building. even quackity is incensed, talking a mile a minute and immediately taking sapnap’s side, but in the meantime george has snuck away and is rifling through a chest.

“it’s us three against the world,” sapnapp says, and he doesn’t even mean dream, and it feels wrong.

“aren’t you angry?” quackity exclaims when he notices george, grabbing his arm. george pulls away and continues his search.

sapnap laughs, bitter, and none of this is funny. “he never is.”

“that’s not true,” george says petulantly, but there’s nothing in his voice. sapnap huffs.

“you don’t care, do you?”

“i do.”

and sapnap shrugs, and that’s the end of it.

george loses his first life to technoblade, and sapnap can’t protect him. he isn’t there, off with quackity and karl when it happens.

georgenotfound was slain by technoblade using [orphan obliterator]

he freezes, mind shuttering closed. after a few seconds, he clues back in. karl is on one side, hand on his arm, and quackity is on the other, holding his hand. he’s breathing hard.

“i need to go,” he says, standing. “i need to make sure he’s ok.” they nod, and he runs.

he runs to the castle, first, and george isn’t there. dream is, tells him george is fine, tells him not to bother. sapnap snaps at him, tells him to fuck off. respawns are painful, and sapnap isn’t going to let him go through that alone.

george is in bed in el rapids, curled up under a pile of blankets. sapnap almost doesn’t see him, almost runs past his room, but he always finds him.

sapnap pulls his friend into his arms easily, the way he always has, and george clings onto him.

all of george’s emotion has always hidden in his gestures.

they stay like that for a while, george with his arms around his neck and his head buried in his shoulder. sapnap holds tight on his t-shirt, curls a hand in his hair. he chokes back a few tears.

he should’ve been there.

eventually, george pulls back. he sighs, fixes his hair, pulls the blankets closer around him.

sapnap rubs a hand over his face. he wishes he could read him like he used to. he can’t read any of them now.

“i’ll always be there, you know that, right?” he asks. it’s a lie. he can’t promise anything. and george knows that, but he still says,

“i do.”

and george shrugs, and that’s the end of it.

sapnap isn’t sure why, but he’s yelling in george’s face. george’s king cape lays on the floor of the throne room next to them, and he steps on it as he grabs george’s shirt.

dream and eret stand beside them, dream blank and eret worried and sapnap doesn’t care.

he should be angry at dream. he should. it’s not george’s fault he’s been dethroned, but he can’t help but be angry at the both of them.

is he really the only one who cares about their friendship? dream doesn’t care, and maybe he’s never cared, and he isn’t sure whether george is even able, and it feels like shit.

dream asks george if he wants to stay king, and he doesn’t get angry. he simply asks dream.

sapnap can hear the slimy manipulation in his friend’s voice, and he wants to punch the man in his face. but george just looks him in the face and shrugs and doesn’t care and sapnap hates it.

quackity fights for them and sapnap wants to cry. finally, finally, someone is on his side. quackity squeezes his hand, minutely, before pulling away.

dream doesn’t back down, and george doesn’t fight him. the crown is pulled unceremoniously from his hair and placed in eret’s and sapnap can tell eret doesn’t see it as a victory. he’s not sure any of them do.

the cape is left on the ground and they go home. it’s not worth a physical fight, not when george doesn’t care, much as sapnap wants to spear his friend through the stomach.

george settles next to sapnap on the couch, takes off his goggles, and sighs. he leans into sapnap’s side. they sit quietly for a few long moments before sapnap can’t help but ask:

“do you actually even want to be king?” sapnap can’t read him anymore. he never would’ve had to ask this at the beginning. it hurts. george pulls away.

“i do.”

and sapnap shrugs, and that’s the end of it.

dream is going to destroy l’manburg.

sapnap has been shaking all day. he’s not sure where george is and he misses him, because george can always calm him down and he can barely hold his sword steady. karl squeezes his shoulder and he jumps.

he’s going to talk to tommy before the destruction today.

there’s been a change in the kid. something happened while he was in exile, and part of sapnap hopes he never, ever finds out what it was. he doesn’t want to know what his friend has done.

tommy has found mars, asks him to fight alongside them.

and sapnap thinks of his country. thinks of his friends. thinks of his fiancés. thinks of george.

“are you going to fight with us?” tommy asks.

“i will.”

and tommy nods, and that’s the end of it.

“it’s just us,” george says one night. he’s on the sofa, and sapnap had thought he was asleep, had come in to make sure george hadn’t fallen asleep with his goggles on.

he nods, sits down next to him. “it is.”

george sighs, breathy. his voice sounds choked. sapnap wonders whether he feels anything, wonders what it’s like. he wraps an arm around him, buries his face in his hair.

sapnap is always angry. george is always calm.

and sapnap will carry his emotions.

“do you think somewhere, we’re happy? the three of us?”

“i do.”

#personal #dream smp #dsmp #lmanburg #lmanberg #dreamwastaken #sapnap #georgenotfound #quackity #karl jacobs #mcyt

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mirobami · 3 years

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↳ childhood friends to lovers - i. obami

♥ GENRE: fluff.

♥ SYNOPSIS: being friends from childhood to lovers with ibara.

♥ NOTE: This has been at the back of my head for a few days and it was very much needed. It’s a bit long and I lost track, but you know what, I really liked writing it. Childhood friends to lovers is my second favorite trope, I'm not even kidding.

You were a family friend of the Obamis, therefore making it inevitable that you’d be hanging out with their sons

The first time that you were taken to their place, your father had put you in a dress that you loathed with all your heart and said, “You need to look your best for the Obami family.”

“But I don’t want to look my best! I want to wear what I wear at home!”

“I’ll buy you your favorite food later.”

With that, you followed him into the house, a slight frown on your face as the door open

That’s when you hid behind your father’s legs, peeking out as the two men greeted each other. Why? There were two boys also hiding behind their own father’s legs, barely looking at you

Your fathers had left you three alone in the living room as they went away to discuss business

It was very quiet at first before Ibara spoke up: “Do you know how to play card games?”

You didn’t know much so in the end, they were both teaching you how to play Egyptian War

It came as a surprise to all of you when you won them many times and you started betting snacks because you made it clear that you didn’t want to gamble money without your father knowing

Your father walked into you sharing a mountainload of snacks with the two brothers and that was where your friendship started

You kept seeing each other much more often and grew up with one another

Once you were in your last day of your last year of middle school, Ibara was with you because Rin was talking to their father and he had asked you to which school you were going to

“I’m going to Hyakkaou. Supposed to be a good academy with prestige.”

“Gambling?” At your nod, Ibara couldn’t help but laugh. “Still remember how you beat Rin and me in your first ever card game.”

The goodbye was bittersweet because you were both called out to so you could go home and yet neither of you wanted to leave because you’d be leaving Ibara behind and you didn’t even know that you liked him, you thought it was normal to miss someone that much.

The inexorable had happened and you were whisked away to Hyakkaou.

In your second year, you were already part of the student council and to say you got more serious was an understatement, you were merciless when it came to gambling

You and Ibara were still friends but it wasn’t the same since you didn’t see each other often or talk because of your busy schedules

That is, until the election happened

Ibara was so excited to see you again and that was the first thing he tried to do after the student council members left the room

Rin had decided to go with Ibara to find you and when they saw you gambling with another guy, the chips stacked and him practically sweating in fear, they were surprised

“Y/N has won!” The monitor exclaimed. “You now owe the student council 16 years of service or you owe 3 billion yen!”

You had gotten out of your seat to go get something to eat, a couple of votes under your belt now when you saw Ibara and Rin gawking at you

“Oh my God, what are you doing here?!” You launched yourself at them, hugging them tightly and grinning widely. “You never told me you were coming! Wow, Ibara, you’ve grown so much taller, you tower over me now.”

They couldn’t help but smile at you and how much you’ve changed

Rin decided to leave you and Ibara alone because he knew how much Ibara liked you, even if Ibara didn’t know himself

You and Ibara spent your days together and he was so proud to find out that you were a student council member

“I missed you so much.” You said one day when you two were alone and watching the sun set. “I should’ve tried to keep in contact.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m also sorry.”

You sat in peace until he was about to start talking again, only to feel the weight of your head on his shoulder, which made him smile so softly at you

You were still the merciless student council member but everyone could see the love you had in your eyes when you looked at him and vice versa

You could entwine your hand with his and you two would think it’s normal because you did it when you were kids but then when you leaned on him, it made both of your hearts race

The rest of the family was tired of seeing Ibara be so lovesick so Rin decided to up and say, “You like Y/N, now go and ask her out before we all lose our minds.”

This was the one thing that the family could collectively agree on: trying to get Ibara to accept his feelings before they all lost their heads

He’s very honest, but not for this, he was a nervous wreck while asking you out; he turned so red when you said yes, he didn’t think you liked him that way

Your biggest supporter, he’s always behind you when you’re gambling and cheering you on

Your first few kisses are very timid, but over time, he gets more excitable about them

Will hug you from behind while you’re talking to someone else and come up to hold your hand casually as if nothing’s going on

He’s so glad that you’re at his side and will be for as long as he hopes, he wants to tell you he loves you but from the stuff he does for you to what he tells you, you already know he does

#kakegurui x reader #kakegurui x y/n #kakegurui x you #ibara x reader #ibara obami x reader #ibara x y/n #ibara obami x y/n #ibara x you #ibara obami x you #ibara obami imagines #ibara imagines

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celestialscarlet · 3 years

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Guardian Angel

So this isn’t anything especially novel, but I wanted to elaborate on Phil and Will’s interaction before the explosion, with a little bit of everyone mentioned. It’s pretty much just angst and sad, so enjoy!

(I used all pronouns for Eret, but I kept them consistent through paragraphs for clarity.)

TW// Character death, vague description of blood and gore, assisted suicide (?)

_________________

A guardian angel. Phil had tried to take the role, but now it felt so unfitting. Guardian Angels succeeded in protecting their charges, and all he had done was be complicit and silent. He had tried to watch over his family. But fear had kept him back. That he’d ruin the few precious thing he had to care about. But it was Hope too. Hope that they could take care of one another. When Techno had come in and joined them, when it was the three of them, his sons, he thought it’d be ok.

But now he was here. A nervous flutter was all that alerted Wilbur of his entrance. But his son barely turned, there was a cruel smile on his face.

But it wasn’t cruel, was it? No. It was an attempt to be cruel, but Wilbur didn’t have the capacity to be cruel. Not anymore. All he could be was hollow. There was only empty in his eyes, that portrayed a tired that could only be felt by those who’d gone through as much as he had.

“What are you doing,” it was quiet. An rage simmered underneath the surface, but maybe not towards the man who stood opposite to him, but at himself.

He should’ve done something. He was here watching. Philza saw the big picture as everyone was still scrambling to put together the pieces.

“Do you know what that button does, Phil?” Wilbur asked with a haphazard gesture.

“Yes.”

Silence lapsed, as Philza tried desperately to think of anything to say that hadn’t already been said. To convince him. Wilbur moved towards the signs that had been posted all around the room.

“Have you heard the song?”

He didn’t even get a chance to answer before Wilbur continued.

“There was a special place Philza. Was. This shell of L’manburg is not the sanctuary I had tried to build.”

“Not yet, but it could be. Tubbo’s president. Let him prove to you, let us all prove to you that this can be different.” Phil reached out and tried to close the gap, but Will recoiled as if he had been struck.

“Do you know how many times I’ve come here,” Wilbur asked his voice shaking with rage. His first slammed against the stone, just above the button. Phil flinched almost imperceptibly, but Wilbur had caught it.

“You don’t even trust me. Good. No one should ever trust anyone. Not Tubbo, not Techno, not Eret, not Dream. Especially not me”

The faint explosions of fireworks were muffled by their position underground and yet the noise seemed to only further agitate Will.

“Look at them, celebrating. They don’t even know I’m in here. They trusted me, they’re fools. I told them all. I told them what would happen,” there was a scoff, and Wilbur turned his back to Philza. His knuckles bled white, and hands were shaking.

“Just take a step back Will, it’s not too late. L’manburg is here. We’re all here,” the winged figure could feel himself losing his son. He could feel Will spiraling.

He offered a hand, and his wings spread slightly. Hope. Almost. There was hesitation now. A single tear traced its way down Wilbur’s check. Philza could see the shine.

“There was a traitor before, you may know him. He had a saying...”

It was never meant to be.

His hands shook nervously, he swallowed. This was the best thing.

“The chests are empty Eret.”

“What is this?”

“Why do you look nervous?”

Silence was their only answer, well that and the press of a button. As the walls started to shift and change, Eret stumbled backwards and pressed himself into the chamber that had been made for safety.

Then all he heard was screaming, the sound of swords tearing into armor. Blood stained the ground. So much. Too much. What had he done? Then he heard laughter. The sound of men celebrating their victory. Bile rose in his throat. He caught a glimpse of torn bandanas and ripped uniforms. It had been a slaughter. The coup de grâce. Better to end the war now, before it really started. When the ending was inevitable anyway...right? He had to compose himself. He was king now. He didn’t regret what he’d done. He didn’t regret it. He didn’t...

As she walked back into the open, she felt a clap on her back from Dream. It took everything in her not to flinch away from the touch.

“We’ll have to get you a crown now your highness. How does it feel?” A smile split across his face. A broken one, a hollow one, put on more to convince himself that they’d done the right thing.

“Good.”

They paused before continuing.

“Down with the revolution boys. It was never meant to be.”

Philza heard the hissing, and on instinct alone he reached forward and pulled Wilbur back into himself. His wings spreading around them both. He felt the wave of force pull at the muscles. Debris shredded the feathers. Ringing filled his ears, and Phil stumbled, pulling them both backwards. Eventually, when he hoped things were safe, he drew them back best he could and peered out. A hole had been torn into the wall, he watched the carnage and what was left of L’manburg.

Alex laid on the ground, burns covering his body. Closest to the blast and had suffered for it. One of the champions of the war, he had only ever wanted to do what was right.

Tommy held Tubbo, blood coming from hidden wounds. Calling out hoarsely for the very man that had caused all of this. Because he knew it had been Wilbur. He knew, but how could he believe it?

Eret stood with Nikki and Fundy. Their crown was long gone now, placed upon another’s head. They lost and continued to lose. A horrible sense of déjà vu filled them. This was their fault; they should never have been a traitor. L’manburg had been doomed to violence because of them. Horror almost dropped Eret to their knees, but Nikki and Fundy help them up. They were all in this together again. Past sins were forgiven.

Karl pulled Sapnap out of rumble, laughing from the shock of it all. He couldn’t even stand to look at the state of Alex. His fiancées, both barely holding on. Wet tears tracked down his face.

George rushed on to the scene trying desperately to help those injured and made his way over to Quackity - the two discarded Vice President together again. The crown fell off his head, and George barely gave it a passing glance, not being able to bear the thought of the weight.

Ponk, Purpled, Punz, and Antfrost tried desperately to push the fallen rumble. Half in a state of shock, while the others were barely able to see through their tears. They all had injuries of their own, but they couldn’t possibly spend a thought on that. Not when Sam and Bad were trapped underneath.

Techno was stepping away from the crowd as if they had made a decision of their own. Pulling the mask further over their own face. This scene, a tragedy to most, was not a surprise to him. War ignored no victims, spared no innocents.

He was so unphased, he ignored Dream who was watching with a mad grin on his face. Laughing not out of shock, but because this had been the plan all along. The puppet master had always known this is how it would end. Because what better revenge for that loss all those months ago, then to drive a man mad into blowing up the very thing he’d fought for – and take out any threats at the same time.

Phil took it all in, unable to comprehend the pain. The loss. The suffering.

“What have you done Will,” Phil’s hand went to cover his mouth. Tears numbly falling from his eyes. Not even he had escaped the damage. Sparing a glance at the wings that now hung on his back, he felt a pit in his stomach. A guardian angel who couldn’t do his job, well he deserved to lose his wings.

“Phil,” it was soft, pleading.

Turning back to Wilbur who was crumpled in a heap at one of the walls left standing, he closed the distance between them.

Crouching down, Phil placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Kill me.”

Will forced his father to look at him. Pulling Wilbur into a hug, he felt a head rest on his shoulder.

“Please.”

A hand drifted to the sheathed sword at Phil’s waist. All he could see was their anger. The anger when they all came into the room where Wilbur laid now. They wouldn’t understand, Phil had only just barely begun to grasp it.

He remembered watching his first steps. Watching Wilbur sloppily spar with Techno. As they continued to grow up, Wilbur slowly begin to teach Tommy, and take in Tubbo. He remembered the first war they so valiantly fought. The van, the walls. Watching it all. The Declaration, the election, the highs and the lows.

“You’re my son. I’ll always love you. I’m sorry,” and with that he made a final decisive motion.

Phil felt his son bleed out in his arms, and stayed there. Through the fighting, the withers, the panic. He couldn’t protect him in life, but now - maybe now he could protect him. When he finally did get up the courage to leave and face the rest, Phil turned to give one last look. And maybe, just maybe he had felt the ghost of a touch in his shoulder. Forgiveness... or maybe he had just imagined it.

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lokislittlesigyn · 3 years

Text

A Day’s Work - Pt.1

Hi everyone!! This is an older fic I started a while ago and was pretty happy with. It seemed a good opportunity to get started with posting things. Basically, this is a random au (may simply classify silly/nonsense fics into a separate au category of their own) based around Marvel, focusing on Loki and my own interpretation/characterization of his wife Sigyn. hence... you know, my blog name and pfp and. yeah, you get the picture.

Pairing: Loki / Sigyn (basically an oc based off the marvel/myth namesake)

Warnings: The Collector being creepy (as usual), some capture but don’t fret! It’s short-lived.

Summary: The Guardians of The Galaxy have been, well, guarding the galaxy on their own time. But when a handsome reward for the safe return of an Asgardian princess is released, they may get more adventure than they bargained for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Peter, you're an idiot." Gamora took a seat in the Milano’s cockpit, releasing a loud sigh.

"Yeah, yeah, I know..." Peter turned the ship, and within seconds the were on their way to Xandar. "It's not my fault that guy had literally the ugliest mug in the galaxy."

"He was not carrying a mug," Drax piped up from behind them, furrowing his brow at Peter.

"Face, then! Ugliest face."

"I disagree." Drax settled back into his seat. "You have the ugliest face."

"I am Groot."

Peter glared over his shoulder. "If you don't cut it out, I swear I will turn this spaceship around." Soon, the bunch of misfits reached Xandar. Landed, and took the opportunity to roam the city - partly in search for unclaimed bounties.

"Okay, since we haven't had the best luck under Quill's leadership lately, I’m electing myself as new leader of the group," Rocket smirked, holding a tiny baby Groot on his shoulder.

"Hey!" Peter huffed, "That Sakaarian was just one guy. One dude out of the whole universe. Every one of us has had a - a slight disagreement, over a keg of beer."

"I am Groot."

"Okay, except you. But you don't count."

"I am Groot!"

"All right fine, you count!"

Gamora rolled her eyes, walking over to a large, white wall, containing a screen that was shifting between advertisements. "Hey, come look at this." She put her hand up, stilling the screen.

Peter furrowed his brow, his hands on his hips. "Reward for the safe capture and return of an.. Asgardian? Asgardian princess?"

Rocket whistled. "Gorgeous."

"Yeah, I guess she's pretty-"

"I was talkin' about the money."

Peter's eyes settled on the bounty price, then widened. He grinned. "How do you guys feel about a rescue mission?" ~~~~ Sigyn awoke with a pounding headache. She blinked. Looked down at her bound hands. Great...

It was dark, but in the further reaches of the shadows she could make out the edges of rusty metal walls. In front of her stood an equally-rusted cell door. Past it, another cell stood, identical if not for the fact it was empty. She stood, steadying herself against the wall. Voices came from down the hall.

"...won't remember anything. I gave her a double dose."

"Dunno, Asgardians are tough..."

"Not this one."

Two men stepped in front of her cell. Each wore patchy, well-worn clothes. One looked tanned and scruffy, the other had blue skin marred with scars.

"Oh look, she's awake," The blue one chuckled.

Sigyn stepped back, eyeing both of them. "Where am I?"

"That's not much'a your business, is it?" The man glared at her.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Knowhere." He smirked.

She blinked. "What... You must be taking me somewhere."

He nodded. "Knowhere. Hang tight, princess." Both men walked off, leaving her alone. She huffed, eyeing the door... Then noticed the clothing she had on. Interwoven leather and cloth, bits of metal, armored bracers on her forearms... Nothing like what those men wore.

What was going on?

She sat back down, defeated. Her headache became overwhelming, throbbing... She placed her head in her hands. ~~~~ Meanwhile, onboard the Milano, Rocket stepped over to a table in the center of the common area. "Now, behold." Rocket set a metal object that looked haphazardly thrown-together on the table. "A genuine Asgardian tracking device. Call it an A-T-D."

"You found a way to track Asgardians?" Peter raised his brows, arms crossed.

"Well yeah, why'd you think I called it an Asgardian tracking device?"

"I am Groot."

"Exactly! The nerve of some people!"

Peter rolled his eyes. Gamora spoke up. "How does it track them?"

"Now that is a good question." Rocket pressed a button on the side of the device. It started beeping slowly. "I won't reveal all my secrets, but it basically traces Asgardian DNA."

"Where did you get Asgardian DNA?"

Rocket grinned. "I have my ways."

"So we'll follow your tracker until we find the princess, grab her, maybe shoot some guys, and take her back to Asgard safe and sound?" Peter shifted his weight.

"That's the plan."

"..I love it. Good work, Rocket."

"Well, I am the resident genius." ~~~~ Soon, the Guardians reached Knowhere to the tune of Drax’s snoring, the tracker’s continuous beeping, and Suspicious Minds playing softly.

The tracking device released another loud, long bloop before returning to its rhythmic beeping - unfortunately, out of sync with the music.

"That toaster of yours better work," Peter huffed.

"I told you, Quill, it's already working. It's brought us this far, hasn't it?"

"We'll see. Asgardians are usually easy to spot anyway," Gamora stood, walking to the front of the cockpit. "They're loud and overbearing. Proud."

"Yeah but they've got a full medieval look, right? Armor and everything?"

"Yes, usually."

"So we're looking for a ren faire princess. Got it."

Rocket and Gamora exchanged a confused look. She shrugged.

The Milano landed, and the Guardians - after waking up Drax - began their search. Peter lead the way.

"All right, we should stick together. Remember what happened last time we came here."

"You ruined our chance at selling the Orb?" Rocket smirked.

"Okay, first of all, that wasn't entirely my fault." Peter huffed, glancing at Gamora. "Where should we start..?"

"I think we should follow the tracker," Gamora glanced around, "And keep an eye out for anything sapphire. Asgardians like wearing distinct colors - from her picture, it looks like sapphire is hers."

"Right."

"Hey, I got something!" Rocket held up the tracker, which had begun beeping faster. "This way!" He scampered off, the team in tow.

They reached the same bar they'd visited before,when waiting to meet the Collector.

"Geez, this thing is going crazy..."

"Rocket." Gamora said.

"I mean it's really losing its mind. Maybe I should've-"

"Rocket!" Gamora pointed to the betting table.

There, on the other side, the princess was being lead to the Collector's back room.

"...Oh."

~~~~

The two men from before lead Sigyn through a strange, crowded room, past droves of cheering spectators. What was going on? She tried bumping into people to get their attention, tried catching someone’s eye, but the blaster pressed to her back kept her lips sealed.

They reached a back room. Walked through a maze-like trail of glass cages, lead by a pink woman whose smile looked far too forced.

Sigyn looked inside the glass cages, gasping when one of the beings inside moved. What is this place? she thought, swallowing hard when they stopped walking. Sigyn stood between the rugged aliens who lead her, staring forward at the strange man before her. He lowered a contraption that looked much like a mix between binoculars and glasses, setting them and the precious stone he was examining on the table before him.

"May I present, Taneleer Tivan, The Collector." The pink woman nodded to him, then disappeared behind more glass cages.

"As promised," The blue man smirked, "An Asgardian. The princess herself. Safe and sound. Not a scratch on her."

"Oh," the Collector leaned over the table, studying Sigyn much like he had the stone. She tensed. Felt a chill go down her spine. "How you managed a feat such as this, I cannot grasp.." He walked around the table, reaching out to Sigyn. When she didn't move, the men forced her hands toward him. He took one, kissing it, gaze never leaving her face. "It is an honor, fair princess."

Sigyn was frozen in fear. She clenched her jaw, pulling away from him as soon as he'd let her. "I-I.. What do you want with me?"

The Collector only chuckled. "She looks reasonably healthy.." He grabbed her jaw, turning her face back and forth. She gritted her teeth, staring at him.

"About that..” The blue man smirked. “We want two million additional units. Seeing as she's a healthy, young princess, seems fair.."

"Yes.. Yes, that would be fair. Stellina," He called. The pink woman returned. "Transfer the units to these gentlemen."

"Wait- I'm not for sale!" Sigyn struggled against her captors. "I am not a princess! I don't know who you think I am, but-"

"Quiet," the blue man snarled. "We hit her with a big dose of Amnesiac Gas."

The Collector glanced at her with an amused expression. "How long until it wears off?"

The man shrugged.

"Well, never mind, then..." He sent Stellina to open one of the glass cages. "I trust the Asgardians have no idea you are here?"

"Not a clue," The other one snickered, "We made out in the dead of night. Didn't even know it was us takin' her."

The men started moving toward the cage. Sigyn's heart leapt from her chest.

"Wait- Wait, no, no no no, please don't! Please!" She kicked, managing to rip her arm away from one of the men, only to be firmly grabbed by the Collector himself, who kept one hand around her wrist, the other on her throat. "Now, little beauty, don't struggle so. I do not intend to hurt you." He brushed a finger across her cheek - gentle. Too gentle. Tears welled up in her eyes. "You will be a prize addition to my collection." In a swift movement, he pushed her into the cage, and before she could jump out, Stellina closed the door. It locked with a snap.

Sigyn slammed against the glass, tears flowing out steadily. "No! Let me out! Please, I beg you, I'll do ANYTHING!" She hit the glass with her fists.

"Pleasure doing business with you as always, gentlemen." The Collector shooed the two men off, then turned to Stellina. "Do something about that noise. But do not hurt her, or you will take her place."

Stellina bowed her head, then turned to Sigyn, who was still pounding on the glass.

#lokixsigyn #loki fanfic #logyn #aaaaaaa?#guardiansofthegalaxy #gotg fanfiction #assortedau

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misfxts · 6 years

Text

Josephine ‘Jo-Jo’ Preston || Osamu Drabble

*Contains blood, and other content that may be considered graphic

*Also really long. Sorry mobile users.

“...What should we do? He can’t just...stop talking..!”

“I don’t know--! Maybe a therapist or something...L-look on the bright side dear, he’s eating, he’s walking...he’s still acting like a little boy shou--”

“But he’s not talking Jirou..! And he hasn’t been talking for months..! What if he’s like this for the rest of his life? How is he going to make new friends?”

“Cut your son some slack Bridget..! It’s been a very hard year on him...he saw his best friend on her deathbed...the court battle...and now he can’t see her anymore..”

“Don’t remind me..”

As his parents tried to discreetly argue about in the living room with no avail, Osamu was quiet as he listened to them bicker about what to do with him as he laid in bed. He should be sleeping, but sleep is very hard to do right now.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see how fast everything changed for him.

And for Jo-Jo.

Her name was Josephine Rose Preston, but preferred to be called Jo-Jo. She was Osamu’s next door neighbor and Osamu’s best friend. She was considered a strange girl, not counting the obvious vitiligo patches on her body and the vibrant green of her eyes. She liked the color orange-- of all colors. Her more normal likes were bunnies and dancing.

There was many a day after school where the pair spent time in the study of Jo-Jo’s home, with Josephine dancing to the tune of Osamu playing Hot Cross Buns on a piano. Or other nights spent at Osamu’s house, watching cartoons together.

“I wanna be a ballerina when I grow up. What about you Ozzy? What do you wanna do when you grow up?” Josephine asked one day.

“I wanna be a doctor Jo-Jo, just like Otousan and Okaasan!” Osamu stated with his little chest puffed out, causing his friend to giggle.

“Oooh, that sounds like a lot of hard work Ozzy...I wanna help you become a doctor! Let me help you!”

Osamu almost immediately nodded at the proposal. “Of course you can help me! As long as I get to help you become the best ballerina ever!”

“Deal!” They said at the same time, laughing up a storm at how they spoke at the same time.

Josephine helped Osamu with studying from the complicated medical books they found in his dad’s stuff, despite not fully understanding the material. While Osamu helped Josephine sharpen her dancing skills by playing the piano with all the classic ballerina songs. He wasn’t skilled enough to play it, but Josephine didn’t care, just as Osamu didn’t care if Jo-Jo didn’t get what she was helping him study with. The system the two had worked great for the both of them.

Until one day Josephine stopped dancing.

The change was slow, at first she was just exhausted all the time. Then she kept going home early from school, then away for days on end. Only when she collapsed at school did her parents finally take the hint and took her to the hospital. Conveniently the hospital where Osamu’s mother worked.

The doctors weren’t sure what to think of Jo-Jo’s condition, but they did agree on one thing-- Josephine would have to become a permanent resident of the hospital so she can be monitored closely.

It was hard on Jo-Jo; being away from her home and school, being hooked up to big beeping machines, having doctors and nurses going in and out of her room...It was all very stressful for a young child to go through. Thankfully, Osamu tried his darnedest to be there for his friend as often as he could-- Always going to visit her after school and filling her in on the latest schoolyard gossip, helping her with homework, even sleeping in the same bed as Jo-Jo to calm her nerves. It was comforting to the girl to have her best friend there, even more so since he was so comfortable in that environment. If he felt safe, then there was no reason for her not feel safe either.

Osamu’s mother was another familiar face for Josephine in this sterile place, Bridget specifically requested to be assigned with her care just for that reason. It was a relief for Jo-Jo’s parents also, to know that one of the best nurses they knew was taking care of their little girl.

Among the medical team in charge of Josephine’s care, there was one particular doctor that stuck out like a sore, egotistical thumb.

His name was Doctor Keaton Tenamore, a brilliant doctor who was good at his job. But was an awful teammate; convinced he knew everything, a lone wolf, and above all else-- he hated children.

He never outwardly showed it to anyone, but anyone could put it together that he had a very particular dislike of them. Scowling, harsh words to the child, a push that was more forceful than it should’ve been..yes, Dr. Tenamore hated children, and he made sure that they were aware of it.

Osamu had to put up with Dr. Tenamore’s subtle hatred of children more than any other child within the hospital. Probably because Osamu was a constant in Tenamore’s professional life-- a constant squeaky annoyance that is. Osamu tried to not let Tenamore bother him, so long as Tenamore directed his anger towards the boy and not the other kids with lots on their plate to begin with, Osamu would bear it for them.

This also meant not telling his parents of what Tenamore said or did to Osamu or the other kids. They didn’t need to know, what if the subtle hatred became a lot more obvious if he told someone?

He really wanted too though. It hurt the little boy to hear Tenamore call his best friend ‘a drain on the hospital’s resources’ and there was nothing he could do aside from comfort Josephine.

“Don’t listen to him Jojo...there’s enough stuff for everyone at the hospital..you’re not bad for being sick..” He spoke softly to his friend as Jo-Jo clung to him, whimpering quietly.

“I wanna go home Ozzy, I wanna go home so bad..” She muttered, her voice soft and weak, little body wasting away from the illness.

“I know Jo-Jo...I know..”

It was the night shift, Osamu had elected to have another sleepover with Josephine, he wore his nicest pajamas and gotten himself comfortable under the covers of Josephine’s bed. The boy was slowly drifting off to dreamland until Jo-Jo’s coughing snapped him out of it.

He didn’t mind, Jo-Jo couldn’t help being sick. Osamu sat up right on the bed and patted Josephine’s back, reassuring her that everything was okay and that it was normal for her to be coughing as Josephine coughed into her hand.

Then, Josephine stopped coughing, slowly moving her hand away from her mouth..to reveal a small splattering of blood on her hand.

Osamu and Josephine stared at each other in horror. Jo-Jo was terrified, and Osamu was terrified for her! What were they supposed to do? Both were too scared to move-- frozen in time. It felt like they were staring at each other for eons..then more bloody coughing erupted from Josephine brought them back down to earth.

“Ahhh--!! Jo-Jo!” Osamu jumped out of the bed, looking for something to hold the blood, eventually settling on a kidney dish and gave it to his friend to hold under her mouth. Loud beeping from one of the machines highlighting the urgency of what was happening. “E-everything’s okay Jo-Jo--! I promise!”

“G-get...” Josephine managed to mutter out, blood dripping from her lips. “Get...help...Ozzy--!! Help m-me..!”

Osamu nodded quickly. He rushed out into the hallway. Looking around for a doctor or nurse, eyes falling onto Dr. Tenamore. He sprints as fast as his little legs could carry him.

“Dr. Tenamore--!! Dr. Tenamore--!!” Osamu shouted, grabbing Tenamore’s coat-sleeve and tugging on it. “I-It’s Jo-Jo--! She’s...she’s..!”

“Get off of me--!” Tenamore shoved Osamu to the ground. “Just because you’re little boy blue doesn’t mean you own the place, you little shit.”

“N-No--! There’s something wrong with Jo-Jo--!” Osamu begged, tears pricking the sides of his eyes.

“Yeah, what else is new.” Tenamore rolled his eyes. “Don’t think she’s getting special treatment because you’re royalty around here. Get lost!!”

Osamu scrambled to his feet and ran away. The tears making their way down his face, coating his cheeks with glossy lines. He didn’t know where else to go, so he ran back to his friend, who continued to cough.

“Jo-Jo...please hang on okay? I-I’m gonna find some help--”

Josephine spat blood in Osamu’s face.

Then Osamu heard screaming.

It wasn’t until his mother came in and pulled Osamu away did he realize the screaming was his own.

Court rooms were scary.

There were so many people staring at him, eager to hear what he had to say about Dr. Keaton Tenamore, who was on trial for the mismanagement of his patients, many of them children. What Osamu wouldn’t give to hide himself under his mother’s coat and just disappear, he would have to settle with her sitting beside him, holding his hand.

Osamu’s parents were hesitant to have him on the stand (or to have him in the courtroom to begin with), but as the prosecutor reminded them beforehand: Osamu had valuable testimony, and was gonna give them the edge they needed to put Tenamore in jail.

Osamu agreed to this too, he wanted Tenamore to get in trouble for letting Josephine get hurt because he didn’t like the young boy. But it was still scary.

“Hey...Can I call you Osamu?” Spoke the prosecutor, voice soft as to not scare him.

“...A-Ah...y...yes..sorry.” He didn’t realize he zoned out.

“It’s okay. You’re nervous, it’s okay to be nervous Osamu, no one’s gonna hurt you here. You’re safe.” The prosecutor assures. “Now..you told us when you saw that your friend was coughing up blood, you went to go get a doctor to help her...is that doctor here in this court room now?”

“Yes..”

“Can you point him out for the jury Osamu? Don’t be scared, you’re protected here.”

Osamu shifted in his seat nervously. He didn’t move for a moment...then he felt his mother give his hand a reassuring squeeze. Taking a deep breath, he slowly raised a finger and pointed to Tenamore, who was donned in a orange jumpsuit and directly across from him in the courtroom.

“T-there...it was Doctor T...Tenamore...that I went too..”

“Without a doubt?”

“..Yes..W-without a doubt..”

Tenamore slammed his hands onto the table and started shouting. The entire court erupted into chatter as the Judge slammed his gavel, demanding order. Osamu buried his face in his mothers side, he couldn’t hear what everyone was yelling about. But there was one voice that rose above the rest that Osamu could make out, it was the prosecutor.

“Let the record show that the witness has pointed directly at the defendant.”

Osamu’s testimony was all the jury needed to lock Tenamore up for four years-- the standard for medical malpractice. Tenamore lost his medical license and wouldn’t be able to practice for a long time. Which was a relief, the kids at the hospital wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore (or any other patient for that matter).

If only it happened sooner.

In the weeks during the court battle, Josephine’s condition only worsened. Her parents had decided that it was best for her if they moved somewhere else. A city with a children's hospital where Josephine was going to get around-the-clock care. They didn’t want to pull her away from her best friend, but the hospital where she was staying at currently could only do so much, it was their best option for the health of their child.

It doesn’t take much to understand how Osamu was feeling. Watching his friend waste away, to see her on her death bed, to have Tenamore scream at him across the courtroom floor as he feared for his little life....only for his best friend to move far away at the end of it all, where he wasn’t going to be able to see her anymore.

It was enough to stun him into silence.

A few months had passed, and Osamu refused to talk. No matter what, he couldn’t open his mouth to speak. Only to drink and eat, never to utter a word.

It was concerning enough to his parents that they spent many nights arguing about it as they were now. Osamu felt guilty about it, but he just couldn’t talk, no matter how hard he tried. His mind was always racing about those events...about Jo-Jo...his best friend..

Then Osamu had a thought. Multiple actually-- a train of thought.

‘Why was Tenamore so mean to those kids? He was a doctor, he was supposed to heal them! Not treat them as burdens! What was the point of becoming a doctor if he didn’t have a heart?

What was it about heartless people getting jobs that require a heart? And why are there so many of them running the world?

Maybe...maybe they need an example..someone to show them how it’s done. Remind them that this was a job of..what was that big word? Come-pass-shun?

Maybe they need Doctor Osamu.’

It was a chilly but sunny fall morning. Osamu stumbled out of his room and sat at the table. Yawning quietly.

“Good morning Osamu.” Jirou nodded to his son as he read the morning paper.

“...H-Hello Otousan..Okaasan..”

Jirou and Bridget tried very hard to contain their shocked looks and the excitement they felt upon hearing their little boy talk for the first time in months.

“A-ah..Good morning dear!” Bridget piped up, soft smile on her face. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“Um..” He looked around for a moment. “D...Doctor Osamu would like some cereal for breakfast, p-please..H-He wants...he wants c...cheerios today..”

Jirou and Bridget shared a confused glance. But did get their son his bowl of cereal as he asked.

They were just happy he was talking again.

#little boy blue; (ic)#guest: (jirou & bridget satou)#guest; (keaton tenamore)#guest; (josephine 'jo-jo' preston)#can it kasy; (drabbles)#ask to tag #long post

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clonerightsagenda · 6 years

Text

We were joking about this again last night and I didn’t want to work on research was bored so here’s a relatively unpolished thing of the Game Over kids coming up with a (in hindsight) blindingly obvious solution to their problem. I remain stupefied by this apparent oversight.

Starring Nepeta, because she’s earned it.

After what you've been through, the silence of the dream bubbles is comforting. You sit still and hug your knees. It's nice to be just you, in your own skin, with nothing else in the way.

"I'm going to be sick," says the human you were imprisoned with, and he is. Nothing comes up.

You can't blame him. It had been suffocating, and he'd been throwing a fit for most of it. You'd kept quiet, but not because you didn't care. You didn't see the point of screaming when it didn't help. Instead you waited, watched, and at the right moment finally struggled just hard enough that the entity that you'd become hesitated as the Furthest Ring cracked apart and the growing void sucked you in. At least your ghosts woke up here, instead of being trapped in the singularity forever.

Wherever you are now, the black hole hasn't eaten it. The darkness is still illuminated by glittering cracks, but the surface beneath you is whole. There's no sign of Lord English, or the army. Is anyone nearby?

You didn't need to learn much about Heart during your session. Your existing combat skills were enough. Once you'd been out here for a while, you started to think it was about souls. About who people are, deep down. Maybe that's why you can handle a place where you're stripped down to your Self with a thousand others vying for the title. Maybe that's why you're recovering faster from being crushed beneath some other consciousness and buried under an aggregate of other lives. You know who you are. You're the Rogue of Heart, and here, you are useful.

There's a cluster of bright sparks in your inner vision. Souls, glowing with the dim luminescence of the dreaming dead. Part of you would love some solitude, but you also want to interact with people as yourself, to hear people call you by your name. It'll help you settle more firmly back into your skin.

"I feel some spirits not far away," you say. "I think they're friends." Dave doesn't look at you at first. Maybe you should just leave, but you feel some level of loyalty after what you've been through. "Want to come?"

It takes him a few tries to stand, but he does.

You see Karkat and Kanaya with a cluster of the humans. You shouldn't know all their names, but the entity that possessed you rifled through the memories of all Nepetas everywhen, picking whatever scraps it felt like plastering onto itself in an off-key impression. The remnants had been left scattered through your thinkpan, and so you vaguely remember being a sprite in their session. Terezi is there too, sitting next to Vriska. They're leaning into each other's shoulders. Equius isn’t there. He must still be mixed with that AI who does most of the talking. You don’t see Gamzee either, for which you are grateful.

When you approach, Jade grabs Dave by the shirt and starts asking questions about her brother that you know from your time together he can't answer. Kanaya approaches you a little more slowly. "Nepeta," she says. "It's good to see you again. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."

"Yeah." You tuck a strand of hair behind your ears, a nervous habit you fall back on sometimes during conversation. It’s been a while since you’ve seen these people. They’re older than you now. "It's not so bad for me, but I thought you guys might win. I'm sorry you didn’t."

"Have you seen Rose out there?" she asks.

You remember Rose, the human who'd been nice enough to let you talk to her cat-lusus. It would've been hard to miss her, considering her brother screaming "That's my sister, leave her alone, don't touch her" what felt like right into your auditory sponge. "She was like us," you say. "Made into a sprite, and then prototyped too many times. So... she's still alive. Sort of.”

"She's trapped," says Dave, smoothing out the front of his shirt. He looks relieved to be able to change the subject. "And she must be pissed as hell. It's like some Lovecraftian nightmare with a sugar high sets up shop in your brain to make a mockery of everything you hold dear. Thank god none of you saw us, I'd never live it down. Figuratively."

"Then we have to get her out," Kanaya says firmly.

"Hey, I'd be right behind you," Dirk says. The others have drifted over to listen in. It’s not like there’s much else to do – this part of the bubbles doesn’t have much in the way of scenery. "I could yank her soul out and everything; that's a thing I can do. Problem is, our mobility is limited due to us all being fucking dead."

Jake scratches his head. "Ghosts can come back. That Aranea did."

"The ring," Vriska says, looking up from whatever quiet communion she and Terezi had been locked in. "She stole the ring of life from John somehow."

"That piece of shit?" Dave exchanges a look with Jade. "Did you know about that?"

"I didn't know it was magic," she says. "I just thought it was something he'd found somewhere. He didn't like to talk about it." She frowns. "He didn't talk to me a lot that last year."

"Well, there's only one of those," Karkat snaps. "So that's not very useful, unless we want to elect an ambassador to the world of the living or draw up a schedule."

"Roxy might be able to make more..." Jade says slowly. "Where is she, anyway?"

You shrug. You would have looked for her, you like Roxy, but you didn't see much of the new session, and you don't have many memories of what went wrong in the old one.

"She's alive," Terezi says. "Her and John. I saw them before I died. They were going to fix things."

The other Dave, the one that traveled on the meteor, looks around at the shattered dreamscape, the crowd of ghosts. "Not to criticize, but things don't look fixed."

"They're setting things right in a new timeline," she explains. "We're stuck here as rejects from the old one."

"A new timeline," Kanaya repeats. "Going how far back?"

"Our problems really kicked in as soon as your crew arrived," Jake says. "Although I suppose we could have dealt with things if only that troll hadn't gotten her mitts on the ring. That's the crucial moment that truly sealed our fates. As long as you stop that, I’m sure we could manage."

Terezi shakes her head. "Think further. I told them to save Vriska."

Even Vriska looks confused by that. Karkat is the first to speak. "You undid whole sweeps of our lives? Why the fuck would you do that?"

Terezi spreads her hands out. "Look, maybe it wasn't the most rational decision in hindsight, but it's not like you've never made calls based on some sort of emotional impulse."

"And look how that turned out." He shakes his head. "We should've talked to you about that guilt complex earlier so you didn't change the entire universe just to try to deal with it."

"Yeah," meteor-Dave deadpans. "If you'd sat backwards on a chair earlier this could've all been avoided."

"Shut the fuck up," he says without real rancor. "Well, good luck to those poor bastards."

"I'm right here," Vriska says.

"I notice you haven't actually disagreed."

"No.” She shakes her head, and her long braids – unraveling at the end – shudder. “I met the new me. She's a bitch."

"Good. We're all on the same page here. I'm almost glad I'm dead."

"You know..." you say.

Terezi glances at you and then away again to continue their squabble. They've never taken you seriously because you were the silly shy girl, who spent her time having fun and playing games while the others made important decisions. But you have memories of time spent with a Life player, and you'd know that color scheme anywhere. "You know," you say again, louder. "I don't think you need a ring to come back to life."

"What do you mean?" That's Dirk. He might not know you well, but he looks desperate enough to look anywhere for input.

"Well...." You shrug. "You've got a Life player right there."

The Life player in question stares at you for a moment and then down at the symbol on her chest, like she’s checking to make sure it’s still there. "You mean...?"

"That can't work, can it?" Jake asks. "It would be too easy."

"Feferi helped us once," Karkat says. "A dead one from a doomed timeline. Her powers still worked. I don't know why I didn't remember sooner."

Jane looks down at her hands. "With a body, I know I could do it. But with a ghost... I don’t know. I guess I could try."

"Just a moment," Kanaya interrupts. "I wasn't convinced by your threats earlier that Life abilities could harm the undead, but if that principle does hold, you might hurt us instead of helping."

"I volunteer," Dirk says immediately.

Jane sighs. "Dirk, really."

"I'm serious. I glitched myself into fucking pixels and I'm still here. I'm indestructible. Do your worst."

"Well in that case…” It takes Jane a moment to catch up with herself. “Wait. You did what? Are you saying the way you got here... you did it to yourself?"

Before Dirk can respond, Terezi interjects. "Save that for later. As the Seer here, I say you give it your best shot. It's a good idea."

"We're not through talking about this," Jane growls. Then she points a blue-laced hand at Dirk and gives it her best shot.

"Well?" Kanaya asks after a moment. "Did it work?"

Dirk looks himself up and down. "I don't feel any different."

"We can't see through your shades, Strider," Jake says.

Dirk hesitates (whether out of reluctance or for theatrical effect you’re not sure) and then pushes the pointy glasses on his face up. You get a good look, as does everybody else. Orange. Humans have such strange eye colors.

"It worked," Jane breathes. “Isn't that something. Gather round, everyone. I'll fix us right up." She turns, looks at Karkat, and then her face changes. "Oh. Oh no."

"What?" Jade follows her gaze and then puts a hand to her mouth. "Ohhhh."

"What?" Karkat's voice rises. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I can only do this once," Jane says. "Once per person. And I've already done you."

"What are you talking about?" Terezi asks. "Karkat, are you telling me you got yourself killed that quickly? And I missed it?"

"Don't blame me!" He points at Jane, who takes a step back. "Blame her. Jade too, it was her idea. Crocker here was just the willing hand with the fork.”

"The two of them decided to demonstrate Jane's abilities," Kanaya explains. "They were following the Empress's orders at the time."

"That's right," Jade says quickly. "I was bad then. And." She bites her lip. "And I was angry."

"So we can't hold that against them, right?" Jake says, with a smile that looks unnaturally stiff. "Let bygones be bygones, right Jane? After all, I've already forgotten that little interaction in the jail cell. In fact, forget I mentioned it!"

"What did Jane do?" Dirk asks. Jane groans and covers her eyes. "What the hell are you all talking about?"

"That's what I want to know," meteor-Dave adds. "Jade, you killed someone because "you were mad"? What the fuck happened to you in the last three years?"

"What happened to you, defending the aliens?" Dave snaps back. "Since when are they really on our side? No offense," he adds, glancing over at you. "You seem ok, I guess."

You roll your eyes. "I appreciate it, human scum."

Meteor-Dave has ignored this aside. "I know you were off bleeding instead of being useful during our game, but they are on our side, you outdated fucking museum specimen."

"The tiara top," you hear Jane saying to no one in particular. "I was going to apologize and explain, we just didn't have time-"

"Will all of you shut up?" Karkat demands. "I'm a little more preoccupied with the pressing matter of my mortality than whatever hangups you've got with each other. You can all pile into the confession booth later if that'll make you happy."

"But Karkat," Terezi says, "it's like watching one of your memos in real life."

"Will you ever let the memos go?"

"Like I said," Vriska interrupts, "there's the ring."

You took a step back when she spoke - your last memories of her aren't great. But this one seems milder, though maybe that's the dreambubbles nipping at the edges of her soul, like they do to everyone eventually.

"That's right," Terezi says. "The ring. The Empress killed Aranea, I saw that much. So it might be up for grabs again. It likes to vanish and reappear."

"But where?" Dirk asks. "Do you think it would be near her ghost?"

Jake balls his hands up. "Are you saying we could go beat up that spider troll's ghost? Because I am ALL for a rematch. Don't bring me back yet, Jane. That way if she tries to kill me again she won't be able to."

"I could find her, maybe," Terezi says. "This place is made of memories, so if I follow her mind... With the ring so smashed up, there aren’t that many places to hide."

"How do we tell she's the right one?" Jade asks. She’s latched onto this new subject eagerly, probably to escape the last one. "We can't just jump on every version of this troll, can we?"

"I can tell," you say. You have a knack for that out here. You can strike up a conversation with one Tavros and later pick him out of a crowd of twenty, even if his outfit is different. Once you know a little bit about how the person has changed, they don't wear their face the same. This Aranea - what she did will show.

“Sounds like a plan,” Dirk says. “I like it."

"You'll have to sit this one out," Jane says. "You're mortal again, and I can only save you once. Perils of being the guinea pig, I'm afraid. And I am officially team leader. I think it's time I actually lived up to that. Metaphorically, if I must."

He scowls but doesn't argue.

Jade turns to Terezi. "You said there's a new timeline, right? Does that mean there’s a new group of all of us?"

"That's right. It's up to that set to win now."

"I doubt they'd like us crashing the party," Dirk says. "God knows I have enough problems fighting myself, and it looks like that's a family trait."

"Can't do it no matter what," says Dave. "The Furthest Ring is neutral territory, but once we're in the same Skaia-supervised universe, doomed double rules apply. We'll get picked off."

"Great, more complications." Karkat throws up his hands. "Then where do we go, even if we do come back?"

"It's a big multiverse," Kanaya says. "There must be somewhere."

"There must be somewhere," Jake agrees. "I'm not going to sit here in the dark for eternity because some troll got a bee in her bonnet about how our story was supposed to go. I was never that concerned about winning the game on its terms anyway, as long as we made it out ok. I don't even know what the victory state is supposed to be."

"Then it's agreed," Jane says. "We find Aranea, get that ring, I bring us all back, and we go somewhere. Somewhere better."

"And we find Rose," Kanaya adds.

"Definitely," says meteor-Dave. "We can call up John and Rose's mom too, see if they want to hang out with us losers or stick with the winning team. Maybe we can get shared custody."

“If we see other people…” You almost trail off, but they’re looking at you, so you complete the thought. “Maybe we should let them come too, if they want. It seems fair.”

Jane nods. “I’m willing to try. The one time rule might not count for different versions of the same person.”

"Can I come?" Vriska asks. You’re surprised she was polite enough to ask. She really has changed.

Terezi links arms with her. "Wouldn't have it any other way, sister."

"Hold on," Karkat says. "I’m still technically leader of the Alternian band of chucklefucks, which means I get to make that kind of decision. You're not going to try another megalomaniacal plot as soon as our backs are turned, are you? If I recall correctly, you got killed for a reason.”

She juts her chin forward, a bit of her old vigor returning to her voice. "I'm not like that anymore.”

"I guess we can keep an eye on you if you’re lying."

Terezi pinches the bridge of her nose with her free hand. "Karkat, do you think you could be a little bit less of a dick if you really tried?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm a little on edge. I've been murdered."

"We've all been murdered," Kanaya says. "Or most of us, at least. Just establishing that for the record."

"And it sucks.”

"I don't blame him for not trusting me," Vriska says quietly, which shuts even Karkat up. You look her over. You don't know what she's been doing since you saw her last, but the person behind the face is different now. It makes you think of a drawing in that smudgy, formless state when you’re still working out the details. On its way to being something, but not there yet, tenuous enough that a stray line would ruin the entire picture. It’s the point where you have to make a decision about what the final product ought to be.

"Well," Terezi says at last. "That's settled, then. We'll get some vengeance, and then we'll figure out what to do next. How's that for a plan?"

"It's actually three quarters of a plan, because some leetspeaking weirdo wrote a four instead of an A, but otherwise it sounds good," says meteor-Dave. She sticks her tongue out at him.

Jane nods and uncaptchalogues an enormous fork. That’s right – she is an heiress, technically, and she handles the official weapon with ease. "It sounds good to me too. Let's go win this game on our terms."

#homestuck//#kat writes fic #bluh bluh huge bitching alert #i guess #AU #also I guess #you can't actually prove this didn't happen

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friendliest-place-on-earth · 7 years

Note

Alright, prompt idea: write some really angsty backstory for your favourite newsie, like, as angsty as possible Absolutely love your writing btw, you have a fantastic way of describing a character, but like throughout the story, continuously. Hope I made clear what I meant

Thank you so so much for the prompt, I hope you like what I ended up with! - Mod Ind

Tw: Homophobia and homophobic slurs

Spot stretched out the muscles in his back as he stood up, it was five o'clock and he had a very important meeting to get to. There was an eight o’clock curfew set by the current King of Brooklyn, a mean bastard who ruled with an iron fist. Spot tried not to think about what would happen if anyone knew where he was going or what he was doing. The King- his name was James but no one was ever allowed to use it- didn’t tolerate the breaking of any of his rules, especially those which concerned the behaviors of the newsboys under his command. Sneaking out after selling to meet up with a cute boy was breaking at least two of them, which was basically a death sentence.

As he walked to the small alley on his side of the Brooklyn Bridge, he remembered the first time he saw The King completely lose it. The kid around fourteen, the same age was Spot was now, he’d spoken out against him about the rule that none of the boys were allowed to be in relationships with other boys. The King grabbed the kid by the shirt, lifted him off the ground, then threw him into the nearest table and destroyed it. He marched over and kicked and punched until the kid finally stopped screaming for him to stop. The last they ever saw of that boy was him being dragged out of the front door to god-knows-where. It was the other newsies who were left to clean up the broken table and the blood left behind.

This is what Spot thought about every day at exactly five in the afternoon, as he went to see his friend Racetrack Higgins. His friend, because if they’d classified it as anything more then that would make it harder to stop whatever they were doing. They knew they’d have to stop eventually, if they were caught either one or both of them would be killed or arrested. The two had been able to practice sneaking around in the few months they’d been “together”, so they knew the best places to hide out. Spot was overridden with anxiety by the time he’d arrived at their scheduled meeting place where Race was waiting for him. It was right by the docks, so there was usually a whole bunch of boxes which acted as a door to the alley. Spot hopped over to the other side and found him sat against a wall with a hat covering his eyes.

“Wake up you idiot!” Spot whispered affectionately, removing Race’s hat.

“Couldn’t have let me have five more minutes now could ya?” Race smirked, snatching it back. Spot fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt in an attempt to look anywhere but Race’s face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Race started to stand but Spot slid down to the floor next to him before he got the chance. Spot grabbed Race’s hand tightly in his own.

“Just kiss me.” he said quietly, deathly afraid that anyone would hear him. If Race could just kiss him, maybe he could forget about everything else and get lost in the one person he’d let take his defenses away.

“You should’ve just said so!” Race laughed, pulling Spot onto his lap and pulling him close. The shorter boy held himself as close as possible to the other, holding on tightly to his partner’s arms to ground him. If it hadn’t been for the pounding in his ears or his thoughts that took him anywhere but here, Spot might’ve been able to hear the quiet footsteps on hollow boxes.

“What in the world are you doing Conlon?!” a voice bellowed. Spot immediately tore himself away from Race and looked up, only to stare right at the face of The King.

“Out of all the newsies in Brooklyn, I never figured you’d be a faggot.” he growled, hopping down from the boxes and grabbing the back of Spot’s shirt and yanking him to his feet. He slammed Spot into the wall behind him, laughing as he heard the smaller boy’s head hit the brick surface.

“Let him go!” Race screamed, now standing.

“As much as I’d love to kill you too faggot, you’re not my newsie, not my problem. Cheese it kid, while you still have the chance.” he spat.

“I said let him go!” he tried to pry The King off of Spot, but he was much too strong for the scrawny fourteen year old.

“Should’ve listened…” he hissed, punching Spot in the face to stun him before turning around to Race. He quickly undid his belt which sent Race running, but he was too slow.. The King pinned his arms to his side and fastened him to the ladder a few feet away with the belt before returning to his main target who was still slumped over on the ground.

“Come with me.” The King’s voice rumbled as he spoke and soon Spot was lifted once again, and dragged out of the alley.

“Spot no! Let go of him you bastard!” Race screamed so loud it felt like his throat was being ripped apart. He struggled against the thick leather belt until his arms burned. Spot struggled in The King’s arms, but he was still moving closer and closer to the edge of the docks. There were quite a bit of people there, most of them kids who also worked in Brooklyn but no one made a move to help or scatter. Spot was thrown at The King’s feet and looked up as fear paralyzed the rest of him..

“No one breaks my rules and gets away with it!” The King roared, jumping on top of the younger newsie, punching and kicking. All the other kids scattered once they realized a fight was about to break out, and no one wanted to see what The King was about to do. Spot was able to land some punches, but not enough to stop the older newsie’s frenzy of destruction. He wouldn’t stop and the pain just kept coming until it all seemed to blend together and Spot tasted blood. He assumed it was his but there was really no way of knowing. He’d begun to grow tired and The King could sense that, and soon he held Spot in the air by the front of his shirt.

“If you drowned right now, I bet no one would miss you. Should we test it?” The King held Spot out over the water so he was dangling over the dark blue abyss. He looked up and into The King’s eyes, he’d never ever forget the way those eyes looked at him. They were all crazy and empty, like a lion who hadn’t eaten in days. Spot thought it might be better to just surrender and let this all be over with, but as he started to close his eyes, he heard Race was still screaming from the alleyway. If I die, then who’s going to protect him? That thought was enough to light a fire in Spot’s stomach and summon some strength back into himself. The King let go, and for a few moments he was falling. For a few moments he was falling and he had to make a decision. He reached out for the ledge and grabbed it, ignoring the burning sensation in his ribs. Spot pulled himself back onto the docks with what abilities he had left and noticed The King walking back toward the alley where Race was being kept. Oh hell no.

Every Brooklyn newsie knew how new kings got “elected” but they never talked about it, probably because if they did then they would all be arrested. Spot lept into the air and tackled The King to the ground. Overwhelmed by panic and anger, Spot only knew one objective- kill The King. He felt a deep guilt in his stomach as he knew what he had to do, and he thought of Race, of the youngest Brooklyn newsies who hadn’t gotten all screwed up yet, and he kept fighting. Everything else outside of that moment was forgotten as he slammed The King’s head into the wooden floor. He was able to get a few good hits in as he got the element of surprise. He was soon thrown off The King, who lunged at him like a wild animal and Spot reached around for something behind him.

“Don’t even think about it!” he yelled, grabbing Spot’s feet and pulling him away. He was becoming noticeably unhinged as he began to lose his advantage. The King pressed his knees into Spot’s legs and landed some bruising hits on his chest and face. Spot rolled out from underneath him, and scrambled to his feet. He grabbed The King’s arm and shirt and threw him onto the pile of boxes stacked by the edge of the dock. He slammed into the center, falling into the harbor underneath the rest of the crates with a giant splash. Spot immediately rushed over to the side to check for any signs that The King might still be alive. There was bubbling at the surface as the water began to settle, but the only thing that came up was another empty box.. Spot sank to his knees at the edge of the dock, the emotions hadn’t yet taken their full effect.

“Hey everyone! Spot Conlon killed The King of Brooklyn!” a young newsie hollered, popping out from behind a building.

“The King is dead, long live Spot Conlon!” A few others shouted. Soon he was met with many other Brooklyn newsies as they rejoiced over the end of an era. A few boys had even started to cry with relief, one of them being his good friend Blink.

“Now I can see Mush whenever I want to…” he weeped. Mush. Boyfriend. Race.

Spot dashed back to the alley to find Race leaning against his restraints, sobbing into the ground.

“Racer, it’s okay I’m here!” he called, running to him.

“S-sean? You’re alive?” he cried. Spot undid the belt and Race’s arms immediately wrapped him in a hug.

“I’m alive…” he whispered, not quite believing it himself either. He gripped Race’s shoulders tightly as the weight of everything that had happened threatened to crush his chest flat. He no longer had the energy to stand, so as his knees buckled Race guided the two of them to the ground. Spot began to shake and soon they were both crying, and Spot felt a few sobs rip through his entire body.

“I ain’t a killer!” he wailed. Race pulled away to look him in the eyes.

“Of course you ain’t, Sean. You did what you had to do, he was a total monster and would’ve killed us both!” Race pulled Spot into his lap and rocked him back and forth silently as the Brooklyn Newsies welcomed in their new leader.

Long live the king!Long live the king!Long live the king!

#sprace #homophobia mention #homophobic slurs mention #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #race higgins #kid blink #newsies #newsies fanfiction #sprace fanfiction #mod ind #mod answeres

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soldierstark · 7 years

Text

Why Am I Like This | Part 4 | JUGHEAD JONES X READER

Description: The day of the Homecoming dance has finally arrived and things were going smoothly for once. Jughead and the reader elected to not talk about their almost kiss while Archie and the reader go ahead with their plans to preform at the dance. All is well until the end of Archie and the reader's song when Jughead is seen with a face of pure desolation, storming out of the gym.

Author's Note: I would like to say thank you to every one who had read/ commented on this fic I honestly did not think so many people would like it. This part is slow paced and not very action pact but it's main purpose is to set the scene for part 5 which I'm sad to say will be the last one. Also the song that is sang in this part is by Maroon 5 but I honestly don't like the original version so I envision what they're singing sounding like this cover. If you want to be tagged in the next part or in any upcoming fic I write, feel free to message me.

Word Count: 1731

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5

When the bell rang for 2nd period, Jughead was already halfway out the door hoping to beat the main hallway traffic. He kept his head down trying to avoid a confrontation with other students while weaving his way through the crowd. Archie was going through his locker with Betty by his side when Jughead arrived at their usual meeting spot before 3rd.

“Hey you nervous about tonight man,” Jughead asked leaning against the locker next to Archie.

He closed his locker and looked over at his friend. “Normally I would be but since (Y/N)’s gonna up there up with me I’m not nervous one bit. She’s as solid as rock.”

“Damn straight ginger,” a voice said from behind them. Jughead whipped his head around only see (Y/N) standing a foot behind them. “Everyone in Riverdale is gonna be shook to their very core tonight I’m telling you.”

She and Archie high fived each other with a laugh, then started walking together to their next class with Jughead and Betty. Jughead walked in step next to (Y/N), their hands brushing together slightly with every step.

Jughead looked over at (Y/N) the same time she turned her head to look at him. They made eye contact for a split second and the only thing that ran through his mind was the almost kiss they had shared only three days before.

(Y/N) cheeks tinged pink so Jughead knew she was thinking about it too. She looked away and stared at the floor in front her feet going quiet. They had an unspoken agreement between them to not talk about it and Jughead was thankful for that because he honestly had no idea what it meant.

Was it a heat of the moment thing? Did (Y/N) actually want to kiss him or was she freaked out because he ‘sorta’ made a move? It was just easier for Jughead’s socially awkward self to not know the answer to these questions. So (Y/N) and he pretended it never happened.

“I’m just excited to see (Y/N) in a dress for once,” Archie admitted with a wink.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Pervert.”

“Well personally, I am looking forward to seeing my dear friend Jughead Jones in clothes that aren’t from Hot Topic for once,” Betty giggled.

“You’re coming?” (Y/N) asked surprised looking up at Jughead.

Jughead smiled down at her and put a hand over his heart. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She giggled and gave him a side hug which he returned. Her head rested on Jughead’s shoulder and he hoped she couldn’t hear the increasing speed of his heart beat. “This is why you’re my favorite person in Riverdale,” she said. Archie gasped causing (Y/N) to pull away from his embrace. “Oh shut up ginger don’t act surprised.”

They all joked around together until they reached the end of the main hallway. Archie, Jughead, Betty, and (Y/N) all parted ways, going towards their next class with no idea what was about to happen later that night.

My black heels clicked against the weathered pavement as I walked up the steps into Riverdale High school for the second time that day. I twirled a piece of my (Y/H/C) hair around my finger as Betty and Archie talked logistics about the performance.

“I gave the band your notes and the sheet music and they said they’ll play backup for you. I heard them practicing earlier and it sounded great so I hope you guys brought your angelic voices to go along with it,” Betty said.

Archie and I nodded along as she continued to give out information. “They’re gonna play 1 or 2 songs then I’ll introduce you guys. That’s when you’ll play. You might as well hang out backstage until that happens because it won’t be more than 10 minutes.”

We reached the entrance of the school and walked in single file. My feet navigated the hallways to the gym by memory while Archie and Betty trailed behind me talking.

I felt exposed in the dress I was wearing. It wasn’t super short or revealing at all I was just used to wearing jeans and a long sleeved shirt most of time. I wore the one dress I owned which was a plain matte black. It was form fitted up top and flared out at my waist, ending a little bit above my knee.

I waited by the gym door for Archie and Betty to catch up so we could enter together. Betty did a great job handling to decorations if I do say so myself. She did a much better job than anyone else I knew could have.

The band was already playing a song when we entered so our pace quickened. Betty helped us weave in and around the groups of people so we could get backstage. I saw a familiar beanie poking up above the crowd near the drink station so when we passed it I grabbed the person’s hand and dragged him behind me.

“Woah what the-,” Jughead started but stopped when he realized it was me. “Oh hey (Y/N) nice seeing you here.”

I let go of his hand so he could walk beside me. “I almost didn’t recognize you Jug. Good thing you were wearing that hat,” I joked trying to keep a blush from rising to my cheeks. He looked devilishly handsome in his black suit, it made his eyes stand out in the best way.

He looked me up and down. “I could say the same to you (Y/N). I never thought I’d see you in a dress.”

I tried to hide my blush as we entered the dimly lit back stage area. Archie sat down on a chair and took his guitar out of its case while Betty stood on the steps leading up to the stage waiting for the band to finish their song.

I turned around and faced Jughead twiddling my thumbs nervously. “Do you think I look nice? I don’t normally dress up-,” I trailed off looking at my shoes. I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eyes.

Jughead reached a hand out and placed it on my chin lifting my head up gently. My (Y/E/C) eyes met his blue ones, a genuine smile graced his lips. “You couldn’t look more perfect.”

The sound of applause broke me out of my trance. Jughead and I backedaway from each other while I whipped my head around to see Betty walking onto the stage.

“You ready (Y/L/N)?” Archie asked standing up out of his chair.

I smiled at him and nodded my head. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” I started walking towards the stage when a hand reached out and grabbed my arm, halting my movement.

Jughead stood there with a simple smile, though there was a glint of something else in his eyes. “Good luck,” was all he said, not letting go of my arm causing tingles to shoot up it.

I took a step towards him and yanked his arm downwards. My lips pressed firmly against his cheek for a second. “Thanks Juggy though I don’t need it.” I backed away from him and laughed at his red face.

“Now for Riverdale High’s own Archie Andrews and (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N),” Betty’s voice announced through the speakers.

I followed Archie up onto the stage with a huge smile graced upon my lipstick clad lips. I waved to the crowd and took my position by a microphone to the right of Archie.

He looked over at me and mouthed ‘you ready’. I shook my head yes and turned back towards the audience. Archie stomped his foot 4 times then started strumming his guitar while the band chimed in with their instruments at the appropriate time.

Archie voice came in singing the first verse.

I miss the taste of a sweeter life

I miss the conversation

I searching for a song tonight

I’m changing all of the stations

After a few beats of the drum I took a deep breath and started singing the second verse.

I like to think that we had it all

We drew a map to a better place

But on that road I took a fall

Oh baby, why did you run away?

The tempo of the song started to speed up as we both sang the bridge.

I was there for you in your darkest times

I could see Jughead and Betty in the crowd smiling at us. Jughead gave me a thumbs up and I winked at him as Archie and I began to sing the chorus.

But I wonder, where were you?

When I was at my worst

Down on my knees

And you said you had my back

So I wonder, where were you?

All the roads you took came back to me

So I'm following the map that leads to you

Ain't nothing I can do

The map that leads to you

Following, following, following to you

Ain't nothing I can do

The map that leads to you

Following, following, following

The crowd was dancing and singing with us and I felt on top of the world. I eventually took my microphone off of its’ stand and moved around the stage, dancing and singing along with the crowd. Nothing could’ve wiped the grin off of my face at that very moment.

I won’t bore you with the details of the rest of the performance, because the important part is what happened directly after.

Towards the end of the song, I could make out Veronica, Betty, and Jughead near the back of the gym talking. Betty and Veronica were smiling and laughing while looking at Archie and I with an expression that made it seem like they knew the answers to every question in the universe.

And Jughead, well Jughead looked like someone had just ripped his heart out his own chest and stomped on it in front of him with sharp stilettoes.

The song ended and on the final note of Archie’s guitar, the crowd started clapping and cheering. It should’ve been a great moment but my eyes ignored all of the happy faces and focused on Jughead’s destroyed one.

He looked me dead in the eye with a face of utter desolation, shook his head in disbelief, then left the gym without another glance.

Tagged: @kitkat510 @grace-not-graceful @dumpsterofsin @sandy77777 @murderyoursoul @happinesschasers

#Jughead jones #Jughead jones x reader #Jughead jones fanfiction #Jughead x reader #Jughead fanfiction #Jughead jones fic #Jughead fic #off #fanfiction #riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale fic #riverdale x reader

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ramblinganthropologist · 7 years

Text

31 Days of Fanfic, Day 13

Topic: Hurt/Comfort (I don’t think I did it right) Summary: Trevy really didn’t need this tonight. Thanks, Kaaras. Words: 1390 ---

The sun was setting over the battlements, tinting the gray stone warm shades of red and orange. A chill was beginning to creep into the air, swirling around Trevy's feet as she left the library, walking along the top to reach the mage's tower. It had been a long day, and she looked forward to a night's rest.

Her room there was on the second floor, so a quick trip up the winding staircase took a few minutes. From where she stood, she could hear the quiet muttering of spells or prayers, sometimes a mix of both. Some of her fellow mages were of the religious sort, after all. She was not, for that matter.

“Whatever gets you through the day, I guess.” She found the key to her room in her robe pocket, but frowned when she got to the door. Most people would have missed it, but time had imparted to her a fine eye for details. There were tool marks around the lock, tiny but visible. When she pressed, the door was locked though.

Whoever had gone in had locked up after themselves; how thoughtful.

Fire warmed her free hand as she unlocked the door and nudged it open. The thin beam of light revealed nothing but the fact she really needed to clean her floor at one point, so she pushed in further still keeping the flames at hand.

There was something in her bed.

Well, someone. The lump under her blanket was about the size of a child, but the bottle of half drunk liquor would've knocked even the largest man on their ass. That, combined with the chocolate wrappers on the floor, gave her a pretty good idea of who had broken in.

“Jackel...” The name came out as a sigh as Trevy let the flames die down. Shaking her head, the mage worked around her bed to tidy up both her and the elf's mess, depositing what she could in the small can by her desk. Her guest never stirred, either because they were deep asleep or dead.

She supposed she should've cared which one it was, but at the moment she was too tired.

“Guess she had a bad day.” Trevy was feeling one come on herself as she sat down at her desk, thoughts of a nap fading like the rays of the sun. Instead, she reached for the book she had been working on the night before. Until Jackel woke up, her bed was unavailable.

In a way, she was helping, but her aid was much undesired.

Trevy wasn't sure when Jackel woke up, mostly because she had been drawn into her reading. It only became apparent when a heavy weight settled onto her shoulders, gripping onto her head with a little more force than necessary.

“What time is it?”

The mage shook her head as she took a glance out her window – it had gone dark at one point. “After sundown, but I can't give you particulars.”

“It was noon last I checked.” Jackel's words were a little slurred, but she was understandable. “You going to yell at me for coming in?”

While that might have been great for the annoyance biting away at the edges of Trevy's patience, it wouldn't have accomplished much else. She let it go as best as she could with a deep breath, like Cassandra had taught her in the first few days of being herself again. In and out.

She still wanted to yell, but it was lessened.

“No. Wouldn't help your headache.” Still, curiosity nibbled away at the mage as she looked over at the mess that was her bed. “Though, I do want to ask why you snuck into my room with booze and chocolate.”

Up above, Jackel tensed. It wasn't often she did that. Even more rare, she climbed off her coveted shoulder position and clambered back to the bed in order to recover the remains of her noon meal. She took another swig from the bottle, scowling.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

In Trevy's mind, that narrowed the subject down to two: her brothers, and Bull. Well, technically that was three but it was easy to bundle the Adaar brothers together as a unit. At any rate, it would be difficult to ferret out the exact details.

Assassins were notably tight lipped when it came to things, and Jackel was no different. It was easier to extract blood from a stone than to get something out of her when she didn't feel like talking. She could drink herself to a stupor and never give up the goods. It made her a great assassin, but a crap friend sometimes.

And that was what she had to work with. Maker's ass.

So, Trevy elected to try a more indirect route as she continued scribbling away at her desk. “I saw Bull in the tavern. He and the Chargers are looking antsy.”

“Said something that they haven't gotten a good job in a while. Need a dragon or something.”

Well, that narrowed it down to two other horny members of the Inquisition. She made note of that as she flipped the page. No matter what she wrote, her notes would be safe: Jackel couldn't read. She hated to take advantage of that, but it was desperate times.

She'd give her some chocolate later to make up for it.

The mage kept her tone light as she kept reading. “Maybe you could ask Kaaras. He'd know if there were any dragons in the area that needed slaying.”

Her friend didn't answer. Instead, she took a deep swig of her bottle and set it to the side with a slight hiss. While Trevy wasn't wonders at archery, she knew when she'd hit the mark. The Inquistor's name was scribbled down onto parchment, right next to his sibling's name.

Now they were getting somewhere.

“He knows everything else, might as well.” There was venom of Jackel's words as she pulled apart the wrapping of a piece of chocolate she probably stole off Josephine when the ambassador wasn't looking. “Damn know it all...”

Trevy kept her face blank as she looked down at the mess of scribbles. Realization eventually dawned on her as she put the pieces together. “So... the same fight as last time, then?”

She should've known, based on how drunk the elf was. Only a few subjects could raise her hackles that badly: dealing with her emotions and her illiteracy. Since there were no books around she had been attempting to avoid, that narrowed the playing field.

Kaaras had probably brought up her emotional constipation again. Bad move, but a valiant one all the same.

Jackel answered with emptying the bottle and dropping it to the bed. “Yeah.”

“He's only trying to help.” Trevy put her book away to turn back to her friend. “But, I know. Assassins don't have emotions.”

She had only heard that line a thousands times before, usually while Jackel was half drunk. He kept pushing her to admit her feelings for Bull, and every time it just made her run off and get drunk. This time, it just so happened she ran to the mage's room.

Lucky her.

On the bed, the elf hiccuped. “I don't.”

“I know.” Trevy reached over to take the empty bottle away, placing it on the desk so no one broke it. Later, she might put flowers in; it was a pretty color. At this point, it was the only good thing to come out of an evening of babysitting her drunk friend.

Speaking of, a heavy weight settled into her shoulder. Jackel hadn't hopped on, but she was pressing her chin into the mage's shoulder. That close, it was easy to smell the alcohol on her breath – something Dalish, definitely not human make.

“It's no good to have emotions in my job. Gotta kill people.” Her voice was starting to go soft with sleep. If she kept it up, the elf would be asleep standing up. Luckily, she weighed less than one hundred pounds. Scooping her up was easy, and she gave no resistance.

Back to the bed they went, Trevy careful to tuck her in. Jackel mumbled something as she rolled over to her side and pulled the blanket over her head, but after that there was no more noise. Her breathing became slower, easier.

Sleep had won.

“Well, guess I'm sleeping at my desk tonight.” The mage could already feel a backache coming on as she eased back into her chair, the empty bottle reflecting the light of her candle. In the morning, Jackel would probably be grumpy and hungover. Maybe they could be grumpy together.

At least she hadn't thrown up. That helped. Wasn't much for the sleepless night she was facing, but sometimes friends had to do dumb shit like that.

#Aeronwen Trevelyan #Jackel Lavellan #ramblinganthropologist's writing

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savedstuff-forlilly · 4 years

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It’s been three years since I last saw Ethan Harris. A lot of things are different now, including me. I’m sure he’s different too. I can’t imagine someone going into an adult prison at seventeen and coming out the same person.

He got out yesterday. My mom told me that. When she did, I could feel my heart sink to my stomach. It had been the last thing I thought she’d tell me. I wasn’t there for the rest of the day. My body went through all the steps of life, but I wasn’t living those steps.

The night came, and the world was quiet, but my mind was buzzing. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Did he want to see me? Would it even be appropriate for me to go see him? Was he upset with me? It felt like ten million thoughts were running through my mind, taking up space in my brain, and that any minute my head might explode.

I still felt like that the next day. I had been sitting alone in my bedroom trying to process everything. Next thing I knew I was in my car instead of my bedroom, driving to Ethan’s house. I don’t know what made me decide to do this. I wish I could give you a reason, but I just don’t know. I don’t know a lot of things. I haven’t since everything happened.

As I drove down Sixth Street, my stomach in knots, I passed the local record store. That was where it all happened.

“We’re just gonna take you down to the precinct. You’ll probably go home real quick, yeah?” That was the first of many lies told during that time period. Ethan never made it home. Until now, that is.

Pulling into the parking lot of his apartment was making me feel nauseated. What do you even say to someone you haven’t seen in three years? I was already here, though. I had to do this.

His mom answered the door. That was another face I hadn’t seen in a long time. She stood agape for all of three seconds before saying in that soft, sweet voice of hers “Well, hey, stranger.”

She didn’t seem upset by my presence, so that was a good sign. I mumbled a hello and she asked if I was here to see him. Him. After a quick nod from me, she moved out of the doorway.

Their home looked almost the exact same. It was like stepping into a time capsule. The pictures she kept of Ethan on a shelf above their couch were the exact same. Why would they be any different?

“He just got into the shower, but you can wait, if you like. I think he’d like to see you.”

“How, uh, is he?” My voice was low. It didn’t feel okay for me to be here, asking about him, and talking to his mom.

“Different. Quiet. That part isn’t really his choice, though.”

I’d almost forgotten about that part. Felons weren’t allowed to speak more than one hundred words a day, and you didn’t even get the one hundred words at first. You start out with a mere twenty. How did the government know about that? You were recorded at all times by a monitor on your wrist. As if that isn’t enough invasion of privacy, your home is also kept under 24/7 surveillance. If you go over your word limit, it’s back to prison forever. It was part of what many folks called “Second Wave Mass Incarceration.” Back in the day, a big fear of “extreme leftism” started sweeping conservative areas. Politicians used it to manipulate people’s fears and get elected. Next thing you know, there’s a bunch of laws being put in place that were meant to be “tough on crime.” That was just code for “we’re going to make laws to get anyone we deem unacceptable in society arrested.” A lot of people started getting arrested and given years for minuscule crimes, and people started to get arrested for things they didn’t do. A lot of people are gone now, never to be seen again, and a lot of people are being thrown back into the world after doing time and having everything taken from them, Ethan included.

I hear a voice speaking and snap out of my daze.

“Hmm?”

“I said, I’m going to make tea. Would you like some?”

“Uh, no, thank you.”

“Alright, make yourself at home.”

I go towards the couch when I hear footsteps from down the hall. I turn around and then the world stops spinning. There he was, Ethan Harris, in the flesh. He’s bigger now. A scar lays on his chin. His hair is cut short. His eyes are still the same, though. I always liked his eyes.

I saw them for the very first time on the first day of school during sophomore year. We were being forced to do a get-to-know-you activity. He was my partner for it.

“You wanna ask the questions first?” he had asked. His voice was surprisingly gentle when he spoke. I shook my head and then he started to read the questions provided for us.

“Alright, what are your hobbies?” I shrugged my shoulders, not speaking. He chuckled a bit and moved on to the next question.

“Favorite subject in school?”

“English.”

“Why?”

“Just is.”

He paused for a second and said, “You aren’t a chatty person are you?” I hated when people pointed that out. I mean, it was true, but it felt so condescending. He chuckled a bit again and continued with the questions.

“Okay, that’s chill. Alright...favorite singer or band?”

“Brockhampton...I guess.” I said that in my quiet, mumbly voice, but then he contrasted that with his bubbly, energetic voice. I’d later become used to that contrast.

“No way! Dude, I love them! That’s so cool. Okay...okay. Favorite album. Go.”

“Uh, Saturation Two, I guess.”

“Okay, yeah, that one is cool, I guess, but Ginger exists.” I could feel a smile forming on my face.

“Yes, and Ginger is good, but Saturation Two has some of their best songs. Teeth, Junky, Swamp...”

“But, Ginger has If You Pray Right, Boy Bye, and I Been Born Again”

“I Been Born Again is one of their worst songs!” I had unexpectedly proclaimed. It felt good to talk to someone about something I liked.

“What?? No, no, no. You better get out of here with all that.” he enthusiastically responded. We both laughed and continued talking. We never did finish answering the questions.

I saw movement in front of me. Ethan was waving.

“Hey...” I said. Awkward silence filled the room. Someone could cut the tension with a knife.

“Oh! You’re out of the shower!” I heard his mom joyfully announce behind me. She sat down a cup of a tea on their coffee table, probably for me, despite me declining it. I remember her always doing that.

“I have some paperwork to do. I’ll leave you two alone for a bit, okay?”

We both nodded as she left the room. He pointed towards the couch and we both sat.

“You can have the tea if you want.” He shook his head and took it. As he took a sip he made a horizontal, back and forth motion with his hand and then pointed to me. I didn’t understand what he was trying to say. I shook my head, and then he started to spell out letters in the air with his fingers

“H. O. W. A.R.E” and then he points at me.

“Oh. Uh, well, I got into college. I’m studying English to become an English teacher.” his eyes widen at that. Last time we spoke I was still uncertain about what I wanted my future to be.

“Yeah. Crazy, huh? I didn’t think that’s the career I’d choose or anything. I was inspired by another teacher. Mrs. Stacey. She was amazing. She talked to us like we were actual human beings, you know? Do you know who she is?” He shook his head.

“Oh. I think she actually didn’t get to our school until after....” I cut myself off. I doubted he wanted to be reminded of what he missed out on. I can be really stupid sometimes.

“Sorry.” He made a face that said it was fine. More silence.

“Are you allowed to leave the house?” I said, suddenly. He shook his head to say yes and then made a sign with his hands indicating he can only go outside the house a little bit.

“What about a walk? Go to the park, maybe?” He shook his head again then put up a finger telling me to wait. I assumed he was going to ask his mom. He came back a couple minutes later with a thumbs up.

Walking down the street brought back old memories for me. Me and him took walks a lot. We didn’t have anything else to do. It was always walks down the street and visits to the record store. The record store. A lot of things were associated with that record store. Good and bad things.

The first time a big changed occurred in me and Ethan’s lives happened in front of that store. We had just gotten out of the store. We were laughing about the fact that I managed to knock down a shelf in the store. It was embarrassing, but Ethan always managed to make embarrassing situations seems okay. It was one of the reasons I liked being around him. It was calming.

We were still laughing. I bumped his shoulder and he bumped mine back, and then I started walking. I very quickly realized he was wasn’t following. He was still standing in front of the store. I turned back around.

“What’s up?” I had asked.

“We’re friends, right?” his voice was timid. It sounded more like mine than his.

“Obviously. Why?”

“So that means I can tell you stuff, right?” his voice was getting more shaky, and it was making me nervous. I nodded my head, and he continued.

“Well, you see, I really like that we’re friends. I like hanging out with you. I like talking to you...” The more he talked, the more nervous I got. I didn’t know where he was going with this. I probably should’ve.

“God, this is really hard.” he mumbled.

“Well, then just say it super fast. Rip it off like a band aid.”

“Okay. Yeah, cool. Cool. Okay. Um.” I was nervous about what he had to say at the time, but I remember being slightly amused at his struggling for words.

“So, I really like you. I get it if you don’t feel the same, and I really hope it doesn’t make this weird, but I just thought you should know.” He spit out the words fast as light, and he looked terrified. I smiled.

Me and Ethan had been dating for four months when the second change occurred. Suddenly I felt eyes on me. I looked up. Ethan was looking at me. He raised his eyebrows as if to say “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m just thinking. Memories, you know?” He nodded. It was a sad nod. We approached the park. It was mostly empty which made sense. It was a school day. There were two open swings right next to each other. I pointed them out and we made our way towards them. We sat in silence, both of us swaying back and forth in our respective swings. It was mostly peaceful until a jogger came by. He must’ve noticed the wristband on Ethan- the one that monitored everything he said. Everyone knew what they looked like. Parents always warned their children to stay away from people with those things on their wrists because they were dangerous people.

The jogger glared in our direction as he made his way by. It angered me. What gives anyone the right to look at someone like their a piece of garbage without ever actually speaking to them?

“You need something?” I yelled towards him. He quickly turned his head away. Ethan turned towards me with a specific look. I’d seen that look only one other time. It was the look that said “You don’t need to worry about it. It’s okay.” but the fact that it actually wasn’t okay shined through the look. Then and now.

The first time I received that look was a cool April night four years ago. Me and Ethan were walking away from the record store when a police car pulled up near us. A man got out of the car and started yelling our way.

“Hey. You Ethan Harris?” We both turned towards the cop, confused. Ethan answered that he was and the cop said they’re going to have to bring him in. We were both taken off guard. Ethan started asking why, saying over and over that he didn’t do anything. The cop told him that they just needed to bring him to the precinct. The cop acted like it was no big deal.

I could feel my hands shaking at that point. At the time, it didn’t seem like there was a huge problem, but no one wants to see someone they care about be taken down to a police station. Ethan agreed to go. He turned towards me and asked me to make sure his mom knows what’s happening. I asked him what exactly is happening.

“I don’t know...but it will all fine. Okay? I promise.” I nodded my head and watched as he got into the car. I saw that look on his face right before he got in.

What came in the next year was pure Hell. A man who lived in Ethan’s apartment building had been attacked and robbed outside of the building three days before Ethan was taken into the station. He was beaten so severely that he had to be put into the hospital for a few days. The police started to investigate. Apparently, a neighbor, who chose to stay anonymous, gave them a tip.

The neighbor said that Ethan looked like a boy who was always up to no good and their money was on him doing it. The police took that neighbor’s statement and ran with it.

They were sure Ethan did it, despite there being no evidence. The man who was attacked carried around a pocket knife and had cut the attacker on his side before the knife was knocked out of his hand. There was no cut on Ethan’s side. Surveillance tapes showed that the attacker was extremely tall. Ethan wasn’t more than 5’8. Ethan had an alibi. He had been helping his aunt paint her new house that night. There had been three witnesses who said it was Ethan. Two of them were heavy drug users. The night it happened it was dark, and the attacked had been wearing a ski mask. None of it made sense.

A case was still built against Ethan, though, from scraps. A year after his arrest, Ethan was put on trial. They found him guilty. He was sentenced to five years, but they said he might get out in three for good behavior, and he did.

“I’m sorry he did that.” I told Ethan, about the jogger. Ethan just shrugged his shoulders. This was the first time I saw him up close today. Earlier, I had noted that his eyes were the same, but now I could see that that wasn’t the case. When I looked closer, I could see the sadness in them. The trauma. All of the time taken away. All of the youth stolen. We all have heard about what happens in prisons. Who knows what he’s seen.

I suddenly felt a pit in my stomach. I had felt that same thing from time to time. It was from guilt. I had visited Ethan one time in the whole three years he’d been in locked away. The one time I did, it was the saddest thing I’d ever done. It hurt seeing him. It hurt so much.

I had asked him how he was doing. All he could say was “I’m surviving.” He hadn’t looked okay in any way. It didn’t even look like he was surviving. It looked like he was hanging on by a thread.

I could feel tears start to form in my eyes now.

“Ethan?” He turned his head towards me.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that I never visited you. Seeing you that one time...was so hard. I always looked at you as this light, you know? You always brought so much happiness into my life. You helped me through all of the bad things in my life. You always made me laugh when I needed it. You were my light, and seeing you look so broken down hurt. I know that’s selfish because seeing you like that can’t possibly compare to what it was like being in there. I just...I’m so angry this happened to you. I’m so angry this keeps happening to people. I’m so angry they can take an innocent person and break them down like hthat and take everything away from you all the way down to your own voice. I’m just...so sorry.” I feel a tear slip down my cheek and then a hand on my cheek wiping away the tear.

I look up. Ethan is looking at me with a soft expression. He always looked at me like that when I would be upset over something, acting like my world was collapsing. It was a look that said “It’s okay. It’ll all be okay.” But he actually meant it.

“I don’t blame you for it.” I jolt my head. I finally heard Ethan talk for the first time in three years. His voice was still smooth, gentle, calming. He gives me a sad smile which I return. I look ahead of me staring into the nothingness, and then, suddenly, I feel a hand grasp my own. I don’t look. I don’t have to. I know it’s Ethan. We sit like that for hours, and pretend like everything’s okay, and hope that, one day, we won’t have to pretend.

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