#sorry just so lonely and upset and the places i find sanctuary are falling to pieces and i'd actually like to die now thanks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shadowhuntertrash · 3 years

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Hello, I read your other fanfics and absolutely adored them! I was wondering if you could write a Thomastair angst based on the song Consequences by Camila Cabello, I'd prefer if it was in Alastair's pov but it's fine if it's in Thomas'. PS, I loved High Notes, can't wait for the next chapter <33

Sorry this took so long and I kinda mixed the POV hope you don't mind <33

And thank you SO MUCH!!!

Dirty tissues, trust issues

Glasses on the sink, they didn't fix you

Lonely pillows in a strangers bed

Little voices in my head

Thomas stared at the glass in front of him, he had stolen whiskey and rum from Matthew in hopes of drowning out the memories. He didn’t want to remember, he wanted everything to go away. He wanted to forget what the pain felt like, what Alastair felt like.

He couldn’t stand being in his bed anymore, not after all the nights spent there with Alastair, not with all the memories. He couldn’t escape from the memories, they were everywhere, he felt so utterly trapped.

Thomas threw the rest of the drink back and reveled in the burning sensation it sent down his throat. He wanted to drown out all the voices, all the promised whispers in the dead of night. He wanted to drown out the music Alastair played for him, he wanted to drown.

Tears were streaming down his face but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. With a shuddering breath, Thomas threw the glass at the wall with all his strength. His back slid down the opposite wall as he let out the sobs he had been holding in, the glass shards everywhere.

He knew that feeling, shattering, his heart was all too familiar with it.

Secret keeping, stop the bleeding

Lost a little weight because I wasn't eating

All the songs that I can't listen to, to tell the truth

Alastair had always hated secrets, he wondered if that’s why he hated himself. His whole life, his whole existence felt like one big secret.

He couldn’t tell anyone about his father, he couldn’t tell anyone about Charles, he could’ve told people about Thomas but after so many lies and secrets what was one more? He should have seen it, it shouldn’t have surprised him. He shouldn’t have a bleeding heart right now, he should be with Thomas, laughing in bed. He should be eating lunch right now at a surprise picnic with Thomas instead of ignoring the meals outside his door.

Alastair couldn’t find it in him to get out of bed, he couldn’t find it in him to abandon the place he and Thomas had spent so much time. It felt as if he were giving up on Thomas, on the memories, the whispers, if he were to get out of bed and move on.

He used to play music when he was upset, his piano was right outside his room but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t play the piano, not after all the songs he made for Thomas that Thomas would never get to hear.

He won’t play anymore, no one could make him. He only ever wanted to play for Thomas but if he can’t play for him he won’t play for anyone.

Loving you was young, and wild, and free

Loving you was cool, and hot, and sweet

Thomas closed his eyes tightly, his fisted hands pressing hard into his eyes until he saw stars instead of eyelids. He didn’t want these memories, not anymore, but he couldn’t stop them from flooding in.

He saw flashes of Paris, Alastair walking excitedly in front of him, the wind blowing his hair around. He saw Alastair’s smile as they snuck into the movie theatre, his free smile as he told Thomas animatedly about how amazing mundanes were to have come up with such a contraption.

Thomas felt tears cascading down his cheeks as he pictured the lake they had swam in, on a hot day. The cold water felt good on their skin but it felt better when Alastair’s skin was on his. He felt as if he was finally cooling down for once that summer while also getting hotter than he’d ever been as Alastair kissed him passionately, his legs wrapped around Thomas’s middle as he kept them afloat.

The shy, hesitant kisses they shared in the cover of night. The sweet looks they shared that no one but them understood. Thomas punched the wall trying to draw his physical pain above his emotional pain. He didn’t want to think of their secrets, their inside jokes.

He didn’t want to think about Alastair’s carefree smile that only Thomas got to see. He didn’t want to think about the nights where they broke down. He didn’t want to think about the fights they shared when they were under too much pressure. He didn’t want to think about the tears that ran down Alastair’s face the last time he saw him. Thomas didn’t want to think about the way Alastair’s face crumbled when Thomas slammed the door behind him.

Thomas didn’t want to think.

Loving you was sunshine, safe and sound

A steady place to let down my defenses

But loving you had consequences

Alastair wanted it back. He wanted Thomas back, the memories, the smiles. He wanted his bright spot back, he was drowning in darkness and Thomas was the only one who was ever able to get him out of it.

He wanted to be okay again, he wanted his sanctuary. He wanted that warm safe feeling he always got with Thomas. He wanted Thomas to be there for him like he was when Alastair came out to his father, like he was when Charles wouldn’t leave him alone.

Alastair was tired of having to hide his emotions, he was tired of hiding himself. He wanted to go back to being able to be himself without fear of judgment when he was with Thomas. He wanted Paris back, being allowed to love mundane things because Thomas understood and liked them too. He missed being able to be himself.

But loving Thomas came with its faults. The shouting when they should’ve been asleep. Thomas stumbling in late drunk because he was with Matthew. Alastair’s insecurities taking over and making him defensive and mean.

They had their faults and things that were wrong but Alastair couldn’t help but believe that they were worth the fights, they deserved to be happy and they were happy with each other.

He just wished Thomas felt that too.

Hesitation, awkward conversation

Running on low expectation

Thomas hated parties, he hated weddings and meetings. He hated seeing everyone and pretending he was fine when he was falling apart. He hated seeing Alastair who looked just as broken as Thomas did.

He hated how little he expected from people now, how he felt bad every time he said something jokingly. He hated that he watched what he said around everyone in fear of them being upset by it after having spent so long with Alastair who took everything to heart.

Thomas used to think it was endearing, he thought he would be able to show Alastair that Thomas only ever wanted him. He had wanted so many things for Alastair but time wore them down and it became more problematic than endearing.

He got tired of constantly having to reassure Alastair, he was tired of Alastair being mean when he got defensive.

He was tired.

Every siren that I was ignoring

I'm payin' for it

Alastair beat himself up for missing the signs. He should’ve seen the red flags. He should have seen the silence for the screams they were. He should have noticed when Thomas spent less time with him.

He should have noticed when Thomas started spiraling. He should have noticed Thomas’s tear-stained cheeks and swollen eyes instead of the drink in his hand. He should have noticed when Thomas got in his own head.

Thomas deserved someone who would notice those things and Alastair couldn’t help agreeing that he wasn’t good enough for that. He couldn’t help agreeing that Thomas deserved so much more than him.

Loving you was dumb, dark and cheap

Loving you will still take shots at me

Thomas cursed himself for falling for Alastair’s sweet words and his secretive personality. He cursed himself for falling into the mysterious boy no one truly knew anything about. Thomas cursed himself for being so dumb and falling for all of Alastair’s tricks, all the lies about love.

He didn’t want to love Alastair anymore, not after what he said, but the worst part is that he still loved him. He loved Alastair and it would haunt him forever, he wasted so long on a boy who never even loved him.

How could Alastair love him if he believed all the rumors. How could Alastair love Thomas and still betray the trust they build. How could Alastair love Thomas and still ruin his parent’s and best friend’s lives?

He couldn’t.

Found loving you was sunshine, but then it poured

And I lost so much more than my senses

'Cause loving you had consequences

Alastair walked around as if nothing ever happened, he smiled at acquaintances, played with his little brother, helped Cordelia.

He found new sunshine since Thomas had ripped his away. It had been raining so long that he didn’t remember what it was like not to be drowning. He had lost so much when he lost Thomas, he lost parts of himself he didn’t even know about.

He missed Thomas and didn’t think he’d ever get over it but he learned how to fake it. He learned how to be ‘happy’ around Thomas. He learned how to keep himself together until he was by himself at night.

Thomas was happy now and that was all that had ever really mattered. He would have fought for Thomas if he deserved him but Alastair didn’t because he wasn’t.

He sat and wished more than anything that Thomas would change his mind, that Thomas would realize he still loved Alastair. He waited for it and when it didn’t happen, Alastair realized that he would never stop waiting.

Alastair would spend forever waiting for Thomas because Thomas was worth that.

#the last hours #tlh #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #alastair x thomas #thomastair #tsc fanfiction #ask answered #i hurt my own feelings #these boys deserve the world

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stones-x-bones · 3 years

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Written In The Bones || Solo (ft. Morgan)

She knew everyone in the house would kill her if they knew what she was doing. But Kyle hadn’t texted her back since last night, and Bex was worried. What if he’d hurt himself? Or he was in pain and couldn’t ask for help? What if something was wrong? No one would tell her, they didn’t want her to worry. But by not telling her, she worried even more.

It was one of the rare moments that no one was around. Morgan was in the library or the fossil room having her “self” time, since the studio was being used. Mina was in her own room, Nell was back at home, and Deirdre was out of the house. She knew she probably only had a few minutes before Morgan or Mina would come check on her, but she couldn’t just lay here and do nothing. She peeled the blankets off herself and climbed out of the bed, wheezing with breath already. The stairs were going to be a problem, weren’t they?

Easing her way out, she stayed close to the wall, leaning against it as she made her way towards the stairs. It was silent down there, and down the hallway. She didn’t see anyone around, either.

She took it one step at a time, remembering how just a few nights ago she’d stumbled blindly down them as Taki raced after her, meowing in distress and upset. This time, her journey was silent. The bottom of the stairs were a sanctuary, and she wanted nothing more than to sink down and rest for a minute-- but she wasn’t sure she could spare the time. She lifted herself back up and stumbled from the railing to a piece of furniture, to another. All the way through the kitchen to the back door. Her chest was burning with pain, each movement worse than the last.

But she wanted to get to him. She just wanted to see with her own two eyes that he was okay.

The yard proved to be a challenge. She fell over more than once, knees scuffed with grass by the time she made it to the shed. But she paused just outside, hand on the knob. Something was stopping her. She didn’t know what.

Was it guilt? Was it fear? Was it anger? Resent? It rattled around in her chest and clawed up her throat and made her knuckles turn white around the door handle. Her chest vibrated with pain, pin pricks slicing all along the cuts that now marred her skin. He hadn’t meant to, she reminded herself. He hadn’t meant to. It was her fault he’d changed. Her fault she’d run down there. Her fault for not telling him sooner. Kyle had been thrown into the middle of her mess and he’d never stood a chance. She needed him to know she forgave him. She needed to look into his eyes and know that she meant it.

By the time she turned the knob to open the door, tears were streaming silently down her face. And before she had even seen the message on the desk, she knew-- he was gone. Her eyes went to the hole in the wall first-- Tell Morgan I’ll pay for any damages. She stumbled over to it, barely holding herself up against the wall. Fingers traced the indent. Had she made him angry enough to do this? Why was he being so nice if she made him this angry? She sank to the floor, shivering from the cold that the open door was letting in.

And there, next to the desk, and the heap of blankets that Morgan had given him to sleep with on the bed, was a message, spelled out in bones. I’M SORRY. She laughed. It was gargled by her tears, but she laughed. He was so stupid and annoying and she hated him and his wolf blingees and his Yu-gi-oh cards and his dumb DnD campaign-- but she missed him, and she worried about him and she shook with sobs as she sank to the floor, pulling the blankets over to herself and burying her face in them.

She had stolen his thoughts from him, had made him have to carry her burdens, had made him shift because she couldn’t control her own emotions-- and now she’d made him leave somewhere safe. She curled up on her side, hugging the blankets to her chest. Blood was leaking through her shirt and onto the blanket but she no longer had the willpower to get up. She had done this to him, she had forced him to change, all because she couldn’t control herself.

All she did was ruin things.

All she did was ruin people.

Morgan had only meant to change Kyle’s dressings and make him something better than the hot pockets she’d asked Urk to bring by the other night. But when she looked back later, when this turmoil was so laughable compared to what would follow, she would wonder if the guilty compulsion knotting itself in her stomach had been a deeper intuition. As soon as she opened the door to her studio, she saw Bex hunched over, bleeding onto Kyle’s blanket, and of all the feelings that rushed up her chest, surprise wasn’t one of them.

They were just kids, scared and reckless kids, doing the stupid things kids did every day under much less thrilling circumstances. Bex and Kyle just happened to live in a world that made them pay for their mistakes with death and blood.

Slowly, Morgan set her things aside on the desk and came over to Bex, touching her lightly on the arm. “Come here, honey,” she murmured. There was nothing else to say. She couldn’t summon Kyle back, or wipe away the guilt Bex was carrying. “We’ll find a way to check on him. Come here, it’ll be okay. Can I hold you?”

Bex crawled into Morgan’s arms without even needing prompting, before she even finished asking. She didn’t want to be alone right now, not anymore. She had carried the guilt of her parents around with her for her entire life, but she knew how to carry that, and how to fix it. The guilt she now carried for Kyle seemed impossible to let go of. She had only met him twice in person, and she missed him. He was gone and she missed him.

“I don’t know what to do,” she sobbed into Morgan, shivering-- from exhaustion, from weariness, from the cold. From the pain in her chest. “I don’t know what to do. I have to f-fix it, I have to do something. I have to.” But she didn’t know how to. She didn’t know how to fix anything. She didn’t know what else to say.

She reached over and grabbed the bones Kyle had laid out in a message and squeezed them in her hand. “Why did he leave?” she asked, gripping Morgan tightly. “Why did he leave?”

Not for the first time, Morgan wished she could extend herself and wrap Bex up completely. She did her best, cradling the girl’s face in the crook of her neck and pressing down on her back to remind her that she couldn’t fall or collapse, that there was no such thing while she was being held. Her words, pained and garbled, sounded so much like her own desperation (I’m sorry, can fix it, I’ll figure out how to fix it and I will). The only thing worse than the recognition was the certainty that there weren’t any better answers for Bex than there had been for her.

“Shh,” she cooed. “It wasn’t you, okay? You didn’t do this. It’s--” She looked around the room, the hole in the wall she didn’t know how to fix, the apology written in bones of all things. “It’s like you said. He’s scared and he’s sorry, that’s all. You didn’t do anything wrong, Bex. But we’ll get a hold of him. We’ll find him, and when he’s ready, you’ll talk.” Her gaze stayed fixed on the dented wall as she spoke, wishing she could channel her frustration through it and off to wherever Kyle was so he could at least explain to Bex why he was withdrawing from her. If his fear hadn’t eaten all his brain cells for breakfast, he might remember how lonely Bex was. He might remember what it is to carry more than you think you can bear, and that Bex was carrying his load too.

“But later,” she said into her hair. “Okay? After we’ve fixed you up again and you have more strength. We’ll go out looking for him if we have to. Later. For now, let’s get you back inside, safe in bed.” She adjusted her grip, scooping up her legs, and carried her back to the house.

Bex let herself be buried in Morgan’s arms. It was moments like these that she forgot how small the older woman was, because Bex always felt so tight and safe in her grasp. Wrapped up against her, face buried in her neck. She’d never cried so much in front of one person in her whole life, and she wondered just how many more times she would lose herself. To this place, to this world, to these monsters. Maybe she should just let them take her. Maybe it would be easier that way. She didn’t want this life anymore than she wanted her other life. She didn’t know how to choose. She didn’t know what to do anymore.

She didn’t really know anything, did she?

She kept the bones she’d found on the floor, splayed in Kyle’s message, and tucked them to her chest. For the second time in two days, Morgan carried her up the stairs and back to her room. The room that Morgan had made for her, a place in the world where she could come to rest and feel safe. A place just for her. If only it could give her the answers she wanted, too, then, maybe, it would perfect.

She didn’t deserve perfect.

She didn’t deserve this compassion.

But she took every ounce of it that she could get, because, otherwise, she might just drown. She wasn’t ready to drown yet.

#solo #wickedswriting #written in the bones #morgan #chatzy: morgan #//look what u did kyle :/

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siribear · 3 years

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the brotherhood, apparently, doesn’t have the resources to pick them up. even when the new trio makes it back to greentop nursery, they’re told to make most of the journey back to the airport, and they’ll be picked up once they get closer. danse is understanding, as is brandis; whisper feels like they’d have been picked up as far out as the bunker if she wasn’t part of the group.

we don’t abandon our own. whisper runs her hands through her hair with a sigh. just a few more days, then. if elder maxson wants to be petty, so be it.

danse and whisper take turns watching over brandis even in the safety of the nursery. the older paladin stirs and talks in his sleep. sometimes he wakes in a panic, and it’s then that they have to calm him. their progress is slower on their way toward the city, but brandis does his best to keep up. halfway back, danse has to change out his fusion core when his gait slows to a crawl and his armor stalls in the middle of a field. whisper changes it out for him, struggling with the removal until brandis lends a hand. with a grunt, he turns the latch handle, warped from their skirmish at the satellite array, and together they remove the fusion core.

‘thanks,’ she says, standing on her toes to insert the new fusion core.

brandis hums in acknowledgement. ‘astlin was about your height,’ he muses, a smile twisting his beard. ‘she had trouble with this too.’

the fusion core clicks into place, power humming through the suit once more. ‘i’m sorry it took so long to find any of you.’ maybe if she had followed the distress signal when she found it, if she hadn’t held onto it for leverage -

brandis holds up the collection of holotags. ‘but you found me. and them. and as long as i live, i will not forget them.’

whisper twists her wedding ring, sighing as her thoughts go to its partner tucked away in her bag. and her partner tucked away in the depths of vault 111. ‘i know how you feel.’

‘we’ll be at the airport soon if we keep up our pace,’ danse says, slowly. ‘thank you for the assistance, alice. we should get moving.’

there is no welcoming party for them at the airport, just the familiar noise of soldiers moving supplies and working machinery. a few of the idling knights recognize them as they walk across the ruined tarmac. danse signals to one, who radios up to the prydwen, and they don’t have to wait long for a vertibird to descend from the airship. danse and brandis stand at attention as elder maxson steps down to approach them. whisper crosses her arms.

‘the brotherhood is glad to have you back, paladin brandis. paladin danse,’ he greets the two members. ‘general,’ he adds.

‘elder.’ she looks over his shoulder, into the vertibird. no power armor. she holds back a sigh. a waste.

‘paladin danse, if you’ll escort paladin brandis up to knight captain cade for a full evaluation. he’s expecting you. also, you’ll find the general’s... reward,’ - there’s a notable, if questionable, pause - ‘has been set aside. bring it down once you’re done.’ maxson stands aside. ‘i’d like to talk to you,’ he says, to her, ‘in the meantime.’

brandis shakes her hand and departs with a sincere, ‘thank you.’

‘now,’ maxson says, after the two have left. ‘follow me.’ she does, to a more secluded area of the airport, away from lingering soldiers. ‘i apologize for being curt with you, but i admit i had my doubts, even now. but one moment after another, you’ve proven yourself, alice.’

‘thank you,’ she says, carefully. he’s leading up to something. wants something. ‘didn’t want your subordinates to hear you praising a minuteman?’

he bows his head, his eyes harder when he looks back to her. ‘no. but that is what i wanted to talk to you about: your being a minuteman. their general.’

‘and what of it?’

‘how much have you been able to do with them?’ he interrupts her before she can respond. ‘not for them. what have the minutemen been able to do for you, alice? remember, you had to come to us for help.’

she scoffs. ‘and i had to help you, so get to the point.’

‘fine. join the brotherhood. paladin danse told me you turned us down before, but i’m offering again. leave the minutemen and join us. together, we can find your son and take down the institute, much quicker than you can with the minutemen.’

whisper frowns. ‘those are my people, elder maxson. i can’t leave them any more than you could leave the brotherhood.’

‘i see. then we’ll leave our truce as it is, though my offer stands.’ the sound of a vertibird draws their attention: danse in a different suit of power armor. ‘paladin danse will have your armor, as you asked. good luck, general.’

whisper removes the fusion core from the brotherhood power armor. the moment she entered the armor, an alert appeared on the display inside her helmet: a warning for the fuel level in the fusion core. ‘did i get someone’s old, used fusion core?’

danse winces. ‘it’ll last until you return to the castle.’ there’s an unspoken, understood maybe.

she bites back a growl. the fusion core back in sanctuary might get her out to the glowing sea, but back? ‘the quartermaster - ’

‘isn’t allowed to sell one to anyone outside the brotherhood.’

well, shit. maxson’s slight for not joining them. or maybe it’s her punishment for working with them at all. the railroad - she’ll go to the railroad, instead. tinker tom has to have a spare fusion core lying around -

danse’s hand on her arm stops her before she can climb back into the armor. ‘here. i noticed the alert, so i bought a few replacements. these should last you through the glowing sea.’ he pulls a pair of fusion cores from a bag on the ground and passes them to her.

‘i - won’t elder maxson be upset? obviously he didn’t want to give me any more supplies than he had to.’

danse shrugs, surprisingly cavalier about going against the elder. ‘it’s in our best interest that you make it to the glowing sea, isn’t it? this shouldn’t be an issue.’

the fusion cores fit into her bag, tucked in next to her other supplies and random salvage. ‘thank you.’ whisper places a hand on his cheek. with a soft kiss to his other cheek, she says, ‘you’re a good man, danse. if only you were a minuteman.’

whisper listens to the radio, hooked up to the internal speakers of the power armor from her pipboy, as travis reports on her past week’s exploits. with his own twist, of course, praising the her for continuing to expand the minutemen in the same breath he worries about her working for the brotherhood. and worrying, of course, that they’re all going to die before quickly switching to the wanderer.

in another life, she caught nate singing along to the song on the radio in the late morning. in another life, he kissed her and made her dance with him until the end. the kitchen had smelled like burnt eggs the rest of that morning. whisper hums along.

the old, familiar songs carry her back to the road before the castle, until the fuel warnings blaring in her ears drown out the music. though she mutes the alarm, bright red text still flashes in the corner of her vision. a few of the minutemen clearing debris from the neighborhood pause to look at her, some even following behind. another runs ahead of her, ducking through the castle’s repaired doors.

one if by land - a brotherhood soldier approaches the castle.

preston emerges, flanked by two other minutemen. whisper doesn’t halt her approach, instead removing her helmet as she gets closer. ‘running on fumes,’ she explains. the two minutemen part the way for her. preston falls into step beside her. ‘i want to park this thing inside.’

preston nods. ‘let sturges know,’ he says to one of the minutemen. ‘welcome home, general.’

home. ‘thank you, pres-’ the armor refuses to take another step, just in front of radio freedom. she sighs and wonders again if maxson planned this all out. ‘thank you.’

‘still not used to that armor, huh, boss?’ sturges teases as she wobbles, stepping down from the armor. ‘how’re you gonna make it across the sea like that?’

she huffs. ‘just have to learn how to swim. i have another project for you, though.’

‘anything you need.’

she raps a knuckle against a metal arm. ‘how good are you at painting?’

sturges smiles, lopsided and pleased. ‘preston told us we might be needing some. managed to find some cans in garages down the road.’ whisper tells him to start in the morning, and he dismisses himself with a lazy salute.

‘you’re sure this is a good idea?’ preston asks. he steps around the armor to stand in front of her.

‘it’s only a new coat of paint, preston.’

‘i don’t mean that, though i can’t say i like having anything with the brotherhood insignia here. i mean going to the glowing sea. nothing survives out there.’

the sun begins to set on the water, turning it bright orange. ‘an institute scientist did.’

he groans. ‘let me come with you, then. i can’t let you go out there alone.’

'hey,’ she begins, softly, exhaustion beginning to set in. she wants to sleep. to rest somewhere she knows is safe. maybe that’s home. ‘you don’t have to mother hen me, preston. i can take care of myself.’

he sighs, his shoulders sagging in defeat. ‘i know. but if there’s anything i can do...’

‘keep this place from blowing up for a few hours so i can sleep?’ she offers.

when he laughs, it’s genuine. ‘i think i can manage that. good night, general.’

if deacon has planned his arrival correctly, whisper should have returned to the castle just the day before. and he has planned it correctly. his contacts have been keeping him appraised of any new changes in the commonwealth in the past few weeks, and two things have stuck out: minutemen territory has expanded further east, and a mismatched squad of brotherhood soldiers was seen returning to the airport. basically, his partner has been busy. and if the lone power armor tracks heading up through the castle’s neighborhood tell him anything, it’s that she was successful.

not that he’s surprised. he follows her for a reason, and it’s because she’s efficient. that’s all.

or so he would have told himself before. even if whatever happened between them in goodneighbor was a fluke, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy traveling with her just to travel with her. he believes in her, in what she’s doing. what she wants to do.

he sighs to himself. getting old, deacon. lost in his own thoughts, he finds he’s wandered halfway down the newly built up neighborhood. little shops and homes have started popping up. skeletons of pre-war buildings housing whisper’s future. it’s a testament to her that he even feels safe enough to walk openly down this road without fear of being ambushed.

one minuteman makes to approach him, gun at the ready, before another stops him. the other deacon recognizes as one of the minutemen that helped them take the castle. guess he does take breaks from manning the radio. he catches the tail end of ‘- he’s with the general‘ before he completely passes them. he absolutely doesn’t puff out his chest in response.

nah.

inside the castle, there’s some bustle. an older woman he doesn’t recognize orders around a group of minutemen, each one looking more green than the woman’s army fatigues. ah, fresh recruits. it’s almost adorable how hard they try not to poke each other’s eyes out with their laser rifles. just opposite them, a guy in dirty overalls surrounds himself with scrap metal as he works on a gun bigger than he is tall. deacon looks up the walls of the castle, to another minuteman standing in front of another huge gun, this one operational. goddamn. no one mentioned the minutemen managed to arm themselves with artillery.

he’d be worried if across the courtyard wasn’t his favorite person, overseeing a project of her own. she leans in close to garvey, points across the way and gestures; preston moves closer to listen over the din and nods at whatever she’s saying. deacon might have been delirious with fever at the time, but he remembers what he inadvertently interrupted in the rain. thankfully, everyone’s too preoccupied to notice deacon walk faster.

‘i told you,’ deacon hears her say. ‘that shade of blue looks so much better. we need to make that part of our uniform. create some unity here instead of...’

‘old colonial jackets and army uniforms?’ preston finishes for her.

‘exactly. maybe even just a patch so we can recognize each other.’

‘i’ll do what i can.’

she beams at him in a way only a wife who’s gotten her way can. deacon steps up next to her, puts an arm on her shoulder and leans. whisper shifts immediately to take his weight.

‘howdy, partner.’ he tips the brim of her new, overly sized hat. he definitely doesn’t remember her having that before. ‘preston.’ preston nods in acknowledgement before turning his attention away.

‘deacon,’ she returns, still smiling. ‘welcome back.’

‘and yourself. congratulations on surviving the brotherhood.’ he stands up straight, removing his weight from her shoulder, but still finds himself leaning into her. ‘how’d you manage to swing that?’ he asks, gesturing toward the power armor currently getting a minuteman makeover.

‘i asked nicely, of course.’

deacon raises an eyebrow. ‘asking nicely took you two weeks across the commonwealth?’

there’s that grin, wicked and knowing. because he shouldn’t know that she went so far, but he does. ‘preston, if you’ll excuse us,’ is all she says before half-dragging deacon back into the secluded corridors of the castle. ‘what happened to not going back to your stalking days, hm?’

‘can i help it if travis makes it easy to follow you? anyone paying attention can read between the lines.’

she exhales heavily. ‘i see. and - what are you wearing?’

took her long enough to notice. maybe two weeks without him put her out of practice. ‘this old thing? tom had it just laying around.’ he picks at the sleeve of his hazmat suit, dug out of, indeed, tom’s stash. the genius was almost unwilling to part with it - ‘it blocks radiation in the air and the institute’s brain control waves!’ - until deacon mentioned he needed it to assist whisper. and once desdemona heard that? it was as good as his.

‘oh,’ she says quietly. ‘so you are coming with me?’ said soft enough to break his heart.

‘like i said,’ he half-turns, looking out into the courtyard, because even behind his sunglasses he’s afraid he might give too much away. ‘i’m with you.’

#siri drabbles #series: we will all go together when we go #oc: alice ward #listen i'm done sitting on this i'm ready to be done with the brotherhood #i just keep telling myself: rough draft rough draft rough draft #i miss deacon a lot i need to play fo4 again without it CRASHING #anyway time to disappear again goodbye

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blezzeu · 4 years

Text

forgiven

masterlist

Pairing: Reader x Namjoon/RM | Rating: S (for smut), F | Oneshot

Description: After breaking your boyfriend’s heart, all you could do was make him feel better, however you can.

A/N: Just YET another something I wanted to write down. HELA CRINGEE

You were walking alone on the sidewalk. It was the thirty-first day since you have left the apartment. It was a sanctuary you had shared with Namjoon. Here you find yourself again: on the same street you once both lived in. You found yourself desperate to remember what you said that night—what you think you said that night.

It was seven-thirty, like it is now, when endless—just endless and thoughtless screaming came from the both of you. Tears rushed down both of your faces as you hurt each other with words sharper than knives.

It was painful. That night still haunts you today, now living with your friend temporarily until her roommate comes back. Then you are back looking for another place to live, another identity to take. No longer a lover, and no longer a friend. You will become no one.

You kick a floating plastic that drifted through the empty road, hands in your pockets. You stopped crying weeks ago, and now you just feel an empty pain that you can’t mend. It leaves you heaving on your bed—pouring out endless screams when you reach for him on the other side of the mattress, and find nothing but cold sheets in your hands. And then you realise what you have done, and you pull and scratch yourself—so angry, ashamed and disgusted at what you did.

You were going to marry him. He was going to marry you. You both had it all set: after college, you would move to another city and work there. Work a little to save enough money for another place to settle together. Then you would get married with all your family and friends then have your honeymoon in your favourite country: the United Kingdom.

There was no one else in the world that you could imagine yourself with. It was Y/N and Namjoon. No one else. There was no one else you could see him with. Just the thought of seeing another person with him in bed makes your stomach twist and turn—enough to make you vomit.

He was so proud of you. He used to brag about you to all his friends—used to say you were the one he was going to marry.

He used to.

You both were entering an unhappy stage in your relationship. Being together for four years—it was tough to keep things together. He got an internship at a good company, and you were offered jobs for photoshoots—life threatened to tear you both apart.

Namjoon noticed this and tried his best to make love to you at night. Make love to you, and show his love to you. Even when he was exhausted, balancing his studies and the work he was tasked to do, he still made sure that he held you in your sleep. He made sure that you ate well, and that you were not lacking anything but his presence. He always brought home your favourite coffee or dessert to make up for the lost time you both could not share together. He was more than you could ever hope for.

You remember one morning when he woke you up on a Saturday. You were tired, and you didn’t want to hear what he was going to say—

But you remember that he kissed you from behind, whispering in your ear: “We are going to make this work. I love you, Y/N. Please hold on. I will be with you more often soon.”

You forgot the promise you made him the day he surprised you with your very own dinner by candlelight. It was exactly like in the movies—Namjoon looking so handsome with his dimples and kind smile, his hand squeezing your leg underneath the tablecloth as he looked at you with longing and happiness in his eyes. He asked you: “Please hang on a little while. Tell me all your struggles, all that’s in your mind. Please promise to never keep anything from me.”

But you did not do what he told you to do. Instead, you did the opposite.

It was a party. You did not see Namjoon for weeks—always passing by each other in your shared apartment without a noise as he hurried to go to a class or a meeting. You started not feeling his kisses on your cheek before he rushed out of the door, shirt not yet tucked in.

You were lonely, and this man was giving you all the attention you yearned for.

Yes, you were selfish. Yes, you let that stranger’s words fill up your mind—He said that your boyfriend was stupid for not taking care of you better as he bit you and made you scream in pleasure.

You remember the blurred image of him dropping you home, not even making sure that you made it to the door before speeding off. You quietly climbed up the stairs, creaked open your bedroom door, and saw Namjoon sleeping peacefully on the bed.

You had put your hand over your mouth to stop the sobs from making sound. You just thought of how stupid, how stupid you were to have another man brand and mark you when Namjoon gave you everything he could.

You remember after stripping down your filthy clothes and taking a quick shower, scrubbing what remained of that man that now became nothing but a shadow, you slipped underneath the sheets next to Namjoon.

Almost immediately, his strong arms came up to hold you, and you heard him stir from behind you to come closer. He folded you against his chest, you felt his eyelashes fluttering open on the back of your neck as he gave you a single kiss right there between your shoulders.

You felt the tears come when he said, “How was it?” Namjoon’s voice was deep and hoarse from sleep.

You could not face him—you could not as you said: “It was…good. Go back to sleep, baby, I’m sure you are tired.”

He kept quiet, letting go of you to rest on his back before you both drifted asleep. Yet still, his hand held you, making sure you were still there.

The next morning you woke to see Namjoon still there—his eyes open and looking at you. You turned to face him better, and he slipped a hand on your cheek against the pillow as you both continued staring at each other.

Suddenly, he gave you one long deep kiss before moving away.

The whole day you were on trembling legs from the soreness and the shame that filled your entire being. Each minute that passed by was torture for you—not knowing where Namjoon was, or who he was with.

When you were waiting for him at home, ready to tell him what happened, you watched him enter the apartment with ease, dropping off his stuff at a table before coming to you. You watched him, legs clenched while sitting on the couch.

You stood up abruptly before he could reach you, his eyes shining with a certain emotion you can’t place. Then he just whispered your name and kissed you hard on your lips. His hands cradled your head as he angled your face to deepen the kiss, your arms wrapping around his waist, bringing him closer. You yearned for his touch, feeling him all over your body. You were so foolish to want anyone else but him. His hands made you feel so precious and good—

Then you remembered what you did to him, and all you wanted to do was say sorry with your body.

Namjoon kept on kissing you, making your mouth swollen as he bit your lips. His hands roamed your torso, his fingers digging into your skin possessively. You moaned against his mouth when his tongue slipped inside of you, controlling you as his teeth grazed your lip.

You pulled his shirt up, and he helped you, and as soon as you saw his smooth skin, your hands explored every inch of his broad chest. You kissed where his throat bobbed, his head falling back at the sensation. You kissed his jawline as he sat on the couch before you, his head tilting upwards to give you better access.

“Y/N,” he groaned, “I love you, you know.”

“I do, Namjoon—“ You gasped as his hands slid underneath your shirt. “I love you, please believe me.”

You saw his eyes shift at that, but he continued kissing you. You did not stop him when he tugged your shirt off—

You prayed that there was no evidence of the night you just experienced—but they were there. Namjoon stilled, holding you in his hands as he examined the hickeys on your throat and body. Your heart beat with a pace faster than ever as he just held your waist in silent anger.

But you knew that he already found out. Namjoon was such a good, kind guy that you were sure someone told him about what you did for his sake. Namjoon looked at you, broken into a million pieces when he said: “So it’s true then.”

He let go of you and stood, brushing you aside as he made for the kitchen. He almost ripped open the fridge door, and slammed it before leaning his forearm on it, bottle in hand. Voice deadly calm, he said: “So this is what you do. After all these years together.”

Tears rushed down your cheeks, your body still bare save for a pair of shorts and your bra as you begged him: “Please forgive me, Joonie—I am so sorry.” You start gasping for air, the sobs wrecking your body. “I was so, so wrong—I—I was stupid and drunk—it was only this once—“

“Yeah?” He said, his voice suddenly violent and angry as he pushed against the fridge as he came towards you. He sipped from the bottle of beer you knew he did not always seek when he was upset, and came to you, each one of his words making you flinch. “How can I know that this was the first time you fucked another man?”

You whimpered, knowing there was no way out of it other than to take his words. You could not lose him—could not survive without him.

“Please, please forgive and don’t leave me please—I can’t—I can’t even live without you—“

He chuckled with no emotion. “You seemed to have done that well already.” He shook his head at you, a pained smile on his face. “I can’t even look at you anymore.”

Then the volume escalated.

“I was wrong, Namjoon! I was wrong,” You heaved out, your hand hitting your chest as you pointed to yourself. “Punish me however you like—I'll take it. I’ll do anything if you would stay.”

You crumbled on the floor, legs giving out. The cold tile chilled your bare legs, but you did not care. Namjoon looked down at you from where you sat, and crouched to pick you up as sobs racketed through your body.

He placed his bottle on the counter before he held you to him, you gripped him tightly, afraid to let him go.

“Namjoon—Please. I’m so sorry.”

But he just stared over your shoulder, his hands still on your back as he said brokenly: “I’ll give you till the end of the week. Pack your things and go.”

Your knees buckled again, but he caught you, bringing you to the couch. You sat there sobbing—weeping and begging him not to leave you.

He retreated to the bedroom, but you followed him. That’s when he snapped completely, his cold mask breaking on his face.

“Why, Y/N? Why? I did what I could,” His voice broke, tears falling down his beautiful face. “I made sure you were happy—I gave you all I could.”

He continued staring at you. “Am I not enough for you? Am I not enough?”

“You are enough!”

“SO WHY DID YOU FUCK ANOTHER MAN!”

“I DID NOT MEAN TO—“

“BUT YOU DID ANYWAY.”

“PLEASE STOP—YELLING!”

“YOU PROMISED, Y/N! YOU PROMISED—“

“I KNOW I AM WRONG.”

It just continued this way—him calling you words you’d never heard from him before, until he stopped listening to you. He just walked away, pulling his shirt over his head, as you continued crying his name.

“Just go, Y/N.” He turned his back on you and left.

And here you are now. Right in front of the place where all of it happened.

Also the place he kissed you to sleep and sang you lullabies distantly. Where you were safe in his arms, happy and content. And also never content.

You sighed, the air coming out of you hurt your chest, and started walking to the nearest club. The ache in between your brows began to build—you could not bear to stay outside in the cold for so long, waiting for tears to come out of your eyes. Nothing came, though. You had already wasted an ocean of tears. You had reached a point where you were incapable of producing more.

You allowed the hot warmth of bodies and movement lure you in. The scent of filth and drink clogged your nostrils as you sat yourself by the bar. You asked for a drink, and got one. There were two types of people present in this hole: those who drank because they wanted to get laid—with their distant smiles and dangling hands. And those who drank because they wanted to erase some pain.

You looked at your fellow sorrowful kin. You watched each and every one of them—wondering what stories they stored within their heart. Did they also live in the same regret you were living in?

You looked at the drink in your hands, your palms warming the chilled glass. What are you now? You are not a friend, nor a lover. You are not a proper daughter or sister to anyone. You are nobody.

But when you had Namjoon, you were someone. When you had someone, you were someone.

You miss being someone. You miss having a purpose to live for. Having someone to live for.

You looked at yourself in the dark mirror before the bar—looking at your reflection by using the available dim lights around your silhouette.

What have you become? Will Namjoon still love you like this?

No, he would never love you again.

You tried bringing up his face in your mind. His tanned skin and his beautiful smile. You tried remembering when was the last time you saw him—he was leaving the apartment with his eyes red and puffy—

Enough. You did this to you both. It was your decision.

So you swallowed the bitterness of the drink that slid down your throat, letting it burn you. You do not know how long you stayed in the shadows of this place, but when you left your seat, you thought of nothing but the overwhelming desire of death to take you away. You stumbled around a lot, holding onto random arms and hands as you allowed yourself to blur the edges of your environment.

You found yourself in the middle of the road outside of the wild club. The music of the hell-hole poured out into the cold air, following you as you let your feet take you around. You did not care anymore—you did not care for the moon that shined brightly above, or the small groups of questionable people who eye your body or your pockets. You did not care. You used to.

You stood under the streetlight—being stained by the brightness after being in the dark for so long. You stayed there and lifted your hands up.

You were at a corner of two roads. One road led forward, and another led back to where the club was. You looked up at the light, blinding yourself temporarily as you smiled at death—

“Y/N!”

You turned to see Namjoon right as his body slammed against yours, dislocating your position from the street to the sidewalk.

The sound of a screeching car and a flash of light indicated what might have happened if Namjoon did not come in time to move you away. His body was a strong force on yours—his hands holding you in place as he whipped you away towards safety.

“Y/N—“ He gasped, breathing heavily. You were shaking in his grip, shaking from the alcohol, from the fact that you wanted to die—you wanted to leave the world when Namjoon was still here. You wanted to cease to exist when Namjoon is still breathing, and still living.

“Namjoon,” you breathed, you slid your palm to his cheek, breaths coming fast as you both stared at each other. He had you pinned against the wall, his arms around you as his wide eyes evaluated your state of consciousness.

“Are you okay? You are so stupid to drink and walk around like that! You know how many men I’ve seen pass you by with more than welcoming glances to your beautiful body? You did not even try to cover up your cleavage and your dress is far too revealing—and short! You need a jacket—you’ll catch a cold—I saw you outside of the apartment—“

He was rambling—breathing heavily with clouds of cold air in front of you. You stared up at him, not believing that he was real. That this was real. You were numb, completely numb as you stared at the love of your life. Still he continued, spilling out words that showed that he still loves and cares for you. You stopped hearing his words and just focused on his mouth, your eyes watching it move. “Namjoon—“

Then he kissed you.

Your senses sharpened, your body reacted greedily to his touch. You tilted your head to deepen the kiss. His fingers slid through your hair, holding your head to him.

It was powerful and passionate. It was as if you both barely had time together. As if all of those wasted moments should be made up now. All of those days you both failed to just love—

His hands now grabbed your waist and hips, pulling you closer to his warmth. He kissed you again and again.

His lips went down to your jawline—following the line with kisses and bites. He kissed your throat as you pushed yourself against him, feeling his hardness.

He growled at the sensation, but he pulled away, holding you by your shoulders as his eyes took you in, panting. Your hands brushed against the back of his neck, holding him there.

“I’m sorry—“ Namjoon said. “I should leave—“

But you pulled him to you and placed your mouth on his. His hands travelled down to your waist once more, then his fingernails dug crescents down to your thighs as he lifted your legs up around his waist.

You did not care that you were in a dark empty street at the middle of the night—you were with Namjoon. Your Namjoon. You wanted to apologise. You wanted to get him back. You should have never let him go.

Namjoon held you against the rough wall, pushing himself to you, aching for contact as your warmth filled you down there.

When you woke up, Namjoon’s arms were not around you.

Your heart thundered as you looked around—desperate to find him within the sheets—

You were not in his room.

You panicked, searching your surroundings in a blurred vision. You were in a—

Hospital.

The beep beside you and the blinding white light that filled the room indicated where you were laying. You squinted against the light, and attempted to lift a hand upwards to cover your eyes, but you were unable to. There were tubes sticking into your hand, which connected to the noisy machine next to you.

You were going in and out of consciousness, unable to register what is happening. It must have been hours and hours that had passed you by, but you could not witness them going by so swiftly. You allowed tranquility to take you over, until you heard someone shuffle into the room—

A tall figure—as tall as Namjoon—entered the room in long, defined strides. He was fast—so fast before he was beside you.

Then his scent and presence filled your lethargic senses. He knelt down before you like in prayer, his hands on you and his head peering over your face and body.

Namjoon, you wanted to say. You wanted to thread your fingers through his hair—you wanted his kisses and love—

A nurse came rushing in after him, calling him and saying that he was not allowed to be there. You heard this in a distant manner—unable to do anything.

You heard Namjoon growl to the nurse: “How is she?”

“Mr. Kim—You did not follow visiting hour procedures—“

“How is she?” He only said with more force as his hand slipped through yours. You tried to bring your head towards him, your eyes only opened slightly.

The nurse hesitated before saying: “It was just a minor car accident.”

What?

What had happened last night?

Were you even with Namjoon?

Did last night even happen?

“She’s already gaining consciousness—“

“Who was the driver?” He gasped out, holding himself together.

“No, the driver—the driver was not intoxicated. She was seen walking around the streets after having a little bit too much to drink in a club.”

You wanted to scream, to cry—

“Please—can you please leave us alone.”

The nurse reluctantly gave in to Namjoon’s grieving face. Soon, you were alone with Namjoon. His warmth seeped into you like a comforting blanket.

“Namjoon,” you mumbled. That was all you were able to say.

“Y/N,” he breathed, shifting closer to you, offering his solidity. You could not comfort his mournful state. “I am so sorry.”

You felt his head lean against your chest, as if he was trying to hear your heartbeat. Even though you have no indication of consciousness, he spoke to you. Just by hearing Namjoon’s voice, and knowing that he is near you, you know that you are safe.

“I should have protected you. I saw you last night—outside of the window. I wanted to run downstairs and just hug and kiss you, but I was still so hurt, Y/N. I was so hurt.”

Your breathing caught as he continues on.

“But I let you go. Then hours later, you met an accident.”

So all of that was an imagined reality of what you wished was true.

It was a lie you convinced yourself to believe as you stumbled in between life and death. You drowned yourself in your tears and alcohol, causing you to live in dreams.

Namjoon’s fingers traced your cheek as his head hovered right above yours. You tried to move your head, tilting it a little bit towards his breath and his voice.

“I loved you more than anyone could ever love someone.”

Then, his body shifted, pulling himself over to you give you one pure kiss.

You wanted to pull him in, to hold his head to yours with your tubed and shaking hands. You wanted to kiss him more deeply, to keep him there forever—

But then it ended. He pulled away, his eyes lined with tears. A teardrop fell from his face to your cheek, his finger caught the running tear as it dropped down your jaw. Namjoon kisses the now empty spot with such undeniable emotion that it made you long for him.

“But I have to leave you.”

What?

No.

“I am going to start...travelling. For business, you know.”

You felt him chuckle a breathy laugh, it lacked a certain amount of amusement.

“Its better that you are unconscious and you won’t know that I came here. Maybe it is better that you and I...that we are no longer together.

“That’s why I left you there last night. Because I knew that I would have to leave you again.”

You wanted to scream no—endless, eternal no—

He stayed there for a couple of moments—deafening moments as if he did not know how to say what he had to tell you next:

“And then...I met this girl.”

Just silence. Endless, endless silence.

“I did not know...how or why, but I liked her. I liked her laughter and her smiles. When my good friend Yoongi saw me staring at her out of nowhere, he knew and understood why.”

Your heart dropped. It was painful to breathe.

“He said that she was like you.”

You could not help your lip from quivering. Was this hell?

“Maybe that’s why—I was still madly in love with you. With your smile and your laugh and just you—I just did not realise why I was going out with this girl until...until I saw you in her.”

“Maybe I will always love you, Y/N. Maybe you would always be the one for me. I would always be searching for partners and people, but then I will always end up realising that the only reason I stick around with them is because they remind me of you.”

“Oh, God, I love you, Y/N.” Namjoon sobbed loudly. His breath was shaky, as if he could not breathe.

“But this is goodbye.”

And so Kim Namjoon left you. First, he robbed his fingers from yours. You wanted your hands to move—to entrap his hand so that he could not leave you. But they slipped away. Then, he stood, stealing away his warmth and any form of comfort and security from the world. Then, he opened your chest raw against the cold and took your heart from where it rested.

And there, and only when you were alone in that cold, unfriendly room did your tears fall down your cheeks. Only after the click of the door did the sobs come crashing brought your body.

Why did you live? Why did life hang on to you so desperately? What is life without him?

And now you found yourself alone once again. Something you guess you deserved.

A fate you know you deserve.

~kinda unfinished, but that’s my professional thing XD~

#namjoon smut #namjoon fanfiction #namjoon fanfic #rm smut #rm fanfic #rm fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #fanfiction #oneshot

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ripuels · 4 years

Text

For @outreotter <3

(Another one that got way out of hand, also I haven’t managed to read over it mine soul is on Jupiter locked in a fridge sorry. Posting it as text under the cut because tumblr remains awful about my ask box~)

“If you're in some kind of trouble, you can tell me.” Christopher doesn't steer far from her hip as he welcomes her into the lounge room and she falls into the couch.

“What makes you think I'm in trouble?”

The responding look is one of disbelief, he hardly has to be reminded who he's talking to.

“Okay, okay sure. I'm avoiding someone, and your- the door wasn't locked, and I thought-” Amanda sees the incredulous synthetic stand opposite, arms folding across his chest, “oh my God, this was such a bad idea. I'm just- yeah, I'm gonna go.”

“Wait!” Samuels catches her with urgency, she freezes at the edge of the couch. “Stay, for a tea? I haven't seen you in a year, it's been odd to say the least, and concerning- the radio silence after all we've been through, and suddenly you're in my hallway, I- it would be nice, to catch up.”

She sits back down, nodding slowly. “Tea never hurt anyone. But just tea, then I gotta get back to work.”

“Amy- Ripley,” he corrects himself as she flinches to a microscopic degree, “it's Sunday.”

She knows what he's getting at, calling her out on any reason to leave in a hurry. “Is it?” Her voice drags with a heavy sarcasm even Christopher couldn't miss. “I had no idea. Mostly because I've been working non-stop for about five weeks. Fucking staff cuts left us with half the crew and double the work, and I can't even complain because I'm one of the fortunate ones who still has a job. And-”

Samuels watches as she sinks comfortably into the couch pillows, ankle crossed over the other knee. It's funny that such a simple movement reminds him how flexible she is, especially her hips.

“Sorry,” she groans and scrubs at her eyes, “that's exactly what I'm doing right now isn't it?”

“It’s quite alright. I'm interested and happy to listen.”

“It’s just, my whole crew was made up of contractors, once their time was up, they didn't want to bother renewing and The Company saw the opportunity to save some dollars.” Amanda huffs, “fuck all the rest of us I guess.”

Samuels nods compassionately, pacing over to the kitchen to put the kettle on, leaning over his elbows on the bench. It's amazing how unique this synthetic has developed compared to all the others, since the breakup she had never struggled to speak to other Samuels units, though identical, she never saw his face in them. But him, Christopher, he could be standing amongst a hundred others and he'd be the sole blip on her radar.

“You're obviously not easily replaced,” he means it in more ways than one, “maybe take it higher to HR, they could always steer you in the right direction. I’d be happy to help, if you needed anything from Legal-?”

Ripley smiles, pulling her hair over her shoulder and sliding her forearm behind her head. “Any excuse, you haven't changed a bit,” she laughs, definitely joking though not far wrong, “but I don't want to bug you for help. You've done enough for me after everything, and I already owe more than I could pay you back in years.”

“We had years,” Christopher says simply, fondly, an ease in his voice that Amanda can't tell is reminiscing or final. Or which one she would prefer it to be. “And they were good years. Consider your debt paid. However nonexistent it is.”

She gently scratches her fingertips in the hair behind her ear, letting out a resigned sigh as he prepares a few mugs.

“How long have you been back?”

“Two months.” She says with a hard stare. He doesn’t look upset or surprised by the fact that she hadn’t called around to visit, but curious. “I moved in with- with someone, in the hab units, y’know the permanent accommodation ones? By the bay. Nice view, but really quiet.” By that, she means lonely. “Figure I may as well set myself up if I’m going to be around for a while.”

“Oh, I see. Have you…” He starts, taking a moment to compose himself a little better, stripping the desperation out of his voice. “Have you found someone? Human?” He adds a little unnecessarily.

After him? Hell no, she thinks. She had her shot at love, at life, at everything, and she blew it. What the fuck would she even do with a new lover but silently wish they were someone else? Someone in particular.

“No, God no. I've just, been around.” She says nonchalantly, which isn't a total lie. A few dates, made a few more friends, he always said she needed more of them.

“Anyone right now?”

Amanda doesn't mean to laugh, a little sadly, looking directly at him. “Always.”

“Oh.”

The synthetic doesn't seem surprised by the revelation, in fact, he doesn't look anything.

“Dammit, Chris. Have you turned your emotional programming off again?” Amanda knows him, and knows he is smarter than to lie to her, so he stays quiet. “You're getting worryingly good at faking it. Even convinced me for a while there. Why the hell?”

Samuels tugs his tie loose with a finger, a movement usually telling of his synthetic measure of anxiety. This time however, it looks more habitual. His face is icy, unbothered, his eyes relaxed under a numb brow. “I found it easier to function.” To cope. “How did you know?”

Ripley gets up and wanders to the other side of the bench, hands wringing at the edge of it. “Because this isn't you, Samuels. Even before you met me you were emotional, sentimental, and now you're just- just like all the others. But worse actually, because you're choosing to be.”

As if she hadn't spoken at all, he finds another subject. One he would experience an immeasurable amount of panic over had he been able to feel anything at all. “Did you ever find any more answers?” His controlled hand pours boiling water into two mugs. “To the whereabouts of Ellen?”

“No, and turns out I didn't want them anyway.” Amanda doesn't need to try to sound convincing. “It's a huge universe out there and I could look for my entire life, waste- my entire life, and not even get a net to the bottom. I'm finished. It's what she would have wanted, I think.”

“I believe you're right. It's what we all wanted for you. To find some peace.”

“Closure.” She smiles weakly and he nods. “I’m getting there. One step at a time. First things first, I still gotta settle into my new joint. Make it, I don’t know, comfortable. Like this place.”

“You're always welcome to stay here. It is half your house too.” Christopher stops himself from saying home, something it hasn't been in over twelve months. “There is a spare room or two.”

“I couldn't intrude like that. You probably have a whole social group, a girlfriend, boyfriend, both, who knows. Feels wrong to kick your door down so suddenly,” she says, a little downhearted. The synthetic opens his mouth to assure her he absolutely doesn't, but she trudges onward. “Thanks though, Chris. I’ll keep it in mind.”

He resigns to nod, knowing first hand that corralling this woman never ended well in the past. “Offer isn't retractable, not that you won't let yourself in anyway. Clearly.”

Amanda takes her tea with a thankful smile, leaning on her elbows. The man across mirroring her. “Hey, yeah.” She rests the rim of the mug to her chin. “Why was the door unlocked?”

“It’s silly, really.” He finally looks away, perhaps considering dishonesty. “I haven't locked it since you left, since I didn't know if you still had a key or not. I'm not sure what possesses me to do it, but I thought of this place as a safe haven of sorts, for if you ever need.” He finds himself looking into the face of a woman who knows her soul is being x-rayed. “Good thing too, came in as a handy sanctuary, from mysterious pursuers.”

At this she rolls her eyes. “Okay, you got me. There wasn't actually anyone, I just wanted to drop in but something came over me. It was as if-” she takes a sip and shrugs, “it was just dumb.”

“As if what?”

“As if- I was coming home I guess. I was just going to knock but before I knew it, I was standing in the hallway, and then you were there and, yeah, I panicked.” She finds herself smiling along with him. “You should turn it back on, by the way. Your feelings. It's not fair that I'm here all shaky knees and racing heart and you're just a slab of limestone.”

His face falls. “I don't think that's a very good idea.”

“Why? What's wrong?”

Samuels straightens off the bench. “It just isn't.”

Amanda doesn't push. “Y'know, if you need someone to talk to, support, I'm here. I might not have always been but, I am now.”

He thinks for a moment, remembering the times when his ex-lover would break down between his legs in the bath, against the wall of the hallway, when he came home to her tiny frame hunkered behind the couch, terrified, knife in her defensive hand and sweat beading on her forehead. She'd always let him be there, let him in, and he never allowed her the slightest room for guilt.

It had been months since Samuels felt anything, since he became lost in processing grief, regret, anxiety. Why would she leave? How could she? Would she ever come back? But above all, could she ever come back? He knew Amanda would follow the trail until the end, whether it be of the line, or her life.

If he were to tune into all of that now, should the dam crumble, he doesn't think she should be around to see it. But if she leaves, it may be for good, truly, this chance as fleeting as her.

“Amanda, I- I would, but I haven't- not in a long time. I have reason to err on the side of caution, that it may not be something you want to witness.” Samuels' report is composed, even as he fidgets with the mug handle. “I have no clue what to expect, but suspect it will not be pleasant.”

“Keeping shit bottled up is only going to break you. I’m not going to push, but let me help you, if you need. Anything. No expiry date.”

Samuels rubs his hair back, disturbing the perfect form that somehow always defied not only the weather, but her playful tussling. He seems defeated by the fact that he has nothing to lose. “Could I-” he starts, placing his drink down, “Could I just trouble you for a hug?”

Amanda recoils, she doesn't know why her reaction is of surprise, not until she remembers where they stand. Square one. Or perhaps more accurately, not even on the same tile at all. “Yeah, course you can.”

She takes the initiative to wander over and feed her hands under his arms, dragging them together tightly around his chest. Without hesitation he takes her around the shoulders.

He hasn't changed a bit, still warmer than he should be, still wearing the same deliciously oaky cologne she brought a few Christmases ago. The one he wore because he was convinced he smelled of chemicals. Like new silicone baking trays. Amongst other things. And he still holds her as if she is vanishing before his very eyes.

Now more than ever, she thinks. Even at her scariest, most dire moments, when his hand was the only thing holding her to the face of the Earth, he never squeezed so desperately.

“Samuels,” she whispers, turning her face from his shoulder to nestle into the crook of his neck. His grip eases as if foreseeing the 'you're hurting me' or 'that's enough now' coming. “When was the last time you had a rest cycle?”

“Since the morning.”

“You sleeping every day now?” Amanda steps back hesitantly, her thumbs rubbing his forearms.

“No,” he clarifies. “The morning I woke up and you were gone.”

Her heart gives a punishing ache, but presented with the opportunity to make things right, she wasn’t going to screw it up again. “’Kaye. C’mon. Bed with you. Now.”

“I'd rather be here. You're due to go to work soon and I haven’t seen you in-”

“Fuck work. You need me. You need somebody.” She wriggles up behind him shoves his waist forward. “Rest cycle for you, then if you want, I'll duck out and pick up some dinner. Maybe Italian and a bottle of wine, and if you're really lucky, or the wine is good, I'll stay the night. But only if you’re prepared to turn everything back on over dinner and we talk about this. Properly.”

“Wait, you'll truly stay?”

She nods her head as he peers over his shoulder. “Couch or spare room. Or would you prefer I went home? Just figured, you might want the company.”

“No! No, of course I do. Please.” He's not even able to change out of his work suit before he's pushed roughly on the bed, the throw rug at the base is dragged up to his chin. Amanda at least unfastens a few buttons of his shirt and unhooks his tie. “What will you be doing while I rest? It'll take-” he seems to calculate, discomfort and disappointment falling over him, “four hours, twenty-five minutes.”

Ripley flops down the the bedside chair, pulling out her phone. “I'll just be here, for when you come to.”

“Alright.” Christopher hums, rolling onto his side, his eyes fluttering closed. Looking as close to a dead battery as she had ever seen him, though physically at full charge. “Before I- I am out, I want you to know, I’m so happy to see you, Amanda.”

“Happy.” She teases gently. “And how can you tell without-?”

“They’re already back online.”

#i may or may not have fallen asleep on my keybort during this #pls tell me if there is just a huge patch in the middle of ggggggggggggg forrever #thank you

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trashboatprince · 5 years

Text

I was talking with @pipesflowforeverandever about Gingie and SINdy being friends (and Gingie has been upgraded to adopted grandpa!), and then an angst-based idea came to mind.

Here is it.

Contains mentions of death, rituals, and spoilers for SINdy’s backstory.

SINdy the Wandering Demon and Confessional the Sin Eater are my boys, Joey ‘Gingie’ Drew belongs to pipesflowforeverandever

It was always the same nightmare, always the same horrors that SINdy could never completely remember when he wakes up, but he could always feel the phantom sensations of pain in his throat and arms. He had none of these things, but it always felt like it.

He woke up, sniffling, looking around the small office of Sammy Lawrence. He couldn’t see the musician in the room, he was probably in his sanctuary, or wandering the halls, having one of his ‘episodes’, as Sammy called them.

SINdy wiped at the ink that was dripping down his face more and more. He wanted comfort, he was scared, he... he didn’t like how dark and cramped the room was...

like the trunk of that car

He shook his head and stood up, facing a blank wall. It really hurt to do this, but he was too panicked to look for the correct ink portal. Pressing his fingers to the wall, he started to ‘tear’ at it, pulling apart an inky, bright hole, before it became big enough for him to slip through. He saw a familiar living room, one the little demon had visited many of times, and he threw himself in.

He slammed into the ground, silently gasping, feeling his second mouth open at the stress that was building up. SINdy heard a noise from another room, running to it. In the kitchen, he found a confused Joey Drew, startled at the unexpected visit. Usually the little cardboard devil gave a warning, but Joey didn’t mind his friend dropping by any time.

Before he could give SINdy a greeting, he saw the scared, panicked look on his face. “SINdy, are you alright? What’s the matter?”

SINdy pulled his sign from his hammerspace, the inky text appearing quickly. *I’m sorry! I-I had a really bad nightmare and I couldn’t find Dad and I didn’t want to be alone and I panicked and thought of your home and came here-!*

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Joey held up a hand and knelt down, “you had a nightmare and couldn’t find Sammy? Do you know where he went?”

SINdy shook his head.

“I see. Well, you can stay here until you feel better, nightmares are a terrible thing, can’t have them ruining the rest of your sleep.”

*I don’t wanna go back to sleep!* The sign read and SINdy shrunk back, the ink from his eyes leaking more than normal. *I don’t want to go back to the scary place again, I don’t...*

want to feel the thing against my neck again

Joey sighed, the poor boy was normally so lively, it was nearly unnatural to see him so upset when he was over. “Well, let’s go take a seat, yes? Then you can talk to me about this nightmare, that usually helps.”

SINdy looked unsure, but he took the hand that Joey offered, being led to the living room where Joey took a seat on a chair, the little toon climbing up to sit on his lap. “Now,” Joey started, “tell me what happened to have you so upset. Do you remember?”

*I can never remember everything* SINdy replied. *But I always wake up scared and in pain and really wanting my dad.* He sniffed and rubbed at his eye before hissing in pain, clutching at his chest.

This startled the redhead, asking what was wrong. He watched as SINdy moved his hand away, showing red on his gloves. His little heart was dripping, and it wasn’t ink. *He... he wants to talk to you* The sign read.

“Who wants to talk to me? SINdy?” Joey asked before watching in shock as SINdy suddenly plunged his hand right into his chest and yanked his own heart out. The red thing was moving, beating as SINdy practically melted on the man, leaving his speechless, if not frightened. This has never happened before!

But just as quickly as SINdy had turned into a puddle of black and yellow ink, it suddenly shifted, removing itself completely from Joey’s person to take shape before him. It flowed into the shape of a cape, closed around a thin, tall form, though it seemed to spread on the floor like a puddle of ink.

The hand that held the heart, still intact, floated upwards, becoming clawed, with a massive hole forming where the buttons on the back should be. Another hand formed out of thin hair.

A single, golden eye stared from the neck of the cape, before something seemed to float above it, where it came from Joey did not know. It was round, horned, and wearing a mask on it’s head, showing SINdy’s face. Two, glowing lights peeked from the ink that soaked the thing’s face, before a mouth of snarled fangs appeared, then moved.

“I wish to speak with you, Mr. Drew.” The creature spoke.

Joey was still, he knew who this was, SINdy had drawn a picture of this creature before. This was the demon that somehow lived inside of him, a demon within another demon’s soul. Confessional, the Sin Eater.

“A-About what?” Joey asked, finding his voice once more.

“My host’s dream, the one that has been plaguing his poor mind for so long now.” Reaching down, Confessional lifted up SINdy’s sign. “Allow me to tell you a little story, about a lost boy who became even more lost.”

The ink on the sign, which had turned into splatters when SINdy melted, shifted, becoming images. There was a drawing of a child, who appeared to be smiling, waving.

“Once upon a time, there was a little boy who wanted to be a musician.” The illustration shifted, showing the boy playing a piano. “He had a loving father who cared deeply about him.”

Another figure showed up on the drawing, a man with long hair in a ponytail.

“They were the only family they had and they made sure to look out for one another. Then one day, something happened.”

The father suddenly moved out of the image and the boy was alone, looking sad. He then seemed to walk away, before a strange thing, made of moving scribbles, appeared behind the boy and grabbed him.

“The little boy was lonely, his father had to go to work after hours and the boy wanted to go outside and play. But he shouldn’t have done that, because a monster found him.”

The ‘monster’ held the boy and pulled his arms into it’s body. The boy pulled away and his arms were covered in scribbles and he started crying.

“The monster hurt the child, that went against what it wanted, and people could hear the crying. So the monster decided to stop that.”

The ‘monster’ moved a hand over the boy’s neck and a line formed, before it burst into more scribbles. The ink then turned back into splatters.

“The father was upset, he was desperate, his child had been ‘harmed’,” Confessional snarled, “and he had a friend help him in ‘fixing’ the boy, as if nothing had ever happened.”

“Confessional...” Joey started, he didn’t like where this was going, but he was silenced by a raced finger to his face.

“I don’t get to tell this story often and I need to vent, I hate holding onto it.” The demon replied and Joey nodded, letting him continue. He told the man that the father and the friend had read a book that said it could fix everything, they just needed to make a deal.

And a deal they made, with a being from another place, who hadn’t wanted to make the deal at first. The being didn’t want to mess with children, until he met the child himself.

He saw the pain and fear on that poor thing’s soul, the confusion and hurt, the anguish. He decided to make the deal, to protect the child.

But as the deal was being made, with a special ceremony, another monster appeared.

The splotched on the sign turned into a realistic skull, nothing like the kiddy drawings from before, coated in wet ink, with horns growing from the top.

“The monster didn’t like what was happening, it wanted something from the father and friend, and this child and being were in the way.”

Confessional stopped, seeming to be upset, or choosing his words carefully.

“The child... was ‘fixed’, but not in a way anyone expected. And the being swore to protect him, even if the child feared him or never knew him, or never realized the truth of what happened with either monster.”

Joey was quiet as he mulled this over before sighing, closing his eyes. “I don’t like this story, but I... think I get what you mean by it. Does SINdy know this story?”

“I dare not tell him. He’d be so upset.”

“I don’t blame you. Well, the best we can do is help him, yes? Just... comfort him after that nightmare? Of whatever it was?” Joey had a feeling he knew what it was, but he felt that saying anything about it to SINdy would make this all worst that it already was.

“It’s for the best. I’ll let you take care of him for now. I need to think, and he need to sleep. He’s still restless in here.” He held up the heart that was still beating, but it wasn’t bleeding. Joey watched as Confessional slipped it into the void of his cloak, watching as it seemed to fade, but the more it faded, the clearer a figure under the cloak appeared.

SINdy was standing there, his head still dripping, but not as bad, he looked so tired as he walked back up to Joey, being helped back onto his lap. *I’m tired, Grandpa...* The sign on the floor read. *Can you tell me a story? Please?*

“Of course.” Joey smiled, holding the demon close, beginning to tell him a tale as SINdy listened, though he started to drift and drift before finally falling asleep.

Joey continued to talk, continued to tell the story, long after SINdy had already went to dream land. If it was for the boy’s comfort or his own, he didn’t know, he just needed a distraction from Confessional’s story.

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #SINdy the wandering demon #joey drew #gingie drew #john's drabbles #wandering is a terrible sin

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neganandblake · 6 years

Text

I think I liked you better when you didn’t have a knife in your hand, Peaches... Chapter 159 - Go

When Blake finds herself sold out to the Saviours by her abusive fiancé, she realises that she’s certainly not on her own anymore and finds an unlikely friend in Negan. And Negan does NOT like men who beat their girlfriends, one tiny bit…

MASTERLIST

Chapter 159 - Go

[Blake takes pleads with Tara to leave, but will her friend have one last confession for her before she goes?]

The night's sky was inky and black, and despite it almost being 4am, there was no sign of the sun rearing its head any time soon. Fall was certainly upon them now.

It was quiet here, on the North side of the Sanctuary, far away now from the commotion,and this area was empty save for a few lone Saviours patrolling the lots beyond.

But making to head out of the door and into the dark night, Blake felt a sudden tug on her hand.

She stopped in her tracks, wiping tears from her eyes and giving a swift gulp before turning around to face Tara who was staring back at her, a look of sadness etched across her features.

"Blake…" she said mumbling out the words. "What you did back there…" The dark-haired woman's eyes were sad and imploring. "Thank you…"

Blake stared back at her, a hurt coursing through her as she thought of just what she had sacrificed for ensuring that her friend left the Sanctuary in one piece.

But the blonde woman was stubborn and tired of death and blood. All she wanted now was a life away from it all. Away from the blackness and the loss that came with this life these days. And if Negan was willing give up her and Mia, and everything it had seemed like for a time he had loved, then so be it.

But that fact alone killed Blake to think about...especially after all they had been through together. But she had seen the look in his eyes, the willingness to sacrifice all of that just for payback and revenge.

Blake shook her head, chewing on her bottom lip, dragging her eyes away for fear of bursting into tears again.

"I-It's fine. L-Let's just get you out of here…" she muttered in reply, pulling Tara through the door and out into the lot before her dark-haired friend could speak again.

If truth be told Blake just wanted her gone. The sooner that happened, the sooner Blake could rest easy.

The two lieutenants on watch, turned her way almost immediately, one of them stepping forward, perhaps not recognising her at first, guns raised and pointing at Tara, the traitor, knowing she didn't belong here. But the second man held and arm out, lowering the first's gun.

They both knew of course there would be no punishment more severe than for the person responsible for hurting Blake in any way. So they held off, earning themselves a grateful nod from Blake her way of telling them, she had negan's permission for this. Despite that fact not being one hundred percent true of course.

And so they held back nodding back at her reverently as she dragged Tara past the chain-link fences and to the outer perimeter, where a shorter fence stood with a small gate set into it was chained up with a padlock. But Blake, privy to almost every hidden piece of information here at the Sanctuary knew was always left unlocked in case of emergencies. The perks of being just that close to Negan coming in handy.

Blake stopped finally at said-gate, snatching the padlock swiftly away.

"You'd better take the south road out of here if you want to avoid anyone from here coming after you…" she mumbled.

But a sudden gentle hand to her face caused her to turn and look up at Tara who was staring back at her imploringly.

"Blake….you didn't have to do any of this...not for me…" she said with tears flooding from her eyes. "I came here to see you...to make sure YOU were ok-"

"And you did," said Blake, feeling her own tears welling once more in the corners of her eyes as she stared back at her friend.

But Tara shook her head, sounding mortally upset. "No, no I didn't….and you weren't ok…" she sobbed now. "You lost your baby...and I had no idea….t-they had no idea…if they had..."

But Blake gave a frown now, wiping at her eyes with the hand clutching the padlock as she stared up at Tara once more in confusion.

"W-Wh...What do you mean they?" she asked, her voice all of a sudden going very quiet.

But Tara just stared back at Blake, her eyes big and round.

"I'm just so sorry…." she said giving a deep sniff or two. "What you went through with David and now this. I should have been there for you. I should have been there, Blake!"

And with that, Tara grabbed the blonde woman around the neck and pulled her into a tight hug, encapsulating her in her arms.

Blake closed her eyes at the warmth and love emanating from Tara at the this very second. Only wishing that things were different. That life was different. Wondering that maybe someday whether things would change... Whether them being friends, being able to see each other to catch up and hug and spend time together, would ever happen? But with tensions between Negan and Rick the way they were, Blake's very much doubted that.

"Don't be sorry…" she murmured back with another sniff, pulling back from Tara and placing both hands to her cheeks, staring into her tearful eyes imploringly. "It wasn't your fault. But...Tara... y-you need to go. If you wait any longer...I-I just don't want any of them to change their minds…"

Blake's mind flitted back, to not only Negan now, but Simon too.

She had seen the looks of determination in them, both obsessed with punishment and rule.

Had it always been this way? For maybe Blake had just never seen this side of Negan. Never been privy to the heavy toll of his regime...the torture...the murder...or maybe she had just been blind to it.

For wasnt that how she had gotten here? She had killed her own fiance out in this very lot. Beat him and shoved him out of this fence to be torn apart from walkers. Maybe she was as bad as Negan was...as the Saviours were?

But no more. For Blake was tired of all of it now.

Losing her baby had shown her that some things were not worth the death and destruction.

For being set on revenge and payback left a bitter taste in the mouth. And killing people would do nothing to bring back the child they had lost. Not now, not ever.

All it would serve to do, was leave them with nightmarish images that they would never be able to shake. Blake knew that first hand... and knew it needed to end.

Turning, Blake gave the gate beside them a shove, holding it open for Tara to go through.

But the dark-haired woman made no move to do so, tears slipping from her cheeks and landing on the lapels of her hooded jacket. "I-I can't just leave you…" she said with another shake of her head.

But Blake pursed her lips tightly together.

"Tara, I was happy here…" said Blake speaking very suddenly. "I love Negan. And I know he can seem like a monster to anyone on the outside, but he saved me. He let me grow and gave me more than anyone else ever could."

Her words were honest as her tears matched Tara 's. That was the truth, she di love him. Although she didn't want to admit to her friend that things said back there may have changed their relationship for the worse...For she knew that if she did, then Tara would refuse to leave and risk her life to get Blake out of this place. And that couldn't happen, it just couldn't.

"No matter what happens now...I-I can't go with you back to Alexandria...I just can't," Blake said honestly, toying with lock in her hands. "That's not my home anymore, please understand that."

And it was an long, long moment before Tara finally nodded, but her tears had stopped now and she was staring at Blake with a look of utter concern etched upon her every feature.

"I get it….I do….but, Blake, you've got to promise me you'll be careful…"

Blake shook her blonde head.

"Don't worry, Negan would never-"

But Tara interrupted her, clutching hold of Blake's forearm suddenly.

"I dont mean Negan…" she said quickly, her voice hushed as a hard gulp slid its way down her throat.

Suddenly it was as though the entire world had gone quiet.

"What do you m-"

But Tara spoke again before the blonde could say another word, squeezing her arm tightly.

"They're coming, Blake, theyre coming. A-And when they do, t-this time they won't miss…" said the dark-haired woman in a trembling voice, opening her mouth to speak again.

But before she could say anything more, the door to the lot behind them swung open, with a clang and out stepped Negan, his eyes hard and set finding the two woman immediately at the far end of the lots.

And with a backward glance of worry that the leader of the Saviours had changed his mind, Blake gave Tara a hurried shove, knowing that they had run out of time.

And despite how desperate she was to find out who on earth her friend was talking about... WHO was responsible for shooting her in the first pace, she knew this was now or never, and Tara needed to get out of here.

"Go, Tara, please, you need to go!"

And with that, her friend hurried through the gate as Blake padlocked it behind her quickly.

And with tears in both of their eyes Tara's eyes met with Blake's one last time, their fingers meeting through the rungs of the fence.

"Go…" Blake murmured out desperately.

And to her utter relief, her old friend did as she was told, hurrying away and heading off into the treeline beyond, disappearing out of sight…

...leaving Blake wondering when the next time she would see her would be...but after her ominous confession, if she ever got to see her at all…

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged.

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mostthingskenobi · 7 years

Text

JEDI NIGHTMARES

SUMMARY: It's been about 3 months since Qui-Gon was killed. Obi-Wan is struggling with nightmares, desperately missing his Master, while Anakin is trying to conquer his own fear. An emotional, fluffy piece where Kenobi wakes in the middle of the night and hears his Padawan having a bad dream in the other room. Obi-Wan battles his emotions while helping Anakin navigate his own. Lots of fluff, angst, and love.

Jedi Temple

Obi-Wan was having a nightmare. He was screaming on the edge of a black precipice, looking down into a swirling storm. Qui-Gon had fallen down into the chaos and Obi-Wan knew there was no way for him to get his master back, no way to reach into the abyss and rescue him.

He thrashed awake, sobbing, his eyes wet with tears. He sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, his hands over his face while he held his breath, not wanting his crying to wake Anakin in the next room. He reflected on the depth of his grief, how desperately he missed Qui-Gon, how there was a dark empty place where his master’s Force signature used to be, how there was an empty place in the room that Qui-Gon’s large form used to fill. Nothing could have prepared Obi-Wan for the loss. There was no preparation, no warning; Qui-Gon was just gone. Obi-Wan meditated often trying to release his grief, but it would sneak up on him, ever present in the back of his mind, rising to the surface most especially when he was asleep.

Obi-Wan was overwhelmed by the questions his master would never be able to answer. If only he had fought better, cleaner, Qui-Gon may not have tired or let his guard down. Why were his last words only of Anakin? Didn’t Obi-Wan mean anything to him? Was his master dissatisfied with him? Is that why he was ready to push him aside for Anakin? How was he supposed to train The Chosen One when he was so consumed with sadness? He felt unworthy to be a Jedi much less to train a potential vergence.

Obi-Wan was unable to get his emotions under control. He sat in the dark while tears streamed down his cheeks. After a moment, he heard a sound from Anakin’s room. The boy cried out for his mother, then for Master Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan pushed up and walked into his Padawan’s bedroom. He knelt down next to Anakin’s bed and watched the little boy squirming in his sleep, sweaty and crying. Obi-Wan roughly wiped the tears from his own eyes and internally berated himself. He suddenly realized that this little boy was too young to carry demons, that Obi-Wan should be doing more to help him control his fears. Kenobi was also struck by the realization that Anakin must be picking up on Obi-Wan’s nightmares through their bond.

His heart melted with regret and empathy. He reached out and placed a hand on Anakin’s back, bowing his head and closing his eyes. Using the Force Obi-Wan soothed the boy, taking hold of Anakin’s fear and replacing it with calm, quiet gentleness. He absorbed Anakin’s spikey, thrashing emotions, kicking up another wave of grief in the older Jedi. Obi-Wan quickly left the room to let the boy sleep, carrying both their agony in his heart.

He pushed open the window in the living room letting the cold night air in. He stood, stony-eyed while tears continued down his cheeks. All he wanted was for Qui-Gon to walk through the door.

“Master?” Anakin was sniffling in the doorway.

Obi-Wan only half turned to him, not wanting his Padawan to see him crying. He did not want to add to Anakin’s fears. He knew he needed to be stable and steady in order for Anakin to grow up safe and confident. “What is it, Padawan?” he asked gently, once he was certain his voice was under control.

“I had a bad dream…” Anakin was trying to be brave but was obviously upset.

“What did you dream?”

“About my mother and Master Qui-Gon. I lost them and I couldn’t find them anywhere.”

Obi-Wan nodded and looked back out the window.

Anakin came and stood next to him. The boy looked up at Obi-Wan’s face in the dark. “I climbed up on a high cliff to try and see them, but when I got to the top there was nothing but darkness. I was afraid I would slip and fall over the edge. The darkness seemed to go on forever and ever…” Anakin’s chest began to heave again as he tried to suppress another sob.

Obi-Wan was moved by how similar their dreams were. He reached down and took Anakin’s hand in his. He wanted to do more but he was struggling to control himself; Anakin had walked in on his most vulnerable moment. He could feel Anakin’s small hand shaking inside his large one. “It was only a dream, young one.”

“It felt so real…”

Obi-Wan felt his Padawan’s tears rain down on their intertwined fingers. Finally he looked down at the boy and saw the small blonde head bent forward as he cried. Obi-Wan immediately scooped Anakin up into his arms and held him tightly. The boy wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and rested his cheek on his master’s shoulder.

Kenobi finally understood that Anakin needed him, he needed structure and Obi-Wan needed to do better for the sake of this little innocent life. And he realized that he needed Anakin. The boy was all he had left now. Wishing Qui-Gon was alive would not bring him back. He only had one direction to live – forward. He must move forward.

“It’s alright, Padawan. I know you’re afraid.” His voice broke a little. “But when you’re feeling this way, I want you to slow down and think only about the moment you’re in. Try it with me now.” Anakin’s arms tightened around Obi-Wan’s neck. “Think only of this room. Think about how you and I are standing here together.” He felt Anakin’s sobs calm, felt him take a deep breath. “We’re in our home. There is no danger. We are safe right here and now.” Tears silently fell from Kenobi’s lashes as he tried to find comfort in his own words. “There is no sickness. There is no anger. There is just you and me.” Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut and rested his forehead against the little boy’s hair. He felt Qui-Gon slip away, as though he finally accepted that he had to let him go.

Anakin was perceptive. He pushed back and saw his master crying. “Master, are you alright?”

Obi-Wan looked right in his Padawan’s eyes. “I will not lie to you, Anakin. My heart… is broken.”

“Because of Master Qui-Gon?”

“Yes. I miss him very much.”

Anakin placed his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “You had to watch him die.”

“Yes.” It came out in a whisper.

“I think my heart would break if I had to watch you die, Master.”

Obi-Wan’s chest heaved. “I hope that will never happen, Anakin.”

Anakin reached out and wiped Obi-Wan’s tears away with his little hand. It was the beginning of Kenobi’s healing. He had been looking in all the wrong places for relief. He was grateful to finally see that Anakin was the companion he needed. The Force had brought them together just as it had brought him and Qui-Gon together.

“You are safe with me, Padawan. I will do my best to care for you. I’m sorry that you’ve been having nightmares. I will teach you how to control your fear. You’re afraid for your mother, aren’t you?”

Anakin nodded, worry returning to his eyes.

“Do you think of her everyday?”

“Yes.”

“Every night before you fall asleep?”

“Yes.”

“Do you always feel afraid when you think of her?”

Anakin sniffed. “Almost always. I’m just afraid she’s lonely without me and that Watto is being mean to her.”

“There is no way to trick your mind into believing what your heart does not think is true. You would be foolish to pretend your mother is safe just as I would be foolish to tell myself Qui-Gon should still be alive. Telling ourselves lies is only going to do us a disservice. We will be living in a fantasy world. As Jedi, our job is to help people and bring peace. If our minds are lost in confusion, we cannot do our jobs.”

Anakin nodded. “I understand that. But I’m afraid of not thinking of her. I don’t want to forget her. I don’t want to pretend like she doesn’t exist just so I stop worrying about her.”

Obi-Wan was astounded by the depth of his Padawan’s emotional maturity. “That is very wise. I too have no wish to forget my master, but I cannot go on feeling this kind of pain. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes.”

“Together, we will learn to face our grief, and together we will honor our loved ones by using the Force to bring goodness to the galaxy.”

Anakin hugged Obi-Wan fiercely. “But you promise I don’t have to forget her?”

Obi-Wan pressed his cheek to the top of Anakin’s head. “I promise, Padawan.”

Eventually, Obi-Wan told Anakin to go back to bed. The boy turned and suddenly stopped in his tracks staring at the door to his bedroom. Kenobi saw a shiver run through Anakin. “Can I sleep with you, Master? Just for tonight?” he asked quietly.

Obi-Wan was fighting his own fear of being alone. “Yes, just for tonight.”

Anakin jumped into Obi-Wan’s bed and nestled down under the blankets. Obi-Wan sat across the narrow cot, his back against the wall, his legs crossed in front of him. Anakin snuggled up against him, tucking himself along his master’s side. He fell asleep quickly as Obi-Wan stroked his hair. Obi-Wan stayed that way all night, gently dozing, watching over the boy, calming him anytime he showed signs of fitful sleep.

READ IT ON AO3 - Kudos and comments welcome :-)

CHECK OUT SOME OF MY OTHER WORK

A Jedi’s Resolve Summary: Obi-Wan and Satine finally have a moment alone. Will he stand by his Jedi Code, or will she force his resolve to crack? Takes place during Season 2 of The Clone Wars after episode 14, “Duchess of Mandalore.”

The Secret Duke of Mandalore Summary: Obi-Wan is struggling to put the horrors of the Kadavo slave facility behind him. Desperately needing sanctuary, he makes his way to Mandalore. He and the Duchess Satine wander through the palace gardens, but Obi-Wan is not able to hide his anxieties from her. Will Satine be able to help Obi-Wan or will his emotions get the better of him?

Wounded Jedi Summary: When Obi-Wan is gravely injured during a botched rescue operation, he turns to Mandalore for sanctuary. Reunited with Satine after months of separation, the Jedi and his Duchess find it difficult to resist their desires. A bit of blood and violence, some merciless flirting, and some classy smut.

The Dark Side of Obi-Wan Kenobi - Part 1 Summary: What would it take for Obi-Wan Kenobi to lose faith in the Jedi Code? Darth Maul and some other baddies are eager to find out. An AU where Obi-Wan does not escape Mandalore after Satine’s death. Darth Maul makes good on his threat and imprisons Kenobi in the Sundari prison. Will our handsome ginger-bearded Jedi Master survive or will Maul exact perfect revenge?

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100lbsofsalt · 7 years

Text

Hello yes I literally cannot sleep right now because I’m upset as hell, why am I upset? Because Erik fucking deserved better.

“Ah but he’s a serial killer that lied to and manipulated a young girl” yes, this is technically true, but sit the fuck down, buckle up, and let me rant.

Now, of course all of this varies from movie to play to book but for the sake of my argument we’re gonna go with my unpopular opinion fave i.e. the 2004 adaptation of the movie (which will likely be where a lot of people will have seen it so SHUSH).

Now, the movie boops around in time a lot but for arguments sake we’re gonna follow Erik’s life chronologically.

Let’s start off with we little bb Erik, shall we? Now, a lot of his history is only hinted at, and I’m going to try to keep my own headcanons out of this as much as I can manage, but how about how his own mother couldn’t bear to look at him.

“A face which earned a mother’s fear and loathing, a Mask, my first unfeeling scrap of clothing”

Would it be wrong to assume that that means that even before momma Destler changes her infant son’s diaper she has to cover his face because she’s too disgusted to look at him. Or how about the fact it’s likely he came from an impoverished family (let’s be real those weren’t the best of times okay it’s a safe assumption he wasn’t a one percenter), and he likely didn’t have any real clothes (ahem, his burlap sack pants in the Gypsy scene?) but his mother hated his face so much she was willing to buy him a mask just to cover it? And how did he wind up with the gypsies in the first place, hmmmmm???

The movie really doesn’t say that so we’re gonna leave you to figure that out, NO HEADCANONS FROM ME TODAY FRIEND (I have so many. About this whole movie. Please come talk to me I’m very lonely.)

Now, onto the gypsy’s themselves. Can we just. Erik was what, seven? Eight? In that scene? Maybe younger? And they were brutally beating him while hundreds (Thousands, it’s not like this is the only show he’s been used as an attraction at) of people laughed at his pain. I mean. Is it hard to see why he has such a fucked up sense of morality when he spent his childhood seeing all those people laugh at his agony. And the MONKEY TOY I WANNA DIE. Okay okay. Anyway. They appear to be using a long tail bull whip which HURT okay? Those are not for people (or anything but this isn’t the post for that). Those will rip you to shreds. Now, I’m not a whip expert so I DON’T WANT ANYONE COMIN’ UP IN HERE LIKE NO ITS ___ WHIP AND ITS ____ BITCH THEY’RE W H I P P I N G A YOUNG C H I L D I DON’T CARE IF IT’S MADE OF COTTON CANDY AND RAINBOWS. Like honestly are we gonna blame him for murdering that piece of shit? For real I would have killed him for the creepy tongue thing alone and Erik suffered years of abuse at his hand, keep in mind, we only saw ONE part of ONE show, WHERE HE WASN’T EVEN STRUGGLING REALLY, we have no idea what they did to that poor boy at other shows, behind the scenes, etc. And again. That monkey toy. I wanna die.

Now, on to his living situation (here’s where we’re gonna boop around a little, we’re gonna ignore Christine’s existence a little longer). He lived, by himself, in the sewers (call them catacombs if you want they’re fucking sad gross places either way I don’t care). He was a kid, locked away from anyone else. So let’s think about this. He learned that he’s so terrible even his mother can’t love him just because of his face, he was beaten to shit and laughed at to make money because he’s so terrible, just because of his face, he watched a shit load of people laugh at his pain without trying to help (until Giry and even she only helped after he did the hard part), and then he’s locked away, alone, in a creepyass, wet, dongeon. I mean. Would you be holding it together? I sure as fuck wouldn’t. And yeah I’m sure Giry visited him and whatever but how often do you really think she went down there? She was studying to be a ballerina at a world famous opera house, she didn’t have free time, and still that’s only one person making face to face contact with him for what? 15 years? A long ass time regardless.

And now we boop to Christine. Again this part isn’t really shown, but with “whenever I’d come down here alone, to light a candle for my father”, are you willing to agree that when young Erik saw her, by herself, having little to no experience of kindness out of other people, really reached out to be malicious? He was probably scared out of his fucking mind, but he saw this little girl grieving as he’d grieved his own life, and he decided to try to comfort her. She was probably the one that came up with the Angel Of Music thing (I say probably because it’s never explicitly said, but come on, there’s no way he would have randomly come up with that, you can also listen to Emmy talk about her “latching on” because she wanted so desperately for it to be a Thing and that they really were good friends etc but I’m just gonna stick to stuff you can get directly from the movie) and he went with it. Now, there are a ton of reasons he could have gone with it (“Learn to see to find the man behind the monster this repulsive carcass who seems a beast but secretly yearns for heaven secretly, secretly dreams of beauty”..........) but none are directly stated so I’ll fuck off and let you decide.

Now, he taught her to sing. Ask any artist ever and they’ll tell you if they’re sharing their work with you they’re sharing a very intimate part of themselves with you. It doesn’t matter the style, art is personal, and he cared enough about this girl to not only show her his art but to teach it to her.* I cannot fathom that love okay and all of this from a creature who was born into a world of hate and darkness and here he is creating beauty and sharing his work I love him okay. And yes, he falls in love with her. I’m not gonna share my thoughts on that love (She was the first person to treat him like a human, to be his friend and never once did she judge him for his looks, just keep that in mind.) but he falls in love with her, more on that in a little bit.

* No One Would Listen isn’t technically in the movie so I’m not saying anything about it, but a lot of my opinions are solidified in it, so if you Haven’t heard it you need to it’s a beautiful song sung to the tune of Learn to be Lonely which Minnie SLAYS jesus shit *aggressively heart eyes* but it directly says that he wanted to share his art and teach the wold but she was the only one who listened

As for torturing Carlotta……………. I mean, me too, I can’t fault him for that……

THEIR MEETING. TIME OUT. THE MIRROR SCENE. THE CHOREOGRAPHY. THE SMOKE. THE CHANGE FROM ANGEL TO PHANTOM. THIS SCENE IS ENTIRELY MY AESTHETIC. Okay I’m good sorry. So. They go down to his home. He takes this girl. Into his HOME. He’s been mistreated his whole life and he willingly leads this girl down into his sanctuary. Think about that for a minute.

Okay. Anyway, yes the wedding dress is hella creepy but LISTEN. He wasn’t raised with people. He’s stuck in the opera house, he doesn’t see real relationships and even if he does he only sees bits and pieces of them out of the people WHILE THEY’RE THERE he’s never seen or heard about or learned about a real proposal, he’s only seen countless operas, and you know what the fuck happens in romantic plays/operas/movies/musicals/books/stories/literally anything? They move fast, they skip time, they’re over the top. People don’t watch shit that’s real life, no one would want to see that, but that’S ALL HE KNOWS. I’ll let you think of it what you will, but I think he was genuinely trying to woo her as best he knew how.

Mask off scene. Okay. Now. Aside from the fact Gerard grabs the wrong side of his face at one point, (seriously, go rewatch it) Erik does shove Christine, which is not okay buuuuut he’s fucking terrified, and I’m not convinced he meant to shove her, more get her away from him before she saw his face. (we also get some insight on his view of himself and I. Want. To. Die.) but I’ll leave you to take what you will from that scene.

*sigh* killing Joseph is the next thing I want to touch on and this is the one where I want to boop his deformed little nose a little but… I mean… I have a couple points still.

One: the dude was a creep

two: he went looking for him

three: ERIK WARNED THEM IN NO UNCERTAIN TERMS “A disaster beyond your imagination will occur” (can we talk about the dolls. Erik. Fucking nerd.)

Four: Joseph openly mocked and taunted Erik (you think he didn’t hear that no nose comment *sassy finger snap*)

Five: He grew up only knowing violence. People laughed at his pain. Again his only real knowledge is opera and again people kill in those to get what they want? He’s just a wee potato trying his best.

Now let me bash my son for a moment, he was getting what he wanted, Christine was gonna play the countess, but instead we got All I Ask of You and I died inside (There may be another rant on my utter hatred of Raoul to come but this is already 1.5k words and I’m only like halfway through the movie so MOVING ON)

Alright, so All I Ask of You Reprise is technically the next place where Erik says/does anything but let’s talk about what’s happening right in front of him right now. He’s in love with this woman. He has tried his fucking hardest, he’s made her famous, he’s tried to woo her, he’s been there for YEARS, then this rich boy with a pretty face comes in and she’s falling into his arms in no time? Like yes it’s a bit fuckboi of him but also take into account what she said about him before the actual song. (“His eyes will find us there those eyes that burn” “I can’t escape from him I never will” “his world of unending night to the world where the daylight dissolves into darkness” “Can I ever escape from that face so distorted deformed it was hardly a face”) I mean… I’d be fucking hurt and pissed… So yeah the “you will curse the day you did not do all that the phantom asked of you” is a bit much but… HE’S PISSED and hurt and heartbroken.

Why So Silent and the ring I’m going to leave at he’s fucking hurt but yes I want to boop his nose for that one too… like Erik stop being a creep no one’s chains are yours.

As well as Journey to the Cemetery and Wandering Child like here he’s wrong and I have no argument against him being wrong, my only comment is that he could have killed the taxi driver but he just knocked him out so like… Yay?

Don Juan… Okay come on he knew it was a trap so he had to have just trusted she wouldn’t go through with it but… *Sigh* SON STOP KILLING PEOPLE. AND NO KIDNAPPING TEENAGE GIRLS.

Okay but Down Once More we get to see a lot of the stuff I’ve already mentioned (his mom, how he feels about himself, etc) and he’s furious and scared and hurt and embarrassed and he’s a cornered animal at this point. His home is gone, he knows that, he has to leave and this is his last chance to get the only person who’s ever heard him, who’s ever been a friend to him and shared his love of music, to come with him. Point of No Return Reprise is another thing I want to boop him for, but he does let them go, and he does give up and let her choose what she wants to be happy with one last ditch effort of just being honest (“Christine I love you”) and then he watches them go. The only person he has in the world, leaving him back in his world of darkness.

So, in conclusion, ERIK IS A SMOL PRECIOUS BEAN WHO DESERVED SO MUCH BETTER AND YES HE MADE MISTAKES BUT HE’S DOING HIS BEST AND PEOPLE ARE FAR TOO MEAN TO HIM I HOPE HE KNOWS HOW MUCH I LOVE HIM

#phantom of the opera #I was way too upset about this #I typed this entire thing at 2 am what am I doing #erik destler #raoul de chagny #christine daae #my son #I love him so much

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powertobehandsome · 7 years

Text

The Way I See It || Matt and Seth

Part two. || @blindlyburning

Matt laughed a little dryly and shook his head. "No. But speaking of danger... I'm going to head out for a bit. Try not to.. get hit by cars or anything. I'll pick up some groceries on my way back.. just.. don't open the door for anyone while I'm gone, alright? Stay here."

Seth and Ryan both nodded, then Seth cleared his throat, affirming vocally that they could survive for a few hours while Matt went out.

"Thank you."

By the time Matt returned, Ryan was again asleep on the couch, Seth had downloaded a book on his phone and was reading it in Matt's bed. He'd taken his third dose of pills for the day and was settling in, expecting them to make him drowsy again. But he wanted to stay awake. At least for a while longer.

Matt put the groceries on the counter, went to shower before anything else, and then changed back into his sweats and t-shirt. There was a light bruise forming on his chin when he slipped in to find Seth.

"You uh.. doing okay?" He stood in the doorway, arms awkwardly folded.

Seth looked up from his glowing screen and hummed his affirmation.

"Would you like to sleep here tonight?"

It didn't occur to Seth how his question might sound, and assumed Matt saying yes would mean himself sleeping on the rug.

Which was perfectly fine.

This man had likely just saved someone else's life. "Are you okay?"

"If it won't make you uncomfortable for me to be there..." he hesitated a moment longer, then crawled in next to Seth, although he was careful not to touch him.

"And yeah, I'm fine. For once, the bruise really is from falling." He gave a wry smile. "But there's one less would-be rapist in the street tonight, so.. it's a good night. Did you... find a book to read? On your phone?"

"How did you..." But Seth smiled, and relaxed beside Matt. Of course he somehow knew. "Let me know when I need to let you sleep and go into the other room or something. But I don't mind you... being here. Of course."

He locked his phone and set it aside. "Nope. I gotta know. How could you tell?"

"I could hear the little sounds of its circuits, most smartphones sound alike, and you seemed...less engaged than a person texting, who usually has a sort of... they seem like they're waiting for something. You weren't so alert. More.. relaxed. And you don't have to go sleep out there. It's a big enough bed, we can share, unless... that would make things weird for.. any reason? If so, I'll go. There's no way I'm letting you sleep on the floor."

Matt's bed was essentially a cloud. Everything was ridiculously soft and yielding, from the genuinely silk sheets -- no trashy satin -- to the feather pillows and the memory foam mattress, the velvety blankets. The bed was absolutely a sanctuary, Matt's favorite place to be, but he knew he'd leave it in a heartbeat if he needed to.

"No. Nothing weird about it. If you're sure, I would rather you stayed in here anyway, since you won't hear of me surrendering your own bed to you. I have to insist on sharing."

Seth liked the way this bed felt, how it was generous to all injuries. "You fell... but how far did you fall?" Seth reached with his right arm, the side he could actually stretch and extend with, and carefully touched Matt's jaw, angling his face just enough so that Seth could actually see. "And are you telling me you didn't fight? Or that the fight didn't cause the bruise?"

"Fight didn't cause the bruise. This was after. I was in a pretty cluttered alley and uh," he laughed softly, thoroughly embarrassed, "stepped on a cat's tail. Not on purr-pose. It yowled, I jumped and then tripped and my face met the dumpster. Superhero quality, Seth, right here."

"Not on-- oh my god. We're going to be great friends. You might have gotten a little bent out of shape. But that pun was paw-some. Definitely superhero worthy."

Realizing his thumb was still slowly, and gently passing over the coming bruise, Seth pulled his hand away and smiled awkwardly. "It's still... I mean it's only evening. Ryan won't wake, if you're not ready for bed and need to do things. And I... well, this is the least painful place. And my meds have started making me a little lethargic. But I don't want you to feel like this is where you have to be."

It was a good thing that Seth couldn't hear Matt's heart; the soft caress to his jaw, the feeling of that soft skin against Matt's stubble and his bruise, had given him an unexpected little tingle, a rush.

"Guess we're... both pretty happy to.. be here." He tugged the blanket up around his shoulders, looking happy and awkward at once. "How are your injuries, though? Is there anything you need?"

"They're the same as earlier. I might be a little stiffer from my lack of movement for the past hour or two. And I know I'm still going to hurt in the morning. But I'll survive. I can almost feel the separation of my eyelids if I stretch my face enough. Which of course pulls at the glue. But still. Progress, right?"

Despite all the pain, Seth was comfortable and happy. "No. I don't need you to get me anything. I'm quite content with... um. With you staying here."

"Definitely progress. Let's maybe not pull at any glue or anything though, yeah? The doctors probably made some nice artwork on your face, best to just enjoy it a while."

"Hmm. Perhaps you're right." Since there was no... no tell tale things which would give him away for doing such, or so he thought, considering he couldn't even hear his own heartbeat, Seth rested his head back against the headboard, and just let himself look at Matt for a few moments. A soft smile spread across his lips and he mentally rolled his eyes at himself for being so adoring over a superhero. Matt wasn't tony stark. He didn't seem to want the attention or gratitude.

But that didn't make Matt any less deserving of it -- any less amazing.

"Did you eat?"

"Just the pancakes earlier. But I brought some more stuff home. It's in the kitchen, so there's real food later.. sure you don't want me to cook you something?"

"I had a bite with my last set of pills to keep my stomach from being upset." A bite wasn't a meal, and he knew that, but he wasn't craving, and he wasn't exactly hungry. But if Matt was, Seth would join him. "I'll go sit with you again, though, if you'd like?"

"Mmm-nn," he objected, then stretched lazily and happily before relaxing again. "Until I have to get up, I'm staying put. Bed trumps food."

"That works for me," Seth stumbled through the response as he watched, and wondered how a man like this was alone before remembering what he did for his hobbies. Still. There had to be some girl he enjoyed the company of. "Then bed it is until there is no other option."

"Mmm-hmm." Matt's eyes were closed and he was smiling. "Good bed. Good company. I could use more nights like this." Of course, the whole reason that he'd stopped at just one person was because he needed to be back here, protecting these two, but that wasn't really something to dwell on.

"Anyway. What's on your mind? If it's okay to ask?"

"Honestly wondering where the girlfriend is in all this. I have a difficult time believing there isn't one." He shrugged. "But romance is hard, and you don't have to share details, of course. Just... that's what was on my mind."

"Hey, I asked. And there's no girl. There hasn't been anyone steady for... a few years now. Once in a while, I'll...hook up with someone? But it's more of a casual thing.. I haven't -- until recently, haven't thought about opening up and sharing the truth with someone.. and the thought of lying in a relationship was always... too much.

"What about you? You seem great. Is there anyone special in your life right now?"

"Hmm? You mean besides my reflection? Nah. Even that relationship was a bit one sided and is completely shattered now." He smiled at himself, then continued on, his time a little more seriously.

"Had a steady girlfriend. She moved away. Had a steady boyfriend. We decided together that it just... it was there. We loved each other, but we were better off as best friends. And I live in a town where people only care about money and society. It's hard to find someone my type."

Matt had laughed softly at his mirror joke, then gotten somber and quiet when Seth went on. Afterwards, he asked, "Do you ever get lonely?"

"Sure." Only all the time. "The house I live in is too big. But it's my family home and it's rent free. So, what are you gonna do? He sighed and closed his eyes. "But at least I've got Captain Oats."

"Cat..?"

"Uh. Horse figurine."

"Hence the oats. Right. That.. makes more sense than a cat." Matt shook his head at himself. "Sorry. Tell me about Captain Oats?"

Seth blushed. He hadn't actually expected Matt to be interested in hearing about a toy. "My nana gave it to me when I was eight? I think. It's just a figurine. But I've told him all about my stories. Made him a super hero in some of the stories I've written. Sorry. You have to think I'm a kid now.

"Hey, Tolkien basically has a superhero horse character, if he can get away with it, why not you?"

Seth smiled and looked over at Matt for a long moment. "What about you? Does the long string of criminals keep you entertained and keep you from being lonely?"

"Oh yeah, I mean, who needs to find a beautiful woman when they can exchange punches with men who reek of body odor and shitty life choices?"

Laughing, Seth sighed and nodded in response. "Exactly. What good are the beautiful women for anyway? Conversation and keeping a warm bed and a warm heart? Who needs all of those things?"

"Mmhmm. Much better to be miserable and alone. It's far more Catholic, anyway, which works for me."

"But you know, with moments like this sprinkled it, maybe life wouldn't be so bad. Granted, I could do without the injuries. But the company is quite enjoyable."

"It is." Matt rolled onto his stomach, careful not to jostle the bed at all, and rubbed his face against the pillow for a moment before curling up on his side again. "We'll have to spend some time together when you're well," he said. "If you are still willing to tolerate me then."

"I don't think there is any danger of me not enjoying your company. Quite the opposite, actually. But if you can still stand me, maybe you'd enjoy a few nights away to California. It's hot and suffocating and crowded, all the things my Jewish soul needs." He smirked. "That is. If the city can spare you for that long."

"It can't," Matt said softly, growing serious again, "but I'll go anyway because if... I don't, if I can't leave it.. the guilt will just -- turn into an addiction. And down that road lies madness. Some nights, like tonight, I make myself keep short despite... what I can hear... because the temptation to think I can save everyone is... strong." For a moment, there was real heartache in his voice, but he went on. "But noble as it would be to give up everything for the city... I'll lose.. things I can't replace if I do that... and.. I'm... rambling and being self-centered. Sorry."

"Oh, please, Matt. You are with a kindred, self-centered spirit. Don't apologize. And besides, I enjoy hearing about you. After I talked your ear off earlier, it seems only fair that you be given the opportunity to ramble for a while. You have my undivided attention."

"If you weren't a broken mess, I might actually have to hug you right now." Matt pulled the blanket up over his head, just leaving a small breathing hole.

"What do you like most about California?"

"The ocean. And the warmth," Seth replied, cursing his injuries and trying to give Matt enough free blankets that he'd been sitting on without moving too much. "The people can be shallow, which is perhaps to balance the depth of the ocean, but it's a good place to be."

Finally, Seth decided he wanted to get settled in bed. But removing his pants had been a challenge, and the shirt made him grunt and whimper quietly, but soon he was moving into the covers, keeping carefully to his side of the bed, still wary of making Matt uncomfortable. "But I thought we were talking more about you and Hell's Kitchen."

"Do you need help?" Matt had interrupted, concerned, when Seth first seemed to be struggling with the clothing, and he had reached out to lightly touch his arm, to stop him. "Don't -- don't hurt yourself. Use me if you need help. I'm offering."

And Seth had used him for balance, then asked him to pull on the sleeve of his injured side so Seth could free his arm. But as he ended up in bed, he looked down at the bruises and the patch and the swelling over his ribs, thankful Matt couldn't actually see any of it.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. You're not alone in this, okay? Please don't ever be afraid to ask for help."

"You've already done so much for me. You keep going and I'm going to get a crush on you." There. Playful, yet a blatant honesty underneath. And a warning of where Seth was trying to keep any feelings from popping up.

"I've... never been involved with a man," Matt answered softly after a minute, getting comfortable again once Seth had. "So you'd probably enjoy a crush on someone more experienced much more. Don't waste affection on me." He tried to make it sound light but he suspected he had failed.

Seth looked at Matt for a long beat, trying to decipher exactly what he meant. "Experience is the least of my concerns. But accepting of said affections? Receptive... Open? To them? That's kind of the most important part. Which, you know, most straight men aren't really flattered by the attentions of another man." He shrugged and looked at his hands as they were folded on the blanket. His heart beating faster and he tried to hold it all under the surface. "I'm sorry if I turned things awkward or uncomfortable. It was only meant as a light-hearted teasing."

"Right. Sorry. I have a tendency of taking things too seriously," he said quickly, feeling horrible. A long silence fell then, and Matt was lost in thought. Eventually though, when he could tell that Seth was still awake, he said: "I used to assume I was straight. Most straight people do. Then someone asked me... how I knew. And I didn't have an answer. So I guess there's... an open-mindedness. If that.. makes sense."

"It does." Seth nodded rolled onto his good side to look at Matt through the growing darkness. "You've never explored it, though?"

"No. I mean it's pretty recent that I've even questioned it. And I'm afraid of... inadvertently leading someone on, you know? If I turn out to be... just entirely straight."

"I get that," Seth replied, nodding. There was a lighthearted playfulness back in his tone. "Well, you let me know. If you decide, or if you need help deciding. Either way, I'm happy to help."

"Okay." Matt laughed again, but his words sounded serious. "When all this is over, and thus your ability to consent isn't in question, I'll come to California and you can show me the sights --in a datey way."

Heavy eyelids lifted and he frowned. "I am perfectly capable of consenting. But you've got it. I'll take you out on the sail boat. It's just a tiny thing. So you'll have to stay close."

Matt didn't want to get into an argument about whether or not Seth could consent to being the target of potentially romantic interest when he was injured, drugged, and staying in a stranger's home by necessity, so he was relieved when Seth accepted the deal.

"What's sailing like?" He asked after a while.

"Freeing," he replied finally as his eyes settled closed and his arm found a comfortable place to rest on his hip. "There's something different about being the only person around for leagues as opposed to being the only person in your home or in a city and there's all these people but none of them are with you."

"That sounds nice," Matt said quietly. "I look forward to it... but you should probably get some sleep.. you can tell me more about it tomorrow.."

"You should get some sleep," Seth combatted, but he was grinning again. "I'm sure I'll pass out mid-sentence here in a bit. But tell me about who you fought against today?"

Matt acquiesced, rambling quietly about the man. He told Seth how he'd smelled, the arousal and the hunger and the cruelty, and about the woman he'd been following who would never know about any of this. He told him how the man's nails hadn't been trimmed recently, how he was more muscles than brains, but his body was unwashed and his breath fetid. It wasn't the most traditional sort of bedtime story, but he hoped to satisfy Seth's curiosity enough to let him sleep.

And it did. Before Matt could get much beyond the stench of breath, Seth's had evened out into something deeper. He hummed once, but he wasn't aware of the sound coming from his own chest, and soon he was dreaming of the ocean.

When he woke again, quite a few hours had passed and the sky was just beginning to lighten with pre-dawn. Today they had work to do.

Matt was already up, shaved, and dressed in a suit. He never kept the same sleep cycle as most people, unaffected by daylight levels, and so taking four hour naps at any time tended to be all he needed. He was on his computer, fingers skimming over the braille projections and headphones on, working, jacket over the back of his chair. He was ready to go whenever they were, although he knew it would likely be a few hours before they were done showering, eating, and resuming their roles as human beings.

When he heard Seth wake, he stopped what he was doing and headed over to him. "Do you need any help?"

"I need a shower. I feel disgusting. And I need to change out the bandage over these couple stitches. But I'm not sure you want to help me with either thing. But thank you."

Despite his words, Seth struggled to stand, and ended up taking Matt's extended hand when it was offered. "Did I oversleep? I know you said you needed to go to the office today. And I would like to go with you. I can dress as quickly as possible."

"There's no rush. It isn't even seven yet." Matt helped him stay on his feet. "Think we can get Ryan to help you shower? And after, yeah, I can help with the bandaging."

Seth held on to Matt's surprisingly strong arms, and then slid past him to go poke at the snoring Ryan.

It had been years since they'd been together, and they both tried their best to keep things from being awkward as Ryan used his bare hand to wash over Seth's chest and abdomen. All the bruised areas. His hair. And then he offered a singular kiss to Seth's shoulder when they were finished.

"Do you need anything else?" Ryan asked, stepping under the spray of the water to clean himself next.

"No. Thanks. Matt said he'd redo my bandage. Are you going to the office?"

"Not this time. I'm gonna see if I can get that money wired from Sandy and then hopefully at least, be able to get our clothes from the airport. There was a message on my cell saying our bags finally arrived and that they'd deliver them to us. But I think... I think I'll just go get them. So we keep where we're staying quiet, if you're really so worried."

"Yeah. Thanks. I'm going to stay close to Matt then."

"Seth?"

"Yeah?"

"Just be careful. We don't know this guy. And sure, he's an attorney or whatever, but if he's in league with whoever we're dealing with and..."

"We're safe with Matt. He and his friend are as trustworthy as they get."

"But how do you know?"

"I just know." Seth left the bathroom to go find Matt.

Matt had gotten breakfast started while they showered -- fruit, toast, and some fried chicken. Maybe it wasn't the most traditional breakfast, but considering they’d had pancakes for dinner last night it seemed fine. The chicken smelled amazing -- Matt was a damn good cook when he chose to be -- and when it was done and he set it aside to cool, he went and washed his hands, then gestured at Seth to sit.

"I should have said this before showering, but you're both welcome to my clothes," he said, opening the kit up. "You guys can raid the dresser, wear whatever fits, just make sure he helps you, okay?" Matt cleaned the wounds very carefully, then rebandaged them, his hands deft and careful.

"It smells amazing," Seth commented, realizing how hungry he really was.

As Matt bandaged him, Seth watched in silence, and then mentally scolded himself for watching. His eye was still swollen shut. But the split on his lip was healing, and his forearms hurt less than they had the day before. Ultimately, he was impatient to heal and be done with the weakling nerd boy bit.

"Yeah, thanks," he replied at the offer to clothes. "I imagine walking around with drips of my own blood on my clothing, along with rips and scrapes from being on the ground won't likely make me look very friendly. It's bad enough that my face looks the way it does."

Once the two had found some comfortable stuff to wear, Matt served them up the breakfast, which was exactly as delicious as it smelled. While they ate, Foggy texted and Matt's phone read it aloud.

>> I know you are awake. Go back to sleep, asshole. Office at 10.

Matt smiled. He loved Foggy, too.

Seth and Ryan spared a glance between themselves when the message was read aloud. Seth's eyes shifted and his own smile widened as he watched the way Matt reacted to his friend's words.

Ryan smacked Seth in his leg, not thinking about where he was hitting.

Seth gasped, then glared. "Ow. What?!"

"You woke me at dawn and you didn't have to be somewhere until ten?"

It wasn't why Ryan had hit him, and the look they exchanged made it clear they both knew it.

"You needed to get up. I was tired of hearing you snore."

"I don't snore."

"Okay, pal."

Ryan glared, again not about the snoring.

"I said okay."

"Hey, I asked him to wake you," Matt interjected, feeling guilty that there was strife between them over this and entirely missing their silent conversation. "Seth wanted to shower and I was afraid he might slip... blame me." He sounded fairly lighthearted at least. "Besides. It's already eight so... if we have a relaxed morning, we should be right on time. Question though, Ryan -- how are you feeling?"

"See, Ryan. Even Matt was tired of your snoring," Seth joked

"That makes more sense, I suppose," he replied, ignoring Seth and trying to set Matt at ease. "And I'm okay. I look and feel a hell of a lot better than this mess."

"Do you, though? I may be black and blue and cut up. But I'm still a pretty man, Ryan. And you know it."

"Well, you've still got your hair, at least."

"This is true. All hail the Jew fro."

Ryan shook his head, but he was laughing. "Eat your damn chicken."

Right on queue, Seth took a large bite and smiled his victory.

They were a perfectly weird balance between siblings and married and it was impossible not to be charmed by them. Once breakfast was over and Matt had done the dishes, he asked, "Are you coming with us to the office today, Ryan?"

Seth looked at Matt with a narrowed, but almost conspiratorial glare. Maybe Matt hadn't listened while they'd showered. Maybe he was just playing along with the illusion that he wouldn't have been able to hear. Either way, Seth let Ryan answer the same way he had while they'd been showering.

"Think you can tolerate a day with just Seth? He has a tendency to not shut up. Ever."

Matt hadn't listened to their private conversation, and the look of concern he tried to keep off his features as Ryan explained may have given that away.

"I can definitely handle Seth, but I am a little concerned about your safety. If you insist on going, you'll be on high alert, right? Watch your back?"

"Yeah," he replied, taking a bite of his own food. "I'm pretty good at blending in. And even better at getting myself out of tight spaces. Should be fine. Everything will be done in cash once I get the money. Unless... do you think it's better to have the bags delivered?"

Seth stood, moving to the counter to grab his bottle of pills, and then went back to sit down, wincing a little as he did so.

"If you'd say something..."

"I'm fine. You two can't wait on me hand and foot. If I need help, I'll ask for it."

Matt considered, then shook his head. "Going in person is probably the most reliable option. Take my cell, though, and call Foggy if you get into any trouble. And..." Matt got up and went to find the spare key, giving it to Ryan along with his phone. "Remember that the most important thing here is that you both are alive at the end of the day, okay? Your safety matters more than anything else."

Ryan was beginning to get the vibe that Matt might be more than just an attorney, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. So he lifted the phone as a sort of gesture of thanks, and then nodded.

Seth sighed and his head fell forward. "Matt, you'll have to excuse my brother. He's an idiot and has way too difficult a time stringing words together. He said thanks. And he'll be careful."

"Right. Sorry."

Matt chuckled. "Thank you for the translation. Okay. Good. I'm going to go work until you feel ready to go, Seth, and then we'll head in. Just let me know."

Seth agreed, stood carefully, and then shuffled his way back to bed. Matt's clothes were comfortable, if a little big, and Seth wished there wasn't this looming thing over their heads. This knowledge that somehow, they're going to be found guilty for... whatever happened.

He pulled his phone back out, opening the book he'd purchased and had only made it about a paragraph in when Ryan appeared in the doorway.

"I'm gonna go ahead and go. I've talked to Sandy. He said it's gone through. So, I should just be able to pick up the money, then catch a cab back to the airport. I'll let you know the updates as I receive them."

Seth nodded. "Be safe."

Ryan looked again at Matt. "You too."

The day passed fairly quietly -- at least for Seth -- once they were at the office later. Foggy and Matt came together and the energy between the two seemed to instantly crackle to life as they worked, making phone calls, talking, going through the police reports, and getting hold of other witnesses. Around three in the afternoon, Matt left, and Foggy finally took a break.

"He went back to the station," he said, going over to their kitchenette to put coffee on. "You want some coffee? Or kinda stale bagels? Matt might be gone a while. Also, I'm not sure how much you picked up on, but things are actually going pretty good. Apparently none of the witnesses want to get involved and the security footage from the bar got 'lost,'" he actually made air quotes, "so it'll just be a he said, they said, and you guys are the ones with the nasty wound pictures. I mean not that that's a good thing, but... we didn't expect it to go like this, honestly. This is good."

"Stale... bagels? I'm not sure I understand. Listen. We'll have cash later today. If you can foot the bill for this afternoon, I'm going to find a way to introduce you to a life where stale bagels and bitter coffee are no longer acceptable."

"Stale bagels are totally never acceptable, but when ninety-nine percent of our clients pay us in food or like, painting, sometimes stale bagels are the only way to be." He pulled one of the almost hard objects out of the bag and knocked it on the counter. "Hear that? That's the sound of my partner having a heart that's waaaay too big. He won't turn anyone down. I mean I get it, kinda, but man, we had a pretty sweet gig at a place with free, amazing, perfect New York bagels every day, and you know, it takes a real punk to walk away from that... but we're punks." Thunk, thunk. "They're not so bad once they're toasted.."

Seth ran his hands down his face, shaking his head. "No. No. Hang on."

He text his dad, waited about five minutes, smiling awkwardly at Foggy until Sandy text back. "I'm a California spoiled brat, and sometimes it fucking pays off. We'll have a delivery in about ten minutes."

With an awkward smile, he leaned back in the chair he'd rolled over. "Also, for the record, Ryan and I will pay you in full, in actual dollars."

"While full, actual dollars sound great, if it'll cause a hardship or anything... we're not looking to put anyone in debt, you know?" Foggy turned back to start trying to cut the bagel open, but then looked back. "Wait... did you just... say you ordered food? Um, I might love you. No bagel bricks?" He held the bad bagel up questioningly, the light of hope in his eyes.

"Yes. Bagels and cream cheese and the whole lot is on the way. Even a jug of orange juice. And technically my father ordered them. So I'll send your declaration of love his way.

"And for the record, I know New York is all about endless amounts of old money. But... you cannot set me back. I don't care if you charge as much as your most expensive competitors. If you get us out, you'll be worth every dollar. My... grandfather essentially owned all of Newport. And granted he was broke when he died, my mother did well and just... you can't make me go broke. You'll get paid."

"Holy... crap. Um. Thank you. Thank you. We've been... thank you. Newport must be pretty amazing, apparently the people from there are waaaaay nicer than like, pretty much everyone in the city."

There was a knock on the office door then, which surprised Foggy. "That was quick..." his momentary elation quickly cooled. "Hey how about you just... roll into my office and shut the door, kay? That was way too quick."

"No. No the people in Newport are terrible. But Ryan and I are annoyingly well off thanks to my parents. Our parents, I guess. I don't know. He was adopted into our family when he was sixteen. So, our family..."

Seth's brows furrowed and he nodded, pushing himself back into Foggy's office, watching the door close. "Be safe," he called through.

Foggy gripped the bagel brick tightly, fairly certain it would be an amazing weapon, and then went to open the door -- and shouted in delight.

"Andrew!!" He threw his arms around Andrew and crushed him with a hug, then stepped back. "Seth, it's okay, it's a friend. Andrew, wow, come in." He dragged him in and shut the door and turned to give Seth a delighted smile when he reappeared, then looked back at Andrew. "Are you actually back in New York now? Hey, Seth, this is Andrew Gale, the nicest corporate bloodsucker you'll ever meet. Andrew, our client Seth."

"Nice to meet you, Seth," Andrew said with a smile, and he offered Seth his hand. Perhaps it was strange, but even though Andrew's suit was neatly tailored and had likely cost a mint, he didn't seem out of place here. He looked completely natural and at-ease standing next to Foggy, and somehow didn't make Foggy look at all frumpy in contrast. "I hope things are going well?"

"Nice... to meet you, too. My mother would insist that I apologize for my appearance. But, it is the reason I'm here. Botched plastic surgery. Obviously."

He gave a crooked smile and tried to straighten out the shirt he was wearing.

"I'm Seth Cohen. If you guys have business to do, I can make myself scarce."

"No business. I just came by for a quick visit. But if I'm interrupting..."

"Nope. Late lunch break." Foggy held up the bagel. "But not this. I was going to brain you with this if you were a bad guy."

Andrew couldn't help but look concerned. "Another of those cases?"

"You betcha. Uh." Foggy put the bagel away. "So how was New Orleans?"

"Restorative," Andrew smiled, then looked back at Seth. "You're in the best hands here, you know. Nelson and Murdock never give up on anyone."

Seth nodded. "They've taken good care of me thus far. Offering a place to stay, getting us out of jail. Matt has made food for me and Ryan. I feel... pretty fortunate."

Offering an awkward smile, he pulled out his phone to check on Ryan. He looked up again when there was another knock on the door.

"That should be lunch."

Foggy went and got it, and he was oblivious to the way Andrew's eyes followed him, to the little way the other lawyer changed his position in order to be able to jump to help him if needed.

The smell of the food was amazing -- Foggy had been on ramen for the last few days -- and he all but kissed the delivery man before bringing it in. "Seth, you're an actual angel. Andrew, have you...?"

"I'm good, thanks. But can you do something for me?"

Foggy went still. "You need a favor from me?"

"Just a small one. Tell Matt that -- I've met Miss Natchios. She's in town."

"His ex? I don't understand."

"He will," Andrew said, and he sounded a little sad. He nodded to Seth and bid them both a polite farewell, then slipped out.

"Weird. Super weird. Sometimes, I don't wanna know what kind of stuff Matt gets mixed up in... anyway. El feast!!! Uh. Fiesta! You're amazing. Okay. You sit still, you're all banged up, just tell me what you need." He had laid the food out on Karen's desk, since she was taking a sick day, and Foggy was fairly certain he'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

Seth watched Andrew with narrowed eyes, but as he bid them both adeiu, Seth managed a smile and a weak wave.

The bagels did look amazing. Smelled amazing. "Blueberry. With plain cream cheese. Then a cinnamon with strawberry cream cheese." He smirked. "I can spread my own schmear. I think there's plain cream cheese in there too."

Foggy helped him prepare his meal before seeing to his own. When he bit into it, he sighed with genuine pleasure and closed his eyes. It took a minute for him to chew and swallow. When he did, he looked at Seth. "Yep. Angel. Are you okay, though? Did Andrew freak you out? You seemed to kinda, go back in a shell or something. No offense intended, and totally not judging if you're shy."

"No. He's nice. I like him. I... I'm not sure why he made me feel like a loser teenager, a kid, but I'm just... tired, I think. But I talked to Ryan. We have money. We've put an express order on replacement debit cards, but you guys will get cash, at least an upfront payment."

He smiled softly, chewing. "I didn't mean to be... unfriendly, or anything, to your friend. He seems very kind. But he is the most kind of intimidating to a guy like me."

"I feel you," Foggy nodded. "He's all smooth and put together. He's like a real life shark. All his kind are. I mean not that sharks aren't real, but.. it took me a while to stop feeling like.. the fat, sloppy, broke-ass reject around him. I still do most of the time, when we have to work with others like him. He's like... the epitome of everything I wanted to be as a kid, but never was..." Foggy sighed. "Sorry. Didn't mean to take you for a walk down Foggy lane."

"All of his kind?"

"Fancy lawyers from big firms, decades behind the names, paid their debts in one or two cases... the big lawyers."

"Gotcha. And... It's inappropriate. I understand this. But... who's the girl?"

#blindlyburning #one shot #the way i see it #part two

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hotcocosharing · 7 years

Text

Second Chance Part 15 (IM RP)

Shunichiro Tachibana

To say I’m shocked to find Midori lying next to me would be an understatement. Have I been so out of my mind to a point where I retain no memory of sleeping with her- is my initial first question but judging by how fully clothed we are, I sigh in relief before walking down the memory lane of the exact reason that brings me in this very spot. Sharing the same bed with my ex girlfriend who pushes me away then invites me to a launch party which I now realize we have both missed out.

Watching the innocent look on Midori’s quiet face as she drools (ever so little) on the covers and imagining her hilarious reaction about sleeping though the night with make up- how it ruins her perfect skin and how much money or spa she would need to undo the damage. The not so peaceful morning is quickly escalates by the sound of heavy rain outside that suddenly accompanies by the loud clack of thunder, causing the angelic face to wake in distress and confusion for a second follow by her real panicking realization to the fact that I am staring at her overnight makeup and morning look which consider to be all women (and maybe men) nightmare.

But what are we more afraid of? The storm outside or what’s up ahead?

After a rush breakfast buffet downstairs, I wait for Midori as she checks out and offers to drive her home under such crazy weather, “It’s the least I’d do to make it up to you.” It doesn’t take too much convincing for her to hop in the car, suspecting that she wants back at her sanctuary as soon as possible after such eventful yet boring night.

Midori remains quiet through out the ride and after the fail attempt to ease the funny tension with the radio which obviously has no reception under the state of rain so my lips part and ask something I never should. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head and replies with such calm that I am so frustratingly familiar with, “It’s nothing.”

And here we go, witnessing, experiencing history all over again, looping in the endless hell of nothingness while she is obviously upset about something!

[ It’s nothing. ]

Probably the most annoying sentence on earth, at least it manages to enlighten the fire in me every single damn time! The mystery of Midi’s departure till this day has never been satisfactorily explained, and I have good reason to resent this regrettably familiar statement.

A sudden loud pop follow by one of the tires flopping over and over again comes quickly after one another. I curse, figuring that it’s just my luck to be stuck in a car under the heavy rain with a heated conversation (storm) coming any minute now.

“Damn it!” Letting out another curse as I carefully pull over and hear Midori asks if I’ve got a flat tire. “Oh no, it’s nothing. We are just stuck!” A silence descends while more words pouring out in my chaotic mind- we are stuck again, stuck with each other, not going anywhere, neither going forward or backward is on the menu and I fucking hate being stuck. I’m a creative director, I don’t get stuck!

Midori stays quiet, there’s no sound except for the raindrops hitting the windows. “Enough!” I raise my voice with clenched fists on the wheel, “just go right ahead and say it! I have neither the time nor mood to play mind reading, we are way too old for this, don’t you think?”

She’s still quiet.

“What is it Midori? What did I do this time? I’m sorry I got sick and ruined your precious opportunity to attend the party! I’ve work to do too, a few hours of sleep was all I got, so yeah sorry I didn’t have the luxury to take better care of myself! Is that it, an apology? Is that what you want? Or because I was late? Or I forgot to reply a text? Or was it the fact that I chose the suite instead of your place? What the fuck was it, Midori? Or do you want to run out the door like last time without telling me a reason that I don’t ever deserve?!”

The weather forecast’s right, I am still under the curse of a gloomy weekend, just fucking great!

Midori Katayani

It’s December 24th at a little after 10pm and he’s still nowhere to be seen. I’m in his apartment - standing in the kitchen, looking out the window to waste time which overlooks the city scape below and frames the hustle and bustle of the busy city near picturesquely and it hits me that I’m lonely. The helpless, naïve – completely out of my control feeling consumes me faster than the rain that’s starting to fall and I’m starting to wonder if he’ll even make it home for Christmas at all.

“Baby it’s business, but I promise… I’ll make it home.” “I know but so close to Christmas? I mean – it’s our first together and, and… I know I’m just being selfish but I don’t want you to go.”

That night had been the first of a tangent string of squabbling and bickering and fighting and whatever other name or term it could have been called but it was at that moment that I realized for the first time, for the very first time how much one person could mean to me. I figured I was allowed to be selfish – I was in love, or at least that’s what I thought the feeling was. Head over heels, take your breath away and make you smile crazy in love which I never assumed in my wildest dreams I’d actually be experiencing.

Had you asked me then – perhaps even now; the feeling was just too good to be true. As the rain kept on calling, harder and harder, a monotone storm brewing up ahead, the crashing sounds of thunder and lightning coaxed me, convinced me that I should go to bed.

But he’ll be here soon —.

Folding my arms across my chest in his oversized sweater that I’d sat in all day and which still lingered in his scent, another roar of thunder rumbled over head. Biting my lip worriedly, I was about to call it a night when the sound of keys jingling at the door grabbed my attention. He was here – he’d kept his promise. He was home.

—-

The sound of thunder vibrating softly across the hotel suite windows was enough to wake me up. The last few years I’d turned into a light sleeper, something I didn’t really enjoy but none the less – my paranoia had risen after I had to get use to once again sleeping alone. Groaning as I rub my eyes and shift with a wiggle to get comfortable on the bed, it’s another clack of thunder that wakes me – completely and I push myself half up to sit in bed.

“Shu…Shun – Shunichiro?”

I can tell that I’m definitely not dreaming but a panic begins to run like electricity through my veins as the sight of my ex in a bed next to me – watching me…fuck. I know for a fact we didn’t do anything last night; I mean I wouldn’t be complaining if something had happened but I’m well aware that apart from a ridiculously failed attempt at a rekindled first kiss my luck ran dry rather quickly.

We’re both silent – it’s not quite an awkward silence yet not a comfortable one either. Things seem to stay this way between the not so delicate tip to around one another through to the breakfast buffet and then finally, the offer to be driven home. I snap the opportunity up quicker than one could ever say yes – my bags are thrown into the car quicker than imaginable and like I always use to; I slip quickly into the passenger seat.

A part of me wonders if Shun will need directions to find my place yet he hasn’t asked so I don’t bother with speaking up. The city looks different from the passengers seat; or at least in my eyes it does – I start noticing the little things I usually take for granted and miss out on when I’m driving myself or busy with my eyes glued to my phone in the back of the cab and in the midst of enjoying the serenity, Shun decides to stupidly, in my own opinion – ruin the silence by opening his mouth and asking my all time most hated question.

“What’s wrong?”

As a woman – I can tell you right now that even though I’ve got a million and one things which are racing around inside my head, my answer – just as anyone elses of this sex is always the same.

“It’s nothing”, I whisper, trying to regain focus on what’s happening outside and around the car. I know he hates the answer; even after all this years apart he’s clenching the steering wheel tight, the whites of his knuckles starting to show. I’m sure if I answered his question like that one more time just out of sheer utter frustration Shunichiro would explode. It’s more mumbling and grumbling and a bit of cursing as we pull over onto the side of a street and I ask the typical overly obvious female question as to whether there’s something wrong with the car and get a near typical male reaction back which doesn’t exactly help me in understanding what the hell is going on.

Silence – we’ve been reduced to sitting in silence with the radio cutting out and I can tell that Shun’s been stretched out thin to his last limits because he’s constantly putting a pressure on himself that he just doesn’t need. Something extra to just push himself over the edge. As the rain starts pouring harder and harder, I half contain a giggle at the fact the animosity between us has grown thick enough that it’d need to be carved through with a sword and whilst he’s never usually one to raise his voice – Mr near always cool, calm and collected bring to the surface everything it seems, that not just recently has been bothering him.

I try not to let his words have any affect one me yet it’s the last thing he says which causes a knee jerk reaction that coaxes me to snap.

[“Or do you want to run out the door like last time without telling me a reason that I don’t ever deserve?!”]

“You want a reason?”, oh shit Midi no… this is bad, bite your tongue, bite your tongue it won’t be worth it in the end. Of course – I wouldn’t be me if I had the ability to keep my mouth shut.

“Fine! I’ll give you a god damn reason – you never talk to me and you’re never there. Okay! It doesn’t matter if you fall sick because you know I’ll be there to take care of you. I don’t care about not going to the party last night because honestly, it was fucking nice just to spend a little time with you. I’ve never cared if you’ve been late or if you don’t text back because I know that’s just you and you’ll be there. I doesn’t matter to me that you picked the suite instead of my place because let’s be honest here if you were in my place and I in yours I’d have made the same decision to. I miss us talking. I miss how trusting we were and how honest we use to be. I miss staying up until early in the morning discussing things which could wait until another day but we didn’t want them to. It got to the point where we just stopped talking – I don’t know if we just got bored, if we were keeping secrets or if we were tired or perhaps we just didn’t need to but then whenever we did it always about work. That became like the biggest and only priority for you and then because of work, because of the job you were basically in a full time relationship with you stopped being there. You were hardly ever there. It just became a vicious cycle of work, talk about work, not there because of work, work, work, work, work, work and I get it – you like your job, but if you showed and expressed as much enthusiasm as you did about that with me we wouldn’t be having this fucking conversation.”

Sighing with a huff and unbuckling my seat belt to lean over and pull the button which popped open the car trunk where I knew the spare tyre would be, I gritted my teeth before getting out, instantly regretting having worn white on a day like today but at least the rain would conceal the tears I had swelling in the corners of my eyes.

“Give me fifteen fucking minutes and I’ll change the god damn tyre”, I snapped not bothered to continue with the argument that we were having, “..and then I want a response – none of this falling into silence because it’s an easy excuse.”

#irresistible mistakes shunichiro #irresitible mistakes #irresistible mistakes role play #Irresistible mistakes #irresistible mistakes rp #voltage rp #voltage role play

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geneshaven · 7 years

Text

Dark To Light

Oliver was thinking of that conversation he had with Felicity last year, here in the Bunker.

They had just come back from Ivy Town. Oliver was filled with doubts about returning to the life he thought was behind him. The happiness and love he had shared with Felicity during the five months they were away brought him the kind of peace and contentment he would never thought possible, not after the pain and darkness and brutality his life had been before he started his crusade.

The vacant look in Oliver’s eyes shifted over to Felicity’s empty chair. He remembered telling her about his doubts that day. He tried to explain to her that for him to fight against darkness, he had to become darkness. He told her that he didn’t want to be that person anymore. She leaned into him, and with love in her eyes and in her voice, Felicity told Oliver that he didn’t bring the darkness back from Lian Yu. She also tried to reassure him that he wasn’t doing this alone anymore.

The emptiness of the Bunker, the dark computer screens and lack of activity was a weight pressing down on Oliver. He sat alone in the darkness, a shade of black that almost made him feel at home. And this place was a home for him, a place of friendship and support and love. It was a sanctuary, a haven, a fortress. It gave him a purpose and a hope that he could make a difference, that he could step away from the chaos his life had been before, and not only save himself, but an entire city.

Felicity was wrong. He was alone. It became his new reality ever since that night the Gambit went down. When he washed up on the shores of Lian Yi, Oliver started a journey that led him to the darkness he tried to tell Felicity about. It smothered him, propelled him, and it was out of his control.

Felicity told him he felt a schism inside him. The darkness split him in half---one half was like a drowning, a state of mind that offered him no hope of being found and rescued. The other half was a redemption, a sense that he could struggle to the surface and find survival and strength and the warm sunshine of a new day.

It was all false. There had never been a schism. It has always been just darkness. Chase showed this to him. He put it in front of Oliver and made it personal. And Oliver breathed life back into it.

He closed his eyes and the darkness of the Bunker deepened.

Everything that made Felicity who she was---what she felt, what she thought, how she loved and cried and fought; all of it wouldn’t have become a part of her if Oliver hadn’t come into her cubicle with his bullet-ridden laptop and changed her life.

She had been trying to move away from this for the past year. She tried to find a reason, any reason ,to let him go.

The only light in the loft was a single candle sitting on the table in front of the couch she sat on. It flickered and danced in her eyes, mesmerizing and giving a her a place to focus. Earlier, Felicity tried to sleep, but when she closed her eyes, the image of Oliver coming back from Chase’s chamber of horrors filled her senses. She saw him standing in front of her, bleeding and scarred, beaten and almost vacant. Her heart broke, and in that moment, Felicity would have forgotten everything that had separated them, all the pain and heartache and suffering she had gone through. She wanted to go to him and hold him, try to ease his mind and body and soul. She wanted to love him.

Instead, she climbed out of bed, went downstairs and lit a candle. The flame was like another image of Oliver; a single flame surrounded by darkness. It was fragile and small and it would only take a paper thin breath to snuff it out.

Felicity tried to imagine what Oliver had been feeling and thinking as he made his way back to the Bunker last week. Those six days of torture Chase put him through must have brought back all the horrors Oliver experienced on the island and Hong Kong and Russia. He must have felt so alone, finally reaching his decision to quit, to give up everything he had fought and almost died for all these years. In that short week, Chase took from Oliver his purpose and drive, erased the hero he became, leaving only an empty shell. When he told her and John that he didn’t want to make a difference anymore, five years of fighting and loving and saving threatened to drain from Felicity. She stared at his wounds and felt afraid.

Felicity pulled the green blanket she had wrapped herself in tighter around her body.

What happened to Oliver was a visual incarnation of some of the stuff he must have gone through those five years he was away, but he rarely, if at all, ever talked about them. When he came back last week, Oliver looked like a small boy, afraid and lonely and needing a voice, a touch, a smile. He didn’t want to play anymore. Felicity, (and she knew John was thinking the same thing) wanted to protect Oliver like he protected both of them so many times. John was angry at Oliver for wanting to go back to being Mayor and having to interact with Chase again. It was a sham and the absolute worst thing Oliver could have done. Every time Oliver went to his office, it was him admitting defeat, and both she and John had never seen that from him. Oliver was drifting away in that defeat, and it scared them.

Felicity leaned forward and blew the candle out. No, she thought. Oliver needed his family. He needed a reason, a reminder that he was loved and cared about. He needed strength. He would do the same for her if the roles were reversed.

Felicity got off the couch, got dressed and found her way through the darkness of the loft and out into the night. Oliver was worth saving. She was not going to let him fade away.

When the lights came on, Oliver blinked and looked around the suddenly illuminated Bunker. The brightness confused him at first, and he had a sudden image of Chase coming back into the room he held Oliver in, coming back to bring more pain and regret and acknowledgement of Oliver’s past. Oliver began to feel afraid again.

Then he looked up from his chair, and Felicity was there.

“Oliver,” she softly spoke to him. “I need…I need to talk to you.” She hesitated and looked into his eyes. Again, she could see the vacancy in them. It felt like she was looking at a stranger, not at the man she knew and cared about and loved. “Oliver…”

“Felicity, what are you doing here?” His voice was dulled by his recent memories. “It’s…it’s late.”

Felicity went over and grabbed her chair away from her station and rolled it next to Oliver. “I told you, I need to talk to you. I want…to see if you’re okay.”

Oliver shook his head. “Felicity, I don’t’ think…I really don’t want to talk right now. And I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.”

First anger, then grief and fear went through Felicity as Oliver brushed off her concern for his well-being. She hesitated again in her determination to reach him.

“Felicity,” he spoke again. “You should go home. I don’t want to make you upset or angry.”

“Oliver, you’re not making me angry. And I couldn’t sleep. I was hoping you would be here. I thought you might be with Susan…and I almost…”

Oliver shook his head again. “There is…there is no more Susan.” He looked at Felicity and a small tear rolled out of his eyes and down his cheek. “I told her…I told her it wasn’t safe for her to be with me anymore.”

In spite of his anguish, Felicity felt a brief moment of relief at this news. She had to fight against the smile that threatened to break out on her face. “Oliver,” she told him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you felt that you had to let her go.”

Oliver just stared back at her and said nothing.

“Uh…are you sure it was the right thing to do?” Felicity asked him.

Oliver sighed. “I’m not sure of anything anymore. It might not have been the right thing, but it was…it was necessary.”

This time, it was Felicity who stared back and had nothing to say.

“Felicity,” Oliver suddenly said to her, completely changing the subject. “Do you remember when you told me that I didn’t bring the darkness back with me from Lian Yu? That I wasn’t alone anymore?”

Felicity shook her head, confused. “No,” she responded. “I’m not…” Then she remembered. “Oh yeah. It was after we came back from Ivy Town.”

Oliver nodded. “Right. I think you were trying to reassure me that we made the right decision coming back.” He looked deeply into her eyes, almost pleading with her. “But Felicity, you were wrong. I did bring it back. I brought it back and infected everybody with it. And you were also wrong about me being alone anymore. I am always going to be alone.”

Felicity felt her own tears start to fall.

Pain filled Oliver’s voice as he went on. “I’ve done things…horrible things that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to…”

“Oliver, I love you,” Felicity blurted out.

Oliver looked at her. “I don’t think that matters anymore,” he told her. “I don’t deserve you loving me.”

Felicity was openly crying now. “Oliver, I don’t know what Chase did to you, what he said to you---but I know you. I changed…you changed my life because you showed me what’s possible when someone believes in a person. You believed in me, Oliver. And I believe…still believe in you. Please don’t shut me out. Don’t leave me.”

A brief recognition began to shine in Oliver’s eyes. He started to reach out his hand---then he pulled it back.

“Oliver…”

Then Oliver seemed to sigh with resignation. “Felicity,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I could survive…if anything happened to you…to John, or the rest of everyone.”

“Oliver, nothing’s going to happen. And you didn’t…it doesn’t matter to me if you think me loving you doesn’t matter to you.”

Another glimmer of acknowledgement filled his eyes. “I…Felicity, I need to tell you some things, some things that might change your mind about loving me.”

Felicity didn’t want to say anything that would break this delicate moment that was about to happen. So she sat still and silent, and waited for Oliver to let her in.

“When I was in Russia,” he began. “There was a man…a man I skinned alive…”

@hope-for-olicity @almondblossomme @louiseblue1 @swordandarrow @tdgal1 @dmichellewrites @jamyjan @marytagus @buffaleen @ruwithmeguys

@ibelievenu @sweetzcupcake @joverwatch @smkkbert

#episode 517 #aftermath #dark to light

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