#though of course the spirit- just like the guilt from telling a lie- can be still ignored though it is usually harder | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 · 1 month

Text

Freefall * Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw/OC (part 2)

Summary: Casey had always been a free spirit, living in the moment, never staying still for long. More than once, her loved ones told her she could stand to think more with her head, and less with her heart. But old habits die hard, and the choices Casey makes in the heat of the moment are about to change her life forever, whether she's ready for it or not.

Warnings: unplanned pregnancy, allusion to smut, original character, angst, sex outside of wedlock, friends to lovers, did I mention angst?

Taglist: @kmc1989, @phoward89, @bellaireland1981

Part One

"Bradshaw! Is that you?"

The words seem to reach Bradley through a fog, whatever clear-headed resolve he had possessed when first stepping through the doors of The Hard Deck all but gone as soon as he catches sight of the familiar brunette standing just a few feet away at the bar. For what it's worth, Casey appears every bit as surprised to see him as he is to see her, even in spite of how Bradley, at least, ought to have seen this reunion coming from a mile away.

Of course Casey would've gone home, after everything. She would've been drawn to family every bit as much as he might have been, even without orders to return to Top Gun, himself.

Bradley tries to remind himself of that as he risks another glance Casey's way, before veering off to join Phoenix and a few other familiar faces by one of the pool tables, instead. He does what he can to ignore the flare of guilt that twists in his gut as soon as he sees the flicker of disappointment Casey tries to hide as soon as he turns away.

It would be a lie for him to pretend he isn't troubled by the sudden distance that seems to have risen up between them, but there isn't a damn thing he can do about it, now. Not in a crowded bar.

If there is one thing that he knows neither of them want, it would be for what happened between them eight weeks ago to become public knowledge. Not with her mother behind the bar, or Jake Seresin already watching his approach like a predator sizing up its prey.

As much as he hardly wants to seem like he is simply shrugging her off, Bradley can't find an indication that he has any other choice. Not even when Natasha's next words are hardly enough to keep him from feeling as though he should have stayed away.

"This is how I find out you're stateside?"

"Yeah. Just figured I'd surprise you," Bradley shrugs, hoping the response will be sufficiently nonchalant. Enough to avoid sparking any suspicion, because if anyone can read him like an open book aside from Casey, herself, it would be someone like Natasha Trace.

Something that is only confirmed when the woman in question offers him what amounts to a skeptically raised brow, before taking the liberty of smacking the end of her pool cue against his gut in tandem with her reply.

"Guess I surprised you back."

"It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too," Nat quips, unspoken questions still lingering in her expression, though for now at least, she seems merciful enough to avoid asking them out loud. More grateful for that reality than he truly cares to admit, Bradley manages a thin smile, only for the look to fade moments later as he takes in Natasha's suddenly significant look over his shoulder.

"Incoming."

"Hey."

The greeting is soft. Far more tentative than Bradley is used to, considering its source, but even then, the lurch coming from inside of his chest is unmistakable. It very nearly drives him to his knees. Just a glance at Casey's features is enough to prove she is mirroring his own uncertainty, and for a moment, Bradley finds himself half-tempted to question her motives, at least within the confines of a skeptical glance. But that is before he follows the line of her gaze back toward the bar. Before he notices yet another familiar figure seated nearby.

He hadn't noticed Mav in the crowd until now, but clearly Casey is well aware of her father's presence there, the slight lift to her chin telling him all too clearly that she is trying to maintain the appearance that everything is exactly how it has always been, before. And even if he is less than pleased at the discovery, such as it is, Bradley still cannot seem to bring himself to let her down.

"Hey Case."

"Nat."

"Mitchell," Phoenix acknowledges, watching as Casey seems to accept the one-armed embrace Bradley provides, regardless of the slight stiffening of her spine, "Didn't realize you'd be back in town."

"I didn't realize I would be either, until I was halfway here," Casey admits, trying to ignore how Bradley's arm lingers around her shoulders, keeping her close, and praying that the dim lighting overhead will mask her flushed cheeks if she should fail, "What brought you back?"

"Special detachment. Doing a hell of a job of keeping us all in the dark, though."

"Any idea when you'll find out what it all entails?"

"Way I see it, that doesn't matter, sweetheart. What matters is who's gonna be team leader."

Turning to face the new arrival, Casey is not blind to the tightening of Bradley's arm around her. She does not miss how his entire body seems to go rigid, as though anticipating some reason to be on alert.

Truthfully, aside from a cocky sort of charm that is so obvious it is nearly painful, she can hardly tell why the stranger standing in front of them would warrant such a reaction. A reality that allows her to favor him with an almost resigned smile before she replies.

"Let me guess. You think it's gonna be—you?"

"Damn straight."

"You seem awfully confident."

"Maybe you'll let me buy you a drink, and I can show you why."

"Or maybe, I'll pass," Casey retorts, the words softened by the obvious amusement that rests behind them, even in spite of the sense of emptiness that threatens to overwhelm her as soon as she realizes Bradley appears to be pulling away, "Sorry."

"Now why do I get the feelin' that you're not?"

"You have trust issues?"

The stranger laughs in response to the quip, and Casey allows herself to feel a small modicum of relief that he appears content to play along, rather than taking offense at her refusal of the offer being made. For a moment, she even considers carrying on with the little ruse, if for no other reason than to distract herself from other, less encouraging thoughts.

Before she has the chance to fully decide, though, the matter appears to be taken out of her hands entirely, the amusement that is so apparent in the newcomer's expression remaining firm even as his attention shifts toward Bradley, instead.

"She with you, Bradshaw?"

"How is that any of your business?"

"Well I don't think it qualifies as top secret—"

"That's your opinion, Hangman."

"Actually, I'm thinkin' it's more like a fact," The man—Hangman—states, his smile only growing as he leans forward on the pool cue held firmly in both hands, "But if you're not willin' to admit it, I'm sure someone else here will be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm pretty sure it means he thinks you're embarrassed to be seen with me."

Bradley can tell that there is obvious humor behind the words. That for her part, at least, Casey is not offended by the implications of the other pilot's assumption. By contrast, he can feel his jaw tightening in aggravation, the tension he already felt given everything that still rests, unsaid, between him and the woman standing beside him only growing in response to Seresin and his constant need to have the upper hand.

It would be a lie for him to pretend he isn't half-tempted to do something—anything—to get the knowing smirk off of Seresin's face, but before he can consider whether the potential consequences are worth it, Bradley feels the sudden pressure of a smaller hand slipping into his own, and delivering a tiny squeeze.

Casey…

"I'm with him. Sorry."

"Why am I gettin' the feeling you'd say that, even if you're really not?"

"Oh, I don't know," Casey muses, her eyes flicking to Bradley's for a moment, just in time to note how he seems to relax, bit by bit, "Maybe because I would."

"Ouch, kitten. Retract the claws."

"Don't ever call me kitten again, and you have a deal."

Jake laughs, but Bradley notes that he does seem to back off, a fact he is incredibly grateful for, even if he will never own up to it out loud. Before long, Seresin's attention is diverted by a new pool game, and he moves away.

Once again, he finds himself alone with Casey, at least relatively speaking, and left with what seems to be nothing to say. But before he can even attempt to change that apparent reality, she is taking the pressure of breaking the silence from him in its entirety.

"We um—we should catch up sometime, when we aren't—"

"In the middle of a bunch of pilots?"

"Yeah, something like that," Casey agrees, laughing softly, though this time, the amusement does not reach her eyes, "But only if you—if you want."

"Case, why the hell wouldn't I—"

"If you're too busy with the mission, I mean."

"I won't be."

"Well if you are—"

"I won't be," Bradley repeats, holding Casey's gaze even in spite of how the doubt he can see so clearly is like a knife in his gut. Things never used to be like this between them. For as long as he can recall, they'd both been able to read one another, and predict the other's needs.

By contrast, now, it seems like they have lost that. Like they can't manage even a singular step in the direction of what is normal without stumbling. And the only reason that he can find for that is what happened between them before the last time he'd been deployed.

He didn't regret it. He honestly doesn't think there would ever be a way that he could. But with Casey's obvious nerves, he can hardly tell where she stands, and that, in turn, fuels his own.

"Why wouldn't I want to, Case?"

The question isn't exactly something he expects to ask again, but instinct appears to have taken over, above all else, regardless of how Casey's expression seems to falter just a bit in response. Once again, Bradley is confronted with her hesitation. With how he can tell a part of her, no matter how small that part may actually be, wants to bolt.

He wants to find some way of reassuring her, but he would be the first to admit that he hardly knows where to begin. And in the wake of his indecision, Bradley soon finds that Casey is seizing on the first reason she can find to pull away.

"I should um—I should go see what that's all about," She begins, inclining her head toward the bar, where a group of patrons have started chanting 'overboard', amid laughs and other indistinguishable shouts, "Talk later?"

"Definitely."

Casey moves back toward the bar relatively quickly, and Bradley realizes that he truly ought to have known the commotion had something to do with Mav. In an attempt to avoid being pulled into the fray, he turns and heads toward the piano standing nearby instead.

The feel of the keys beneath his fingertips settles him in the face of the apparent rift between him and the only other person who can. And as he begins to play, Bradley forces himself to forget absolutely everything outside of what he is doing right now…

Given the alternative, it seems to be the only choice he has.

…

"Everything okay?"

"I think that's a question I should be asking you," Casey replies, allowing the door to swing shut behind her, and stepping out onto the small patio behind her mother's bar with a faint smile toying at her lips, "Getting a little old for being literally tossed out on your ass, I think."

"Age is a matter of perspective."

"And yet I seem to recall you used to be able to get back on your feet a little faster—"

"Watch it, kid," Pete laughs, brushing the last of the sand off of his jeans while Casey comes to stand not all that far from his side, "You didn't answer my question."

"Maybe that's because you really don't need to ask."

"Uh-huh."

"You don't!" Casey insists, the doubt that remains in her father's expression bothering her far more than she cares to admit, "I'm fine, it's just—"

"Something with Rooster?"

"I'm Switzerland, remember?"

"I know," Pete acknowledges, the hasty nature of Casey's response giving him every reason to believe his suspicion is correct, "Doesn't mean I wouldn't want to help."

"I don't really think that you can."

The confession escapes before she can stop it, and Casey hurriedly averts her gaze in hopes of avoiding being forced to look her father in the eye. Hardly one to want to seem defeated, she knows that by admitting to any sort of uncertainty at all, she is doing precisely that.

She can sense him looking at her, whether she truly wants him to be doing so or not, her cheeks warming beneath his gaze perhaps even more so than from the setting sun. And even if she is still not at all willing to truly come clean, Casey forces herself to at least try to correct the impression left by her last reply.

"I didn't mean that you can't, I just—"

"You want to try and figure things out yourself."

Suddenly unable to manage an actual answer, Casey settles for offering her father a singular nod instead, her guilt over keeping him at arm's length at odds with her unwillingness to allow anyone to know the truth. Before, she'd always been able to tell him anything. In fact, she can recall a time where, aside from Bradley, he'd been the first person she would run to if trouble came knocking at her door.

Now, by contrast, allowing her father to know the truth—to know what really happened between her and Bradley—is perhaps the most terrifying thing she can imagine.

Or the second most terrifying thing, really, compared to the sudden realization that her hand has drifted to rest over her stomach without her consent…

Jolting to attention, Casey snaps her hand back to her side as quickly as she can, her teeth digging into her lower lip for a moment as she scrambles to think of something to say that will move the conversation along. It does not escape her notice that this is yet another unusual barrier between them. A thing that she wishes did not exist.

Before she can even attempt to fix the situation, though, she recognizes the sounds of a familiar song on piano wafting out of the open window nearby. She notes the sudden change in her father's features whether he would likely rather her ignore it or not.

Casey knows without even looking that it is Bradley at the piano, and a part of her honestly wonders if he might have chosen the tune on purpose, even as awful as such a suspicion makes her feel. But regardless, there is one thing that she now knows for sure.

It would seem she is not the only one that has secrets to keep.

…

25 notes · View notes

rendy-a · 1 year

Note

Hi.

I love reading ‘A Blooming Romance’ that you did. Can I request a similar situation but with Riddle, Silver and Deuce?

Hope you have a good day❤️

Thank you for the request. I’m so glad that you’ve enjoyed my flower piece enough to ask for more. I hope you enjoy this one just as much!

Another Blooming Romance

Forget-me-nots: Faithful love, undying hope, memories

You see Riddle pick up the package of stationary from his mail slot and turn it over. He fingers the delicate blue blossoms lightly. “Prefect,” he calls to you, “do you know who sent this to me?” Of course you do, it was you but you don’t intend to tell him that. “Ah, no. I didn’t see anyone come in with that.” You lie so smoothly that the dorm leader doesn’t question you. He purses his lips and regards the package one last time, “Forget-me-nots. How shall I remember them when I don’t even know who they are?” He does not wait for an answer but turns sharply and walks from the mail room with a sharp click of his heels echoing along the corridor.

You felt a brief wave of guilt for having been dishonest with Riddle. Ah, Riddle. You smile as you think of the studious dorm leader of Heartslabyul. You had admired his determination, both in class and with his personal growth, seeking out ways to become closer to his dorm students. You’d watched from the sidelines as the earnest dorm leader had become more friendly with Ace and Deuce; but not much with you. Not that he was rude, it was just that you had limited reason to interact outside of the few brief moments you might cross paths; mostly in the common room of Heartslabyul when you visited your first-year friends.

So, it was a relief when Crowley placed another odd job on your shoulders; to sort and deliver the school mail. You might think that a magical place like Twisted Wonderland would have magical mail service but surprisingly, you set out each morning from Ramshackle with a cart to the front gate to collect a bin of letters from a postal worker. Then you hauled the load back to the main campus building where there was a small room filled with numbered cubbies for each student to receive mail. You had struggled at first to learn the system but, over time, you’d gotten the hang of the organization. You could now quickly tell from a letter what section it belonged to (the second for Savanahclaw) and what rows (sixth through eighth for a second year) and sort your mail out before classes even began.

You never did though. Crowley had given you permission to miss the first period study hall and attend to your mail delivery duties instead. By lingering all period long, you’d discovered you had the opportunity to be in the mail room after first period when HE arrived. Riddle lived by a schedule so consistent that you could set your watch to it. Every school day, he arrived five minutes after the end of first period to collect his mail. It was the highlight of your day. You watched him with a secret smile as he entered the small space and ran his gaze along the rows of cubbies, searching out his box. Riddle was always polite to you, greeting you properly each day.

“Good morning, Prefect.” Riddle greets you with a small smile. “Good morning, Dorm Leader Rosehearts,” you greet him in return. You aren’t as close as you’d hope but each day you try to learn a little more about him. “How is the rose-painting going? I hope Ace and Deuce haven’t slacked off on you!” Riddle gives you a long-suffering sigh, “I wish my own dorm students were as hard-working as you, Prefect. We could certainly use some of that spirit when preparing for an Unbirthday Party.”

He hadn’t exactly said he wanted your help but he also hadn’t said NOT to help either. Only, you pondered throughout the day, how could a magic-less student possibly assist a great mage like Riddle? The answer had come a day later when Riddle had off-handedly commented on the need to go to the school shop on the weekend to replenish his stock of stationary. He lamented the need to delay until the weekend, at all times preferring to accomplish tasks with utmost promptness, but his busy schedule had not afforded him time for idle shopping until then. You agreed with Riddle that it really was QUITE a shame but secretly were overjoyed at the prospect of finding a way to help out your crush.

On the way back from the school store, you took a short cut through a field of wildflowers and came across some small blue blossoms. Forget-me-nots. You smiled at the little familiar flowers. So, they existed in this world as well. It was like a gentle wish from your past not to forget all of the good moments. On a whim, you pulled up a sprig of flower and tucked it in the wrapping on the stationary. You hoped that Riddle would receive the sentiment as you had, and not forget the good moments you shared together.

That first special delivery had left you conflicted. You’d been too shy to give your gift in person, instead choosing to leave it as a secret admirer. Only, Riddle had seemed so troubled by the idea of receiving a package from an unknown sender. “I don’t understand,” he told you the next day, “why wouldn’t you sign your name so the recipient can properly thank you?” He sounded so forlorn.

“Ah, maybe they are too intimidated to talk to you. You are the one who represents the great spirit of the Queen of Hearts, after all.” You try to encourage Riddle to a better mood but your attempt only makes him frown at you. “Is that how you think of me? Like some unapproachable figure? I’m just a person, Prefect.” You are left gaping at his response as he turned heel and left you alone to contemplate your situation.

Had you mis-stepped? You had not intended to confess to Riddle, but rather to just admire him silently during your morning rendezvous. Are you wrong? Is it selfish of you to leave him wondering about you while you sit on your secret alone? It was a thought that stayed with you all day and into the next. You think about this as you return to the school store. Ace had off-handedly mentioned that Riddle had a torn glove on his riding uniform and you wanted to help him by gifting him a kit to mend it.

On the way back to the mail room for your daily shift, you grab another sprig of forget-me-nots and add them to your gift. Perhaps it was a bit hypocritical of you, but it was your special thing now. You looked sadly at the blooms that represented all your hopes for your relationship and yet knew when you arrived, you’d slide the package into the mail cubby anonymously again.

You waited guiltily until Riddle arrived to pick up his mail, as reliable as always. He sees the package and tenses, an angry expression crossing his face. “Prefect, I though I had made myself clear,” he speaks to you in a heated tone. “Wha…What do you mean?” you ask nervously. He looks at you with a disappointed look, “I live in a dorm with Cater. Did you really think you could keep this secret? Rosaria had been so eager to gossip about it.” You flip your eyes to the painting that hangs across the hall and notice the occupant of said painting was eating up this drama like it was high value entertainment. You suppose that when you are stuck in a painting, any drama is probably high value. Of course, she would have taken the opportunity to mention it to her acquaintance, Cater, and hope for some additional amusement.

You shoot the painted girl an annoyed look and shut the door, depriving her of the satisfaction of a scene. You cast your eyes downward and turn to face the angry Dorm Leader. “I’m sorry Riddle. I just didn’t think it did any harm. I could help out and you could still be free to study and complete your dorm responsibilities. That is all I wanted, just to help.” His brow furrows but his color returns to a normal shade, indicating that while vexed, he was considerably less angry. “All my life, decisions are being made for me. First by my mother and now by you. All I want is to be able to make my own choices for once. Is that too much to ask?”

You gasp and look up at him, shocked by his admission. And really, he was right. This should be his choice. “Riddle,” you shakily start, “I like you. I like you a lot. You are so smart and brave and…and…I just can’t forget you.” Then you bow your head and wait for his response. He lets out a little huff. “Straighten that posture, Prefect.” A hand enters your vision holding the spring of flowers. “Forget you? How can I when I have this?” He gestures for you to take it. You blush and accept the flowers. “Meet me later for tea? Don’t forget.” You flash him a beaming smile and tightly grasp the stem. No, you wouldn’t forget.

Heather: Protection, wishes will come true

There was something about Silver, you thought as you picked a sprig of wild heather and handed it off to a bird. He was charming and kind, just like the princes of fairy tales you’d read as a child. You liked to walk with him on your way to class when you could. He was naturally quiet, so you chattered away at him instead. You once asked him if he minded the way you monopolized the time and he told you that he was actually grateful for your company; it keeps him awake!

Not only was Silver charming, but he was also safe. A magic-less student in a school like NRC attracted a lot of unwelcome attention. Your first week had been a nightmare; students from many dorms had sought you out to gawk at the odd student. Some had done more than gawk; causing you to take more than a few bruises. That was how you’d first met Silver.

“Where are you going little mouse?” mocked the brawny student stalking you. You had ducked into a closet and waited, hoping he’d overlook your hiding spot. You’d hoped in vain. With a sudden jerk, the door flew open. You raised a hand, blocking the light that blinded you, only to have the student grab that hand and use it to pull you out of your hideaway. You’d cowered, waiting for a blow to fall but it never did. When you dared raise your gaze, you’d seen a vision straight from a tale. A silver-haired knight standing between you and your attacker.

And from that day on, that was what he was to you, your Silver knight. His mere presence was enough to intimidate most students and, for those foolish enough to challenge him, his skills proved worthy of his reputation. You still fondly remember the panicked look on that student’s face as he ran down the hall. Silver never gloated though, he only turned to you with that calm look and asked if you were alright. Yes, you thought, you were more than alright.

You handed off another sprig of heather off to a squirrel as you remembered the soft, sleepy look Silver had as he escorted you to class that morning. He had taken it upon himself to guard you in addition to his young master, when he was able. There was little you could do to properly thank him for such a service. One day, you’d asked a small songbird that you felt followed Silver around to deliver a wildflower you plucked to your knight. The bird had given you a proud shake of feathers, as though thrilled to be chosen for such a mission. Then, it took the flower and flown off. When you encountered Silver later, he had tucked the flower behind his ear. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but you thought Silver had a small smile upon his somewhat stoic face.

From then on, you took to picking and sending Silver flowers via the cute forest creatures that had befriended him. Rook had come upon you picking flowers one day and joined you. While choosing flowers, he had regaled you with the many meanings of the wildflowers you’d found. One had especially caught your attention. Heather was a perfect flower for your knight. It expressed the appreciation you had for his protection and your secret wishes that you’d manage to someday make him your own Prince Charming. You usually sent a variety of flowers but always included a sprig of heather.

A cold wind tousled your hair and caused you to frown. An owl gave you an inquisitive hoot and you turned to him, “Fall is coming. Soon the last of the wildflowers will be gone.” You hold a flower in your hand and regard it with a melancholy expression. “I’ve sent him these flowers all season long but soon I won’t be able to anymore. I wonder if my feelings will continue to reach him then.” The owl gives you another hoot and you take it as encouragement. “I know, I believe that too.” You smile and hand off the last flower to the owl. “Go and deliver him my flower and love.”

You smiled gently as you watched the owl fly off and then set off back to Ramshackle. You wandered slowly, enjoying the last of the warm weather on your way back. Before making it back to the dorm, you were surprised to hear a fast packed clipping of boots on the cobbled path. It was rare to see other students on this out-of-the-way path. You paused and turned to see who it might be and were surprised to see Silver hurriedly striding your way.

Your heart started pounding; there was little reason to be coming down this path if not to see you. You look at him expectantly and, sure enough, he comes to stand in front of you. “Ah, Silver. I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” you offer in a questioning tone. He smiles a small sheepish smile and places a hand to his temple. “Mr. Owl gave me your message and I had to come.” You looked at him confused but then noticed the flower in his hair. It was the same one you’d handed to the owl before coming home for the night.

“The…the owl. Right,” you add nervously. You vaguely remember saying some embarrassing things to that owl. Surely, the owl couldn’t have actually TOLD Silver what you’d said, could it? Silver blushes a small amount and pulls the flower from his hair and hands it to you. “I feel the same.” You only hesitate a moment before accepting the flower. “You, you do?” Silver smiles at you gently. “Yes. I’ve been hoping for you to confess for a while now. Fa..Lilia told me it was best if I waited until you were ready. I’m so glad you finally decided it was time.”

You glance around and see the owl looking at you from a nearby tree. When you meet its eye, it raises its wings as though to say, ‘Good for you two!’ You turned your attention back to Silver, who was patiently waiting for your response. You hesitantly hold out your hand and Silver grasps it and tugs gently, inviting you to come closer. So you do, leaning gently against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. “Is it really ok to be this happy?” you ask him in a dreamy voice. Silver’s voice reaches you ears, “Yes, for now and ever after.”

Gladiolus: Strength of character, sincerity, generosity

You and Deuce were a lot alike. People were always telling you that. Perhaps it was the earnest spirit you possessed, the one that made you want to work hard to prove yourself as the magic-less Prefect of Ramshackle dorm. Or maybe it was just how naïve you were. You and Deuce had secretly smuggled the eggshells out of the Heartslabyul kitchen the last time you helped Trey bake. Deep in the rose maze, you held a little funeral for the chicks who might have been before burying the shells in the compost heap. You felt like you might cry and turned to Deuce to see he was already letting heavy tears fall upon his cheeks. You had smiled and held his hand, knowing you had found a kindred spirit.

There were some differences though. While Deuce was athletic, you were sort of clumsy. Which felt really unfair; you already had no magic and now you suck at the regular portion of gym class too! Deuce was always supportive of you, even when you fail miserably. “You can do it, Prefect! FIGHT ON!” You turn and look at him, “Deuce, I appreciate the cheer but I’m only waist height up this rope. I don’t think I’m going to make it to the top.” Deuce gives you a startled look before putting his fist to his chest and very seriously remarking, “Don’t worry about it, there are plenty of fish in the sea.” It made no sense really, but somehow, it still makes you feel better. You give your dear, dear friend a gently smile from where you cling desperately to the rope, “Thanks Deuce, I needed that.” He perks up happily, always pleased to have assisted you.

You just wish that you could find a way to help him out too. It felt like he was always the one encouraging you and never the other way around. At least once, you’d like to be the one cheering him on, helping him find that extra oomph to pull through. Only, you were barely in the same lessons. Coach Vargus was always giving you remedial tasks for your class while the athletic Deuce was running laps or taking flying lessons with the rest of the students. You could shout from across the field, but how would he know the shouts were for him?

“I’m just here to help you stretch,” Jack says to you with some confusion as to why you are saying all this aloud. You look up at him and sigh, “I know but you are such a good listener. I just can’t help but want to talk out my problems when you are around.” Jack looks away and puts a hand in his hair, rubbing his head in embarrassment, “You know you could always come to our track meets. I’m sure Deuce would like to have you in the stands cheering for him there.” You jump up and clasp your hands in front of you, “Jack! That is a great idea!” You give Jack an enthusiastic hug and then bound away, your spirits mightily lifted.

You spent that night thinking about how to best show your support for Deuce and came up with an idea. You vaguely recall that the way to congratulate a race winner was by putting a wreath of flowers around their neck. You were a little unsure if this was just for horses but figured that it was the thought that counted most. You weren’t entirely sure where you could come up with a flower wreath but figured you’d go where everything was…

“IN STOCK NOW!!!” Sam assures you when you tell him of your needs. You were relieved that Sam seemed to understand what you’d been going for when you explained your idea to him. He even gave you some helpful suggestions on flowers based on flower language, which was a mystery to you. Sam asked you to tell him about the person the flowers were for; not just his personality but what he meant to you.

You had tried to capture the feeling, but it was difficult; how do you describe a person who is like your best friend, brother, and partner all in one? You tried though. You told Sam about how Deuce always tried his best, even when it was something he knew he wouldn’t succeed in. You told him about how Deuce isn’t afraid to tell you about his mistakes. You value his honesty and feel inspired by the way he looks forward to how he plans to improve rather than dwelling on his failings. Lastly, you tell Sam about the events that inspired your gift; the way Deuce always goes out of his way to give you support. Sam smiles at you kindly, “So you need a gift for your boyfriend.” You jump back, “N.N.NO! He’s not, I mean we’re not…Ah, it’s not like that!”

Sam chuckles at you mischievously but let’s your awkward denial stand. “Of course, little imp. I have just the thing to encourage a…special friend and it’s IN STOCK NOW!” Your relief was palatable; both because you’d found a way to encourage Deuce and because you hadn’t been forced to look too deeply at your relationship with your friend. Because you were just friends and…and that is all you want…right? You shake your head, banishing any wayward thoughts and smile at the suave businessman, “Yes, I’ll take it. Thank you, sir!”

When the day of the track meet arrived, you returned to the Mystery Shop to retrieve your item. When you saw the bright red flowers braided into the wreath, you gasped in delight. “Sam, this is perfect! He’s sure to notice me from the stands now. I’m sure my feelings will reach him!” Sam passes you a knowing smile, “Good luck, little Imps. And if you need anything in the future; notebooks, shoes, …rings; you know where to come.” With a last wink, Sam withdraws into the shop and you jog off.

You arrive at the track and field area where bleachers have been set up to hold spectators. You climb up to the very top of a set, hoping the height will make you even more visible. Your gaze scans the students warming up below, searching for Deuce. “You came to my meet!” an excited voice exclaims to your side. “Ack!” you yell in surprise, nearly taking a tumble off the back of the bleachers. “Whoa!” Deuce exclaims as he grabs your arm, steadying you, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You laugh sheepishly, clutching your gladiolus wreath before realizing you were perhaps crushing the flowers. “Oh, OH! This is for you!” you say as you thrust the wreath out to him. “Ah! Thanks?” Deuce says in confusion. “I wanted to congratulate you on your win!” Deuce seems satisfied with your answer but rubs his head and remarks, “But I haven’t won anything yet…” You jump in surprise, realizing you’ve made a silly error after being startled. You pull the wreath back into your hands, “Ah! Then, then I’m just going to hold it here until you do. So go win and then come back so I can congratulate you!” Deuce gives you a beaming smile with his fist to his chest, “That’s right! I’m all fired up now! Just you wait!” Then he runs off, still smiling, to join the rest of the runners.

You were hoarse from shouting your encouragement by the end of the event. Both Deuce and Jack do well but Deuce only manages to take home second place in the sprint. You find him afterward leaning with his forehead against a wall. “Deuce,” you call out uncertainly. Deuce doesn’t look at you and instead slides down into a squat. “I didn’t win. I disappointed you.” You hurriedly rush to his side, “Not at all! You did so well!” With a flip of your wrists, you toss the wreath over his head. “Congratulations Deuce. You didn’t win the race but I’m sure you’ve won something.”

Deuce looks up at your suddenly with a blush settling on his cheeks. “Did I?” he asks nervously, “I’ve been trying to for so long that I’d almost given up. I thought you didn’t think of me that way but now,” he slides his hand over the bright flowers, “I see I was wrong.” He gently takes your hand and lets out a breath that is have laugh and half sigh of relief. When he squeezes your hand, your heart thumps wildly, turning your feelings into a pit in your stomach. Then Deuce laughs again and this time it is fully joyful, rising all the way to his eyes, crinkling up his cheeks and showing where he will someday have laugh-lines. When you hear the sound, it settles in you and suddenly you no longer feel confused. You find yourself laughing with him, squeezing his hand back tightly. Ah, so that was it. You were in love with Deuce; your best friend and partner. You wonder mildly if anyone else noticed. Probably not.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #twst silver #silver x reader #deuce spade #deuce x reader

168 notes · View notes

annab-nana · 3 years

Text

All A Game - JJ Maybank

You were a kook dating the hottest pogue so you should have guessed something was up, but you never would have thought that your relationship with JJ was a joke.

Requested by @rochyu 💙

A/N: just to clarify, this is based on a scene from the movie “after”, so if it seems familiar, that is why

Warnings: some curse words; angst

Word Count: 2.0k+

--------------------------------------------------

Laughter sounded throughout the closed restaurant as you, JJ, and all of his friends—who you too have become quite close within the span of your relationship—were hanging out with cold fries and watered-down drinks before you on the table. These moments were the ones you held close to your heart. They just felt so warm, something you never ever felt with your friends at the kook academy. Your only kook friends that you ever felt a genuine connection with were Rafe and Kelce, but they always tried to come to your rescue even when not necessary which while endearing was a tad annoying. They probably hated you now that you were fraternizing with the enemy so to speak.

The pogues made you feel so at home in a place that despised you and you had actual fun with them. Between surfing, fishing, little adventures, and late nights like tonight at The Wreck, you grew close to them, called them true friends but boy, were you wrong.

There you sat, a wide radiant smile on your face. JJ’s arm was slung around your shoulders as he cracked more jokes. Pope was on your other side, his dorky grin put on display. Kiara and John B sat on the opposite, giggles flying from their lips alongside quick remarks to add to the banter. Another warm moment that would be your last. Your last moment in their presence and you would miss it. You would be savoring it now if only you knew.

“I gotta wring it out. Be right back,” JJ announced before pressing his lips to your temple—the last kiss from him you would receive—and standing up to leave.

“Ew,” you scolded while wiping the kiss off that you’d wish later on you could do with every part of you he and those damn heavenly lips had touched, “don’t kiss me after talking about that.”

“C’mon princess, don’t do that,” he pouted at you as he blew you a kiss and disappeared into the men’s restroom.

“You two are gross,” John B commented, his facial expression showing his disgust for the interaction he had witnessed.

“Like you don’t mack on Sarah every fucking chance you get,” you quipped, earning some laughs from Pope and Kie. “Anyway, I’m in love with him so say all you want. I don’t care.”

As soon as the words left you, the air was thick around you as the tension grew. You felt Pope stiffen next to you and watched as John B and Kie showed similar blank expressions.

“Is… everything alright?” you questioned with a nervous chuckle. Kiara’s eyes flitted to Pope’s for a second whose eyes widened at what she was insinuating before they jumped to John B’s. “What’s going on?”

“I-“ she sighed while she unlocked her phone, “y/n, there’s something you should know about JJ.”

“O-okay,” you stuttered out in a small voice, worry filling your veins only to heighten when you heard his voice.

“Woah, who killed the mood?” the blond joked, trying to lift the spirits of the group but based on your worried expression, Kie’s eyes never meeting his, and Pope and John B shaking their heads, he realized something serious was going on. “What happened?”

Kiara finally revealed what she was looking for on her phone. It was turned sideways so you all could see the video better and front and center was JJ Maybank. She had not played it yet, but you could tell by his surroundings that it was from the night you met him. It was at that party where Sarah drunkenly introduced you to John B. The other pogues were there too but you had no knowledge of them at the time. That’s when you saw him, blond hair a mess but still cute and bright blue eyes that you found captivating. He saw you too and introduced himself before trying to make a move on you. You, of course, rejected him because he was known everywhere for his infamous one-night stands, and you weren’t here for that. You desired something more that at the time, you didn’t think he could provide. He then went back to his friends, the ones you sat around today.

“Kie,” John B warned as she shot a sharp glare at JJ and played the video. You saw yourself in the video looking up at JJ. It was the exact moment you had met him, and Kiara had filmed it.

“Aw, it looks like JJ Maybank just got his first rejection,” Kie spoke from behind the camera while JJ turned around with an amused smile on his face. John B was laughing behind the phone as well, probably heavily intoxicated on alcohol and Sarah.

“You don’t think I can make it happen?” JJ teased, blue eyes going to each of his friends who stood behind Kiara while he quirked a brow teasingly.

“Make what happen, JJ?” Kie asked before she hiccupped. She’d had a few prior to this as well.

“Make her fall in love with me and then,” he paused then snapped his fingers, “turn it off.”

At that, you felt the tears well in your eyes, but they were also glued to the screen in front of you. You saw the smile he wore after he spoke such a damaging statement and it cut you deep inside. As for everyone else, they were watching you. The video stopped mere seconds after he said those painful words and your eyes lifted from the phone to its owner.

“It was all a game,” Kie’s voice spoke to you while wearing a pitiful expression on the face you thought was of a friend, but she didn’t feel like on right now. None of them did. Though she repeated what you already knew, thanks to the video, you could not believe it. Your focus faltered to the table as you tried to calm the thoughts running through your mind. Every moment you shared with him was nothing. It was all meaningless. It was all a lie. He never cared about you and slowly, that was tearing you up inside.

“Y/n?” JJ’s concerned voice entered your ears. How in any way did he have the right to be concerned for you? This was his mess after all. He did this. You didn’t look up from the table. “Y/n,” he tried again, this time reaching for your hand, but you shrugged it off. “Y/n, please, you have to believe me,” he said while you tried your hardest not to look at him, keeping your gaze trained on the table. He leaned in to be a little closer to you.

“Y/n, that was before everything, before I got to know you,” he desperately tried to get you to understand his side of things. Instead of turning to him, you turned to Pope. His big brown eyes scanned your face, seeing how you were breaking, and he hated it for you. His face showed sympathy, but he was in the wrong too, just not as bad as JJ.

“Is that true?” Your voice broke at the last word, and you despised yourself for it. You could see the little line of tears blurring your vision at the bottom, but not one had dared to fall. Pope looked down for a moment. He did not want to be the one to tell you, but his silence answered your question. Your eyes found John B and Kie next. “And all of you knew?” Back to the table your stare went when no one spoke.

“Y/n,” JJ’s shaking voice sounded on your left. Finally giving up, you let your eyes meet his. What a bad idea that was? Once you caught sight of the beautiful blues, it felt like you were drowning. It was like the water was clogging your ears because you saw his lips moving. You knew he was talking, but no sound was coming to you. Through your blurring vision, you saw that he was fighting off tears too, but what did he have to cry about? He broke yourheart, absolutely wrecked it, and here he was with tears in his eyes. Why couldn’t he just turn it off like he said he could? God, you hated him so much right now. Through the deafening silence, you scrambled to stand as JJ did the same with you.

“Y/n, wait,” you thought he said. That’s what it looked like he said, but you would not know. And you wouldn’t be there to find out either as you took off running for the exit. Once outside, the rain could be heard but also so could JJ.

“Y/n, wait,” he tried again but you kept walking. “Y/n!”

“None of it was real,” you paused to breathe as you faced him, “I actually thought… I thought that-” Your words were cut off by that feeling of your chest tightening as the emotions swirled inside you. That gummy feeling rose to your throat and blocked you from speaking for a moment and JJ noticed this. He knew you now. He knew how you looked when the world was crumbling all around you and that’s how you looked right now. He hated that he was the one who had caused this. “You’re just a liar.”

“That was all before,” he tried to fight, tried to get you to fucking understand but it was too hard. It would never make sense to you and how could it?

“Before what?” you inquired. You were emotionally drained and honestly so done with this situation that you knew you should have seen coming. Love can blind you sometimes though.

“Before-”

“You snapped your fingers and turned it off?” you asked after cutting him off. Guilt was written all over his face and you watched as he thought about what to say next.

“You said nothing could change the way you felt about me.” Yes, JJ, but that was before I knew you were playing some game with me! That’s what you wanted to scream at him. God, you wanted to scream at him, but you didn’t have it in you at the moment.

“Then, I guess we’re both liars,” you stated, plain and simple. You watched as his head hung low and you decided you were done with this, turning to leave. Nothing seemed to be on your side tonight because you had come with everyone in John B’s van after he picked you up so now you had to walk home in the rain. Luckily, The Wreck was between your land and theirs so it wouldn’t be a long trek and the rain masked your tears so to onlookers, you were just walking alone in the rain. Not as sad as you would seem if they had known what was really happening but still pretty pathetic. Your feet took you into the land of the kooks and surprisingly to Tannyhill where Rafe sat outside in his truck.

“What were you doing alone in the rain? Shouldn’t you be with those demons?” Rafe teased, attempting to get you to smile but failing miserably.

“Don’t talk about them,” you barked before letting out your next word a lot more silently and vulnerably, “please.”

“Are you okay?” Anytime someone asks that when you are trying to fight back tears, it always breaks the dam.

“No,” you muttered, but he was quick to pull you into his arms to comfort your sobbing state.

“I’m so sorry, y/n.” You laughed after that. It was funny hearing him apologize on a pogue’s behalf. “What’s so funny?” he asked, a little laughter in his tone as well.

“Nothing, just you’re not telling me ‘I told you so’ or whatever,” you told him honestly, but he was just glad to see you smiling again.

“Wanna go inside? I imagine you’re cold.” You nodded in response as Rafe turned off the vehicle and reached for the door to leave, but you grabbed his arm to stop him.

“I- uh, sorry. I just wanted to say thank you,” you muttered before he shot you a smile and hugged you again, his lips finding the top of your head in a friendly manner.

“Anytime, y/n.”

--------------------------------------------------

tag list: @tovvaa @killingbxys @moniamaybank @makebank @saharamae21 @x-lulu @taylathornton @mxltifandoms06 @dpaccione @bibliophilewednesday @rudybarnes @dpaccione @marjorie189 @vintageobx @cognacdelights @saraxthompson @astronomical-parker @ilovejjmaybank @drewstarkeysbitchh @maybanksslut (strike through means I couldn’t tag you)

click here to be added to the taglist

#jj #jj maybank #jj imagine #jj x reader #jj fanfic #jj fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank fanfiction #jj outer banks #jj obx #jj obx imagine #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction

601 notes · View notes

antariies · 3 years

Text

Visions of the Past: The Departing

Summary: The Commander never told Braham about their first death at the hands of Balthazar. Years later, he finds out in the worst way possible.

Characters: Pact Commander, Braham, Aurene, Balthazar

Notes: Commander’s POV (2nd-person); set before Jormag Rising; fluff, angst, hurt/comfort; 5.6k words, CW: blood, gore, character death, anxiety attack; the departing is and will always be one of my favorite instances and it sucks that we never got an emotional confrontation about it between braham and the commander. hope i did it justice. enjoy!

—

“Commander, can I use the Scrying Pool to view your memories?” Braham asks one day, apropos of nothing, sliding into the seat across from you.

You slam your glass of water back down onto the table with a loud smack, screwing your eyes shut and leaning forward as you choke on your drink. After a few seconds of intense coughing and waving away Braham’s apologies, you finally clear your throat enough to be able to speak.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, squinting at him in confusion, “you want to… what?”

“Uh, use the Scrying Pool to view your memories?” he repeats, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Only with your permission, of course.”

“…Ah,” you nod slowly, letting the question fully sink in. You bring the glass of water to your lips again as you search for the right words. “That’s…”

A complete and total invasion of my privacy, your mind supplies helpfully.

“...a strange request,” you mutter into the cup. The only thing stopping you from shutting him down on the spot is the fact that it’s Braham. He wouldn’t ask this of you without a damn good reason. “And you want to see them because…?”

At this, Braham lights up, squaring his shoulders. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what the lost Spirits said. About how I need to be a better leader if I’m going to beat Jormag, y’know? So I figured, since you’re the best leader I know-”

You can’t help the fond eye roll you give him.

“-if I got to experience some of your memories, then maybe I could learn from them,” he finishes, nodding once in determination.

“It’s definitely an unconventional way of learning,” you remark coolly, resting your chin on your hand as you level an even, challenging stare at him. You’ve cowed countless soldiers and politicians with this look alone, honed to terrifying perfection over the years.

Undaunted, Braham sets his jaw and meets your gaze dead on. “I know nothing can replace first-hand experience, but I think this would be a good way for me to practice without, uh,” his eyes flicker down for just a moment and he swallows hard. “Without the risk.”

You quirk an eyebrow at that, but you don’t miss the way he absently fiddles with something small and wooden in his free hand and-

Oh, you think, recognizing it and finally understanding. Oh.

It’s been months, but the memory of your first day in Bjora Marches stays fresh in your mind.

It had been freezing cold in the barracks of Jora’s Keep when you and Braham had gotten locked in, but the ice that froze in your veins when you watched him stumble upon the mangled body of his former guildmate was colder still.

“Alva,” he’d whispered, stricken with grief as he sank to his knees beside her body.

“I’m sorry, Braham.” The words sat like ash on your tongue, tasting the same as the first time you had ever offered your condolences and every time after that. You never really got used to it.

“Garm… used to rest his head in her lap.” Braham had pulled her head into his lap then, smoothing her hair out of her face with the utmost care. You turned away to give him as much privacy you could, but the dead silence in the barracks meant you heard every hitched breath and muttered prayer to the Spirits. When he returned to your side after a few minutes, he was clutching a small wooden figurine.

“It’s Wolf,” he explained softly when he caught you looking, “Alva made one for each of us, but I gave mine back when I left, I… I had no idea she’d kept it all this time…”

He carries it everywhere now: a constant, physical reminder of his failures as a leader and as a friend.

You know the feeling all too well.

Unbidden, an acrid tidal wave of bitter jealousy swells up inside you. It’s not fair. You never had the chance to practice leadership because you were thrust into your rank, your title, in the middle of a war. You had no one to guide you. Every lesson you learned was written in blood and people paid for your mistakes with their lives.

The wave reaches a roaring apex, then swiftly crashes and breaks against the rocks of your guilt and better judgement.

It’s not his fault, you tell yourself, that you were given the short end of the stick. If you had had the opportunity to practice, to learn from someone else’s mistakes without risking the lives of anyone under your command, wouldn’t you have taken it too?

Of course, you think, picturing the Pact Memorial that still stands in Caer Aval to this day, of course I would have.

“Of course,” you say, gaze and voice gentle, “I think that’s a great idea, Braham.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t expecting- wait, what? Really?” He stares at you incredulously, the beginnings of a disbelieving grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Are you sure? Because I honestly didn’t think you would say yes so-”

“Well, now that you mention it,” you start mildly, before stifling a snort and shaking your head in amusement as he scrambles to retract his words. “Yes, Braham, I’m sure. C’mon, let’s go before I actually start having second thoughts.”

As he helps you clean up the remains of your lunch, you can’t stop your mind from dredging up every embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in the past eight years. You shut your eyes in a fruitless attempt at blocking out the memories, a long-suffering sigh trapped in your lungs.

It’s okay, you reassure yourself, you’ll be in control of the memories you show him. What could go wrong?

“Hey, Aurene- oh. She’s not here.” Braham says, stopping at the entrance of Aurene’s lair.

You walk past him, a smile stretching across your face as you look around the room. It teems with plant life. Curtains of ivy hang from the tops of the room’s arches while giant Maguuma lilies and dozens of other flowers grow out of cracks in the floor, reaching toward the sunbeams that stream in from the open skylight. Clusters of Aurene’s iridescent Brand crystals cover the walls, filling in the holes left by years of neglect.

In the middle of the room, the Scrying Pool gives off a faint light of its own, its waters swirling lazily as you approach. The spot where Aurene normally sits is vacant, though, just like Braham said. Closing your eyes, you reach out to the bond you share with her. It hums at the edge of your consciousness, quiet and comfortable when you’re not actively talking to her. You give the slightest tug.

‘Just checking in. Where are you?’

A few moments later, a familiar sight flashes in your mind. A vast stormy sky, filled with blue-tinted thunderclouds and stretching as far as the eye can see. The Mists.

Then, Aurene’s voice in your head, clear as day. ‘Trying to figure out what Jormag is up to. So far… I still have no idea.’

“Are you talking to Aurene?” Braham asks. You nod. “Tell her I said hi!”

‘Braham says hi.’ you relay.

‘Hello, Braham!’

‘Alright, we’ll let you get back to it.’ You smile inwardly, a rush of affection warming your chest. ‘Be safe. I love you.’

‘Love you too, Champion.’ Aurene croons happily in your head.

“Aurene says hello,” you say, opening your eyes. “She’s keeping an eye out for Jormag in the Mists right now. I don’t think she’ll be back for a while.”

“Oh,” Braham says, slight disappointment coloring his tone, “Does that mean we can’t use the pool?”

“I’m not sure. Wouldn’t hurt to try, though,” you answer, walking over to it. Kneeling as close to the edge as you dare, you lean over to look into the waters. Your reflection wobbles with every ripple from the pool’s constant, self-sustained swirling and you study your distorted face until you catch some movement above your mirrored shoulder that doesn’t seem to be from the pool.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn lightly, tossing a flat, unimpressed glare over your own shoulder.

Braham, to his credit, looks sorry for maybe half a second before grinning in a way that is decidedly far from it. Still, he concedes and backs away from you with his hands slightly up in surrender. “Oh, like you wouldn’t do the same?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I would never,” you lie, turning back to the pool so he doesn’t see your smile. You make a note to push him into it at the first chance you get. “I’ve used the Scrying Pool a few times now and I can tell you that it’s way easier to view your own memories rather than someone else’s. Feels different too.”

When you first used the Scrying Pool to view Ryland’s memories, it wasn’t anything like Kas’ glamour during the All-Legion Rally. You weren’t just wearing his face and spectating from inside his head, you were Ryland. You felt everything, including his thoughts and his emotions, as if they were your own. It had felt so real that after waking up, it took a few seconds for you to realize that you weren’t him. Aurene had to calm you down as you scrambled around for a flamesaw that was never yours and shouted for a warband you were never a part of.

You can only imagine the state you would have woken up in if you had overstayed your welcome in Ryland’s memories.

It was different with yours, though. Those were easier to fall into, like slipping into a dream, and you always woke up from those with complete clarity.

Speaking of your own memories…

“I think I know the perfect one to start with,” you say, dipping a hand into the pool and focusing on a memory you’ve already used it for. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to access a memory without Aurene here, never mind control it. You don’t even know if two people can go in together, or whose body Braham would end up in. So you start off easy. Something you both remember. The leather of Braham’s armor creaks as he settles down next to you and does the same. He watches on in awed silence as the water glows brighter, swirling faster and faster until a small whirlpool forms in the center and pulls at the lily pads closest to it.

A familiar darkness crowds the edge of your vision and you let yourself fall backwards into the memory.

It’s not hard to spot Braham when his blood-red hair contrasts so starkly against the bright, white snow that covers the land and comes down heavy from the sky.

That, and he’s also waving at you from where he stands outside the gates of Cragstead.

“Hey!” he greets once you’re in earshot, shouting over the wind, “Hey, thanks for coming.”

You glance around. “Just us, huh?”

Braham grimaces. “You heard what Brimstone and Whitebear said. I tried sending out notices too, but…” he shakes his head, determination hardening his features. “Nevermind that, we have to go. My friends are in there.”

Turning your eyes upwards, you catch sight of billowing plumes of dark smoke as they start to pour into the sky. A strong gust brings the stench downwind and both you and Braham wrinkle your noses in distaste at the same time.

“No time to waste,” you nod. “Let’s go.”

You tighten your grip on your weapons and follow closely behind Braham as he leads you through the driving snow to the heart of Cragstead, cutting a path through the strange alliance of Flame legion and dredge along the way.

This is an evacuation mission, first and foremost, you remind yourself. Your gaze sweeps over the empty lodges and homesteads, searching for people. It’s not so different from the evacuation missions you used to do with your order when Zhaitan was still alive and a threat, its Risen minions encroaching further and further into the homes of Tyria’s minor races.

You find the villagers soon enough, all rounded up into small groups in the center of the town and trapped inside shimmering domes of fire magic. An equal number of charr and dredge guard each dome, their mechanical weapons whirring and spitting the occasional flame.

Braham growls at the sight and hefts his mace, rolling his shoulders in anticipation.

“Wait,” you caution, throwing an arm out to stop him from charging in. “We can’t just rush in. We’re way outnumbered.”

“We took care of those other guys just fine,” he argues.

“Those were just stragglers we picked off,” you gesture at the domes scattered around. “Here? There’s a dozen of them and only two of us. We can’t take them all in an open fight-”

Braham makes a frustrated noise and you hold up your hand.

“-which is why we switch tactics,” you finish, flashing a sharp grin at him. “They haven’t noticed us yet. Here’s the plan.”

The thing is, you’re no stranger to being outnumbered. Your entire time in Orr was spent leading handfuls of people on high risk, high reward missions, after all. It was kind of your specialty.

So it’s with practiced ease and calm authority that you explain your plan now, laying out a classic divide-and-conquer strategy that’s gotten you and your small squads through countless skirmishes against all odds.

It’s a flawless ambush, all things considered.

You and Braham hit them hard and quick, fighting in tandem as you push the offensive and give them no time to react or warn their allies before you cut them down. And with the help of his protective guardian magic, you two manage to free everyone without a single casualty.

“Where are the others?” Braham asks immediately as he helps an older man to his feet.

Despite his clearly injured arm, the man pulls him into a quick hug before answering. “They were chased up the mountain, to the shrine. I wasn’t- I wasn’t fast enough…”

“It’s okay, Haslo, I’ll go. Will you be-”

“We’ll be fine, thanks to you.” Haslo claps him on the back. “You and your friend be careful!”

When Braham looks over at you, you nod. Of course I’m coming with you.

The trip up to the shrine is shorter than you expected, but you think that might have something to do with the lack of flaming charr or dredge along the way. That only puts you more on edge and you ready your weapons, wary.

You don’t hesitate for a second at the entrance of the cave, charging in to catch the massive Flame legion charr and his grunts off guard. You’ve only known Braham for a few days and fought alongside him for less, but you two fall into a steady rhythm almost instantly, barely having to exchange words. You make quick work of the goons, letting him take care of the hulking charr. Braham doesn’t even let him get a taunt out, stunning him with a shield bash before swinging his mace into the charr’s snout with a brutal, deadly uppercut, spraying blood across the cavern walls.

With the threat taken care of for the time being, you and Braham free the rest of the villagers and escort them down the mountain, dispatching any stray Flame legion or dredge who tried to escape in all the chaos. While there weren’t any casualties, fortunately, there are still plenty injured, so while he talks to some of the other villagers, you help tend to the wounded as best you can. They have a long walk to Hoelbrak ahead of them, and you don’t envy them the trip.

You’re tying off a bandage when you hear him call your name.

“There you are,” he says, stopping in front of you. “Hey, thanks for everything. Really, I mean, I don’t know if things would’ve turned out as well as they did if you hadn’t shown up.”

“Glad I could help,” you say, tilting your head at him. “What are you going to do now?”

“After we get everyone to Hoelbrak, I’m gonna find out where all these Flame legion and dredge are holed up so we can track them down.” He pauses, then rubs the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. “Uh, that is, if you still wanna come along…?”

You smile and cross your arms. “Guess I’ll see you soon, then?”

The pleased grin Braham gives you is warmer than any hearth and twice as bright.

“See you soon!”

“Oh no,” Braham mutters, the first thing you hear as you blink away the last of the memory. “Oh, Spirits, noooo.”

“Something wrong?” you ask, keeping your voice light even as you eye him up and down in concern. It was his first time using the Scrying Pool, after all. Had it affected him differently?

He shakes his head. “No, I’m fine, I just… I just can’t believe I used to wear my hair like that.”

You keep a straight face for an admirable three whole seconds before bursting into snickers. When Braham groans and buries his face in his hands, you only laugh harder.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, smiling, “I thought it suited you.”

He glowers at you. “You’re just saying that.”

You make a non-committal noise and wiggle your hand in a “so-so” gesture. He groans again, falling backwards onto the floor.

“That was really cool,” he says after a while, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. “Being in your head, I mean. I felt so… in control the whole time. Like I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself.” Leaning backwards on your hands, you tip your head back and close your eyes. “You were impatient—well, you still kind of are—but you handled yourself better than some soldiers twice your age. And you’ve only gotten better since then. Give yourself a little more credit, Braham.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him flush at the praise, sitting up abruptly.

“Thanks,” he coughs into his fist, fighting a grin. “So, uh, any more memories you feel like sharing?”

You hum. “Several, actually. Ready to go again?”

You, grabbing the handles of a cannon with both hands and holding on for dear life as The Glory of Tyria lurches to the side, sending Destiny’s Edge, Pact soldiers, and Risen alike sprawling flat on the deck. When the airship finally rights itself, you waste no time, bracing your shoulder against the cannon and shoving hard until you have Zhaitan directly in its sights. The Elder Dragon is on the verge of death, pieces of its own body sloughing off itself as it clings desperately to the side of the tower. You take a deep, steadying breath and fire.

You, the only thing standing in between a crowd of fleeing civilians and a swarm of cutthroat Aetherblade pirates as they drop down from their airships. Lion’s Arch can be rebuilt, but lives can’t be replaced. You do a quick headcount, zero in on the weakest-looking one, and leap into the fray.

You, tracking down your teammates one by one as you tear through the dark, vine-twisted labyrinth under the Silverwastes, an undying behemoth of a Mordrem wolf hot on your heels. You lead them all safely through the maze, driven by the fierce desire to protect your friends. You will not lose anyone today.

You, the legendary Pact Commander, at your best.

After a few back-to-back trips down memory lane, you both decided to take a short break. For his part, Braham had opted to swing his legs over the edge of the pool, dipping his feet in. When he asked whether or not it was okay to do so, you just shrugged and told him you had already cannonballed into the water before. Multiple times.

“How are you feeling? No headaches or anything?” you ask after a few minutes of rest.

“Nope. I do feel pretty commander-y, though.”

You snort. “Commander-y?”

“Mhm. I’ve been in your head too long. Any second now, I’m gonna start spouting a bunch of your expert advice.” Braham clears his throat and puts on an exaggerated voice that you swear sounds nothing like you. “‘Remember, it doesn’t matter how long the hog’s been dead. It doesn’t matter that it’s been sitting in a toxic cloud. You can always try to eat it.’”

You roll your eyes and swipe your hand through the water, splashing him. “Okay, that’s it, I’m revoking your pool privileges. We’re done here.” You pause, expression turning thoughtful. “Actually, I think we are done here. I don’t think I have any more memories to show you. None that would help, anyway.”

“Hmm, what about your time in Elona? I wasn’t there for that.”

“Uh, you definitely were,” you say, shooting a quizzical smile at him. “Or do you not remember storming Joko’s palace with me?”

“No, no,” Braham laughs, waving dismissively, “I meant before that. I wasn’t there for… ugh, what’s his name again? Balthazar?”

For a brief, blissful moment, you only recall the part where you killed him.

Then your free hand flies to your chest on instinct, ghosting over a wound that no longer exists.

“What about him?” you ask, a little louder than necessary. You cringe inwardly, but Braham doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, everyone told me you somehow took control of Joko’s Awakened army and got them to fight on your side,” he shakes his head, chuckling. “I didn’t believe them at first, but that sounds exactly like something only you could pull off.”

You can hardly hear yourself over the frenetic pounding of your pulse in your ears. “Did they… tell you anything else?”

“Not really,” Braham frowns, finally turning to face you. “Why, is there- woah, hey, are you alright?”

You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes out.

“Commander?” His voice spikes with worry.

Swallowing hard past the lump in your throat, you try again. Still nothing.

You’re so preoccupied with trying to force yourself to speak that you don’t even realize your other hand is still in the pool until you feel the tug of an old memory on your consciousness.

Ripping your hand out of the glowing water in a panic, you can only stare in horror as that does nothing to stop the ancient, powerful magic from pulling you helpless back into the dark.

Everything hurts.

You wish it would stop.

It doesn’t.

You throw yourself to the side, narrowly dodging a fireball as it blazes past your head. Ducking behind a crumbling pillar, you press your back up against the stone and try to catch your breath.

You’ve bought yourself some time, at least.

This is a fight you know you can’t win, but the walls of flames surrounding the spire prevent your escape, so your only hope is to keep Balthazar distracted until reinforcements arrive.

“Any second now,” you mutter, and you don’t know if you’re trying to reassure or convince yourself.

You grit your teeth as another wave of pain wracks your body. There’s a nasty gash in your side, larger and deeper than the rest of your cuts, and it oozes sluggishly, soaking your armor in blood.

It’s bearable for now, but you can’t afford to be slowed down.

“Are you hiding, Commander?” Balthazar sneers, “How pathetic.”

Your answer to that is to dart out from behind the pillar, launching a flurry of attacks along his flank and back. When he twists around to send a volley of fireballs your way, you just tuck yourself into a neat dodge-roll, avoiding them all with ease. If you wince and stumble on the landing, you pretend not to notice and hope he didn’t either.

“Aw, you missed!” you taunt, sounding way braver than you feel, “How pathetic!”

Balthazar’s face contorts in fury. “Enough!” he shouts, and both the flames surrounding him and the spire seem to burn hotter than ever.

Before you can react, the ground beneath your feet erupts in a column of fire and you scream as your world is engulfed in a white-hot inferno. When the initial blinding agony finally passes, you find yourself sprawled out on the ground, pointed stones digging into your back and your weapons flung too far out of your reach.

Get up.

You only manage to twitch your fingers.

Get up. Now.

Your throat burns raw. When you try to speak, the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a pained whimper.

GET. UP. BEFORE BALTHAZAR-

You sense Aurene before you see her.

“Ah, the scion, finally come here to defend her champion.”

Finally…?

It clicks. Your heart stops.

Balthazar’s been toying with you this whole fucking time.

It’s impossible for you to form words, let alone make any sort of loud noise, so you try to warn Aurene through your shared bond instead, panic rising with every passing moment that she doesn’t respond.

‘GET AWAY,’ you practically roar at her, ‘TRAP. IT’S A TRAP. YOU’RE FLYING RIGHT INTO A TRAP, TURN AROUND, PLEASE-’

And Aurene roars right back at you. There are no words you can hear—you don’t think she’s old enough for that yet—but she can convey her feelings through the bond and right now she’s drowning out your desperate warnings with them. She refuses to abandon you. You are her guardian and her champion and she loves you and you promised over and over to protect her so she promised the same and weren’t you the one who taught her about loyalty in the first place?

It takes one self-sacrificing idiot to know one. You would laugh if you weren’t so fucking terrified of losing her.

Your vision swims and you only catch glimpses of Aurene’s skirmish. She’s a bright blue blur, swerving expertly in the air as she dodges fireballs and lets loose her devastating dragon breath every time Balthazar tries to swat her out of the sky. Snarling, he launches some sort of phantasmal chains at her and-

No.

No, no, no, nonono-

“Aurene!” you scream. The exertion sends you into a coughing fit, but you don’t care.

You’re crying now, too. You don’t care.

Balthazar is saying something, but you stopped listening to him ages ago. It’s a monumental effort just to crane your head towards Aurene, your vision clearing long enough to see her staring at you, eyes blown wide in fear as terror rolls off her in waves.

She tries to apologize and you rush to soothe her.

‘It’s okay, it’s alright,’ you reassure, ‘you have nothing to be sorry for, I love you so much, it’s not your fault, never your fault.’

Maybe you’re projecting a little. Whatever.

You only stop when a giant metal boot steps squarely into your line of sight, blocking her from view. You glance up.

Balthazar towers over you, his giant, flaming greatsword hovering menacingly by his side.

The fear that lances through your gut is primal.

You can’t die yet. Not here. Not now.

He notices the way your wide eyes trace his sword and bares his teeth in a humorless grin. Oh, he’s enjoying this, relishing the power he has over you.

“I thought you would put up more of a fight, given your reputation,” Balthazar remarks casually, circling you. With a lazy wave of his hand, his sword floats over and suspends itself in midair right above your chest.

Your already labored breathing dissolves into short, shallow gasps.

You can’t die. You’re not ready.

He lets the sword hover for a few more seconds before grabbing the hilt with both hands, raising it higher over your body. His face twists with hate, eyes blazing molten gold as they bore hungry and vengeful into yours.

You don’t want to die.

The edge of the blade glints orange from an indifferent sunset.

Please.

There’s a sickening crunch as he swings it down hard into your chest, punching through your armor and sternum and crushing most of your ribcage in the process. Then the blade severs your spine and you lose all feeling in your lower body.

Distantly, you think you hear someone scream, high-pitched and anguished. Was that Aurene? Or Taimi? Maybe both.

Certainly not you, although you’d tried to. What remains of your lungs are filled with more blood than air at this point, and it pours out of your mouth when you open it.

I’m sorry, you think, but you can’t remember what you’re apologizing for. Or who you’re apologizing to.

You’re so tired of blood. Tired of pain. Tired of feeling.

Everything hurts.

You wish it would stop.

It does.

The only reason you don’t wake up choking back a scream and clutching your chest like Braham does is because you’ve relived this in your nightmares far too many times for it to rip that kind of reaction out of you anymore. Still, it takes you longer than normal to push yourself into a sitting position and even longer for your pulse to even out. Fighting the urge to curl up and disappear from the world, you rush over to where Braham sits hyperventilating.

“Hey, Braham, hey, look at me, you’re okay, you’re okay. You’re here, you’re alive,” you reassure, and you’re surprised at how calm you sound. You work on getting him to match your breaths, counting out every inhale and exhale.

“Oh, Spirits,” he chokes out after his breathing steadies, his voice nearly cracking as tears prick in the corners of his eyes, “that was… how- h-how did you survive that?”

Your mouth shuts with an audible click. Biting your tongue, you look to the side, carefully avoiding eye contact.

You could lie.

Lie and tell him the airship made it just in time and the medics brought you back from the brink with a miracle. Another close call, but you pulled through like you always do. Spare him the pain, the grief. It’s been years, and there are more important things to worry about right now. It would save you both so much trouble.

“Commander?” he asks softly, earnestly.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I didn’t,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

Deafening silence, for a beat.

Two.

Three.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Braham says eventually. When you finally bring yourself to look at him again, his brows are furrowed in confusion. He stares at you in concern, scrutinizing. “You’re… definitely still alive.”

“I sure am.” Neither of you miss the tired bitterness that bleeds into your sarcasm. You wince and sigh, running a hand over your face. “I’m sorry, it’s just… It’s a long story.”

And to this day, you still haven’t told anyone all the details. You’re not sure if you ever will.

“Who knows?” Braham asks.

The question catches you off guard. “Uh, Rytlock, Canach, and Kas were there when it happened. Taimi… overheard.” You don’t know which is worse: being the one to hear you die, or finding your body after the fact.

They’re not the only ones who know, but they’re the only ones who matter. Even then, you swore them all to secrecy.

“Taimi called me around that time,” he says.

Your eyes widen. “Did she…?”

Braham shakes his head. “She was crying too hard,” he says, speaking slowly as he focuses on remembering. “She said something about you, but she couldn’t get the words out. When I tried to ask her what was wrong, she just hung up on me. Then she called me back a day later to say it was nothing and to pretend it never happened.”

“Huh,” you say, because you can’t think of anything else.

“I always wondered what she was trying to tell me,” Braham smiles sadly at you. “Guess I know now.”

You swallow hard. “You’re… taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

“I’m not the one who died,” he shrugs, even as his hand comes up to brush across his chest absentmindedly.

But you know how it felt, you think, How I felt.

The thought hangs in the air, unspoken.

“Are you okay?” Braham asks after a while.

“Yeah,” you answer quickly, automatically, “I’m fine.”

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Are you sure?” He looks pointedly down and you follow his gaze.

Your hands are shaking where they rest in your lap. Gritting your teeth, you clench them into fists. They don’t stop.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, more to yourself than anything. “I’m fine.”

The shaking travels up your arms until your shoulders are trembling as if under an invisible weight. This is so embarrassing, so humiliating. You’re pathetic. You-

You don’t resist when Braham pulls you into a warm embrace.

“It’s been years,” you mutter, blinking rapidly against the itchy heat behind your eyes. “I thought I’d be over it by now.”

“It always hits you when you least expect it,” Braham says quietly, “I’m sorry, Commander.”

The noise that comes out of you is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. You know he knows you hate pity, but this is the farthest thing from it. “When did you get so wise?” you tease.

“Learned it from you,” he says, voice tinged with pride, and now it’s your turn to flush. He squeezes you tightly once before letting you go. “Are you okay?” he asks again.

“Yeah,” you say, and this time you mean it. You breathe in deep, feeling lighter than you have in ages. “I’m okay. Thank you, Braham.”

“Glad to hear it,” he grins, and promptly shoves you right into the Scrying Pool.

His boisterous laughter echoes off the walls and drowns out your indignant spluttering. When you pull yourself out of the pool, drenched and dripping water everywhere, he scrambles to his feet and breaks into a dead sprint down the hall.

You chase after him, smiling, and leave your memories behind you.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 fan submission #braham eirsson #pact commander #me finally posting another commander pov fic after three years: hiiii.... how yall doin....#anyway this fic has been rattling around in my noggin for eight months now. here u go take it from me #i will take a hammer and FIX the commander and braham dynamic #2k4s gc saw it firstttt #thank u pals for beta-reading ilu #if u enjoyed this fic! would u pls consider reblogging? :3c #my writing

333 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Lie to Me

Prompts: Post Pof: Janus is not doing ok, everday he can taste Roman's lies, he can feel Roman's pain. He can feel the ego crumbling. Guilt plagues him as hes done the opposite of protecting the ego. Hey uh... could you write a fic when you have the time? - meltheromanstan

Roman is having issues trying to keep up his facade (and maybe struggling with his work cause ADHD makes everything difficult on top of everything because I love the idea of the twins having ADHD) and he is one bump in the road away from a full on meltdown. And Janus realizes a lie in a conversation that’s concerning and at some point in Roman begrudgingly gives a self deprecating reason and Janus is like heck no and Roman’s like why not and Janus is like because i care? And then Roman breaks down because no one has told him anything like that in a long time. Sorry that’s so long. You can write this whenever, or never if you don’t wanna. Anygay, bye and thank you! - anon

Thank you for the requests! oh this poor man. roman i'm so sorry you didn't do anything to deserve this and here I am hurting you. I'm so sorry bb you need to be wrapped up with a hot chocolate and sat far away from everything.

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-hatred, self-doubt, poor roman’s got so much internalized hatred this poor man, some things that can be interpreted as self-harm but nothing explicit

Pairings: main focus on roceit but it can be platonic or romantic you decide, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR

Word Count: 10,554

Janus hears every single lie in the Mindscape. It doesn't matter whether or not the liar believes it to be true or knows it's a falsehood; if it isn't true, he hears it.

Roman lies. A lot.

Or: 5 times Janus had to hide that he was taking care of Roman, and 1 time he didn't.

They never gave Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he can be.

The wedding is an absolute dumpster fire. The aftermath is a nuclear explosion. Roman sinks out in silence, long before the video is over. Virgil never shows up, neither does Remus. Logan is cut off before he can realize it.

Well, that’s not true.

Janus cuts Logan off before he can realize it.

Because he didn’t care about them, no. Patton has the most influence over Thomas. Patton is the one who influences the other Sides more than they realize most of the time. And Patton is the one who needed to listen.

So it didn’t matter that the others weren’t there when Janus had to talk to Patton and Thomas, because it worked. Thomas listened, Patton finally understood, and things could start getting better.

…or so he thought.

In fairness, the others came around…fairly quickly. He approached Logan with a book on philosophy and an apology on his lips, only to be swept up into a conversation that had drawn both Patton and Virgil into the living room by the end of the day. It felt…well, right isn’t the correct word, but…warm, perhaps. Yes, let’s go with warm.

Of course, Remus belly-flopping onto the couch—and the rest of them—near the end was certainly an additional factor.

But Roman…

Janus didn’t expect Roman to forgive him. Certainly not quickly. He certainly expected Roman to forgive the others for whatever little parts they played in harming the prince’s precious ego. And he absolutely expected the prince to admit that he was wrong, that it was indeed his fault that everything had gone so spectacularly wrong.

The first time Roman walks into the kitchen after the wedding, Janus flinches.

Virgil notices and all but jumps in front of him, snarling a ‘what do you want?’ in Roman’s direction. Patton had turned around and his smile had frozen, staring at Roman.

“Hello, Roman,” Logan says cooly, “may we help you?”

“Yeesh, aren’t you lot jumpy this morning?” Roman shakes his head and sighs dramatically. “I am not here to grace you all with my glorious presence, simply to grab a little food and depart on a quest!”

“Thank god,” Virgil mutters, too low for Roman to hear.

He pushes Janus behind him as Roman waltzes into the kitchen to take something out of the cupboard.

“…when will you be back,” Patton asks warily, “and where are you going?”

“Into the Imagination, my dear Padre!” Roman spreads his arms wide. “To see where the spirit of adventure takes me!”

“That answers only one of the questions.” Logan closes his notebook sharply.

“Time is a social construct,” Roman says airily, “but I suppose I shall try to return for dinner?”

“Don’t force yourself,” Virgil snarks, crossing his arms, “looks hard enough already.”

Roman just laughs and leaves.

“Goodness,” Patton mumbles, leaning on the counter, “I didn’t expect him to be so—so—“

“Roman?” Virgil rolls his eyes. “Princey’s got a head bigger than a fucking balloon—“

“Language.”

“—and he’s not gonna come down to earth for anything.”

“Roman is—or can be—remarkably immature when it comes to admitting his mistakes,” Logan adds, “it’s not to be completely unexpected that he is still in denial.”

Patton sighs. “I know, I just…expected better.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Virgil huffs, “what about you, Janus? Are you hurt?”

“I also noticed you flinch,” Logan says, standing, “are you alright? Did Roman…”

“He didn’t hurt you, did he, kiddo?”

No. No, Janus is absolutely fine right now.

The instant Roman had appeared in the doorway, the lies slammed into Janus.

They hate you, they never want to see you again.

Everything is your fault.

Virgil is right to try and shield Janus from you, you were so fucking cruel to him.

They don’t deserve to be burdened with you.

Leave. Leave so they never have to put up with you. You know they don’t want you.

They’ve never wanted you.

And yet, as clearly as he heard those lies, he heard Roman, the blustery, pompous Prince, loud as ever, spoiled as ever. He saw Roman, the swaggering adventurer, the cocky Creativity who was always right, always the center of attention.

The actor.

Janus had definitely given him enough credit for that.

“Janus?”

Right, they’re still waiting for an answer.

“I’m fine,” he says, a beat too late, “just caught off guard, that’s all.”

Virgil eyes him suspiciously. “You’re lying.”

“Well of course I am,” Janus sighs, rolling his eyes, “it’s not like Deceit is one of my primary functions, after all.”

“Kiddo,” Patton says, “you know you can tell us if Roman—if someone hurts you, right?”

Something pinches just under his chin. “I know.”

“…so?”

He shakes his head. “Roman hasn’t hurt me, nor has he threatened to.”

Virgil bumps his shoulder. “Just…keep us in the loop, okay?”

“Because it’s very likely that Roman will hurt me.”

The others chuckle or brush it off. Of course, they did. When they aren’t paying attention, Janus lets his gaze trail up the stairs, following the line where the prince vanished. The others have never paid much attention to when Roman returns from his ‘quests.’

Janus does.

Even if Janus weren’t consciously coming to the prince’s aid, he’s certain he’d be summoned regardless.

He waits, quiet in the shadows, for the telltale squeak of the lower hinge on the red wardrobe door in Roman’s room. He’s learned to keep still, keep quiet, not yet fully materialized, watching as Roman stumbles back through the door, one of his arms sagging in relief as the other holds him up. The door creaks shut and a shuddering breath leaves the prince’s chest.

His head bows.

Before the charade completely falls away, Roman pushes himself up and starts getting ready to sleep. His sash, normally laid so carefully over the back of his chair, is given barely a second thought as he throws his costume onto the floor. Janus winces at the slam of the bathroom door and again at the way Roman all but collapses into the bed with a miserable expression on his face. He doesn’t need to pry away the pillow to know that Roman is desperate.

Stupid, stupid, worthless prince.

Not even a fucking prince, not even the fucking squire.

Useless, can’t even do your fucking job.

Can’t even stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself even though you know damn well you don’t deserve it.

You don’t deserve anything.

Janus grits his teeth and waits. Waits for Roman’s lies to grow less vitriolic, more sluggish, waits for Roman’s breathing to even out, sagging against the pillow, before he moves.

His footsteps are silent as he crosses the room, keeping a wary eye on the door, lest someone else knock and wake up the now sleeping prince. He swallows, leaning down, his lips barely brushing the curve of Roman’s ear.

He doesn’t touch, doesn’t want to risk waking him now.

“You’re not stupid, Roman,” he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard, even by himself. “You’re not worthless, you’ve never been worthless.”

Roman shifts in his sleep. Janus freezes. He stills and he breathes out. Bends just a little closer.

“And you deserve to know that.”

Even if he can only even whisper it when Roman is too deep in sleep to hear him.

The lies don’t stop. They just get worse.

Fortunately, Janus’s powers aren’t limited by the physical space, not when the lies are particularly pervasive. For example, every time Logan insists that he doesn’t have feelings, or Virgil insists he doesn’t care about the others, or Patton says—particularly passionately—that everything’s fine, Janus hears it. These ones typically merit a scoff and a roll of the eyes, or a quip if he’s actually in the same room. These ones he’s used to.

Here’s the thing about the lies that Janus can hear; it doesn’t matter whether or not they’re lies that someone knows is a lie or whether it’s something they believe. If it isn’t true, Janus will hear it.

Case in point: Roman’s lies, and the lies that took Janus far too long to figure out were lies.

When he decides to tune into Roman’s mind, he’s normally greeted with statements lauding about how amazing the prince is, how he’s the best Side, how much he loves himself. Even when he’s not paying particular attention to Roman, he can hear those sentiments loud and clear.

The issue with that? He can hear them loud and clear.

Now, is it likely that these are things that Roman believes that aren’t true? The possibility exists.

Is it more likely, given recent…developments, that these are things that Roman has known aren’t true, and is intentionally thinking them in order to keep playing a role?

No, of course not, why would you ever think that?

They won’t go away. He can barely look at Roman now, can’t stop seeing, hearing all the lies he tells himself every day. The others are starting to worry, growing colder towards Roman, concerned about how much Janus tries to put distance between them. Virgil keeps shoving himself in between the two of them, Logan keeps pulling Janus into long conversations that Roman wouldn’t dare insert himself into, Patton makes sure the two of them are never alone.

Well, almost never alone.

The lies are the worst at night. When Roman is in his room, curled up under the covers, his head buried in his hands, they roam freely, coloring the red curtains with shadows, smearing themselves over his paintings, his drawings, his writing, his keyboard.

They’re right to be scared of you, right to hate you.

You don’t deserve their forgiveness, especially when you haven’t even apologized for the amount of things you’ve done wrong.

And you’re selfish enough to want a fucking apology from them?

Janus, waiting in the corner for Roman to fall asleep, winces, the strength and magnitude of the lie filling his mouth with bitterness.

Does he deserve an apology from Roman? Yes, perhaps, that would be nice. Laughing at his name in a moment of vulnerability was…perhaps not ideal.

But the idea that Roman doesn’t deserve an apology? From any of them?

Roman, the only one who consistently defers and gives and tries and hopes for them, the one who works nonstop to make sure they have something, anything to do, for Thomas, for each other, the only one who’s called out to apologize to them, who apologizes to them when he realizes he’s done something wrong?

Roman deserves an apology. If only to make up for the amount of times he’s been blamed for something that someone else started.

A noise.

Janus blinks, coming back to the present as Roman stirs. For a moment, he worries that the prince has woken up, that he’s discovered someone else in his room, only for a trail of sluggish lies to funnel into his mind.

Janus hates you more than anyone else and he’s right to.

You hurt Janus on purpose.

You never stop hurting Janus.

You will always be someone he can use, a puppet, until you are nothing more than an obstacle.

Before he can stop himself, he’s striding across the room to murmur in Roman’s ear again, chest aching with the weight of the lies.

“The others,” he murmurs, flooding the words with as much sincerity as he can, “they don’t know what I can hear, what they have never noticed, and that is what hurts me, my prince, that you are so quiet and so brave that you can convince the world that you’re not suffering.”

Roman clutches his pillow a little tighter.

“I don’t hate you, my prince, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me like that, and I know—“ he takes a deep breath— “I know that the hurt you caused me is nothing compared to what I have done to you.”

He closes his eyes and feels the guilt well up in his chest. He knows he can’t say the full apology that Roman needs—that he deserves right now. He can’t even begin to imagine all the little things he hasn’t even realized he’s done to Roman, how many things he’s done that he’s forgotten that were just another Tuesday to him, but rewrote entire chapters of Roman’s life.

He can’t begin to imagine how much of this could’ve been stopped if only he’d realized just how hurt Roman has always been.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry that I never realized how far I let this get.”

Roman is touch-starved, he realized, horrified one day when he walks into the living room to see Logan and Patton sitting on the couch, Virgil sprawled across their laps, and Roman in the corner, far away from everyone else, hiding such a look of heartbreak that Janus almost stops in the doorway as Remus brushes past him.

“Hey!” Virgil splutters when Remus lies down on top of him.

“Remus!” Patton pushes lightly at him. “You’re going to squish Virgil!”

“He’s durable, he’s used to it.”

Logan raises his eyebrows, looking to Janus for confirmation. Janus sighs.

“I can remember every single time I’ve walked into our living room to see the two of them on the couch,” he says dryly, “and I’m certain that all of them have started with Remus asking Virgil’s permission to lie on top of him for hours.”

“See?” Remus wraps his arms around Virgil. “He’s fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, Pat and L’s knees won’t be though.”

“Ooh! Did you know that some people have a third bone in their knee?”

“I would be more than happy to follow this train of conversation,” Logan mutters, “if you were to get off my lap.”

“Fine.”

Janus shakes his head again as Remus clambers off, landing cross-legged next to Logan on the couch and immediately info-dumping. Virgil sighs and scoots, laying his head in Patton’s lap and going back to his phone. Patton runs his hand through Virgil’s hair and wiggles his free hand at Janus.

“Come on, there’s plenty of room.”

Remus snorts, interrupting his tirade long enough to say: “Jan-Jan’s not a cuddler,” before going back to talking about…something to do with knees. Patton frowns.

“What?”

“’S true.” Virgil peers up at him. “He’ll hug you if you ask for it but he’s not big on cuddling.”

“O-oh.”

“He should still come sit with us, though,” Virgil says quickly, shooting Janus a very subtle look, “so get over here, J.”

Janus sits, pulling out his book and opening it. After a few seconds, Patton looks away, and Virgil tunes out again.

Good.

The lies were getting a little too hard to stand.

Here, behind his book, he can shift his attention to Roman, scribbling in his notebook and looking every bit the creative genius at work, dead to the world, couldn’t give less interest as to what’s going on around him.

As he said, Roman is a fantastic actor.

This time, it’s not even that the words are the thing hurting him now. No, these lies are the type he’s more used to, someone frantically muttering the same thing to themselves over and over and over, trying to convince themselves it’s true. The problem is what’s being carried with the lies, and how deep this need must run in order for it to make it to Janus.

I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.

Roman’s hand is trembling a little on his pen as his brow furrows, eyes skating back and forth over the page. The ache starts just under his chin, right where it meets his throat, and surges, rushing through his arms to the very tips of his fingers. All of them, even the hidden ones. His gloves twitch on the pages of the book.

He’s so cold.

I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.

The words start to blur together. It hurts. His arms ache. He risks looking more openly at Roman only for him to notice, looking back and quirking an eyebrow.

“Something wrong, Deceit?”

“He has a name,” Virgil growls.

“Janus,” Roman amends, shooting Virgil a glance, “is there something wrong?”

“Why’re you over there?”

He meant to ask why Roman wasn’t sitting with the other Sides. He meant to ask whether Roman chose to sit by himself and starve himself of physical contact or if the others had cut him off. He meant to ask if Roman wanted to come to sit with the rest of them.

Instead, Roman smiles.

“You’re right. It’s getting quite late. I must be off!”

Before Janus can say anything, Roman assumes his dramatic pose and sinks out, cheerily declaring his farewells.

Next to him, Patton lets out a shaky breath.

“Goodness.”

Logan adjusts his glasses. “Quite.”

“Thanks, Janus,” Virgil mutters, making himself more comfortable, “I thought he’d never leave.”

No.

No, no, no, this is all wrong.

“Why did you want him to leave?”

Virgil shrugs. “It’s harder when he’s here.”

“Harder how?”

“We do not know how to act around Roman,” Logan admits, fixing his tie, “he’s not—well, he seems content to behave as if nothing is wrong, and…”

“It’s not,” Patton says softly. He fiddles with his hands. “We can’t go back to the way it was before, and Roman…Roman doesn’t seem to know how to move on.”

Virgil snorts. “Not that he seems to care enough to try.”

Well, if the lies still plaguing Roman’s thoughts are any indication…

Why would they want to touch you? You ruin everything you touch, haven’t you ruined enough already? Haven’t you ruined them enough already?

They’re done trying with you. They hate you. It’s a wonder they only realize it now.

Broken, useless, toxic prince. Finally left out in the cold where you deserve to be.

Roman curls up under his thin sheet, the heavy blankets put away for the colder seasons too far away and too close to Patton’s room for him to get them safely. Janus watches as he twitches miserably, curling up tighter, turning over, hugging his pillow to his chest, trying, trying to feel warm. Every now and then there’s a quiet noise, quickly stifled. His arms start to ache again, not just from the cold, but from how much Roman seems to believe that no one wants to touch him.

He makes up his mind.

He sinks out to his room, quickly grabbing one of his weighted blankets from his own storage. Returning to Roman’s room, he waits with bated breath until Roman’s chest rises and falls at a steady rate before carefully creeping forward and spreading the blanket over the prince.

“Don’t make yourself cold,” he murmurs, tucking it into place, “stay warm for me, my prince, stay warm, it’s alright.”

Roman shifts, turning his head so it accidentally brushes Janus’s hand.

Janus freezes.

Roman hums slightly and falls back asleep. Shaking, Janus moves his fingers, letting them card through Roman’s hair. The prince mumbles and doesn’t wake.

He does it again, firmer this time. Roman all but melts under this, just this, just a proper blanket over him and someone running their fingers through his hair.

“Oh, Roman,” Janus murmurs, unable to resist cupping Roman’s face in his hand, “you’re don’t ruin everything you touch, far from it.”

He cups the back of Roman’s head, guiding it to a more comfortable angle.

“On the contrary,” he whispers, “you make us better.”

And maybe…maybe he can try and provide a little of what Roman needs. Even if they have to be stolen moments, felt only on the very edges of sleep, when Roman is conscious enough to remember them but not lucid enough to lie and say he doesn’t deserve it.

The time when Roman barely managed to stumble through the door in his room before passing out is the only time Janus seriously considers calling the others to help.

But no, he reminds himself as he rushes to the prince’s side, they would want to wake him up, to scold him, to figure out exactly what he thought he was doing, whether or not he’s considered whether this is hurting Thomas.

Janus bites back a growl as he starts examining the prince.

Perhaps if they were so concerned about whether or not hurting Roman hurts Thomas, they’d be more considerate about what they say to him.

He pushes that away for now, more focused on getting Roman’s tight collar away from his neck and checking the state of his bruises. From what he can see from the dirt on the costume, he’s fallen, from quite a significant height, and who knows what else might be hiding under here?

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he looks around for something to help, “but I may have to peel you out of these.”

Sure enough, he can get most of the costume top off fairly easily—and gains a newfound respect for how difficult it must be to put the thing on by himself, there are so many buttons—but the undershirt proves more difficult, especially as it seems to be stuck in places that it should not be stuck in.

…oh.

Oh, no.

Janus bites back a curse and moves quickly. One arm reaches for the first aid kit he knows is in the bathroom, one arm grabs a pillow and stuffs it under Roman’s head, two gently move his arms up and over his head, and two carefully, carefully take the edge of the undershirt and beginning to take it off.

He presses a gauze pad to the wound over Roman’s hip.

He holds an ice pack to the swollen lump on his rib cage.

He checks over the wound on his chest.

He tilts Roman’s head from side to side to see how far up the bruises go.

The pants have to come next and Janus grits his teeth, running his hand over Roman’s forehead as an apology before he shucks the article of clothing.

More bruises. So many bruises. Thankfully no more bleeding wounds.

He lets out a breath and sits back on his haunches, staring down at the injured prince.

The best thing about it, he decides, is that there’s no way for Roman to know that he would’ve been safe passing out and not taking care of any of these.

The wound on his hip has all but stopped bleeding as Janus tends to it carefully, wiping away the blood and soothing the angry skin with a balm, covering the whole thing with a bandage. The mark on his chest isn’t as bad as it looks, bits of dead skin that Janus clears away and brushes off Roman’s torso. The antiseptic makes him hiss a little and he rubs soothing circles into his tummy until he resettles, murmuring that he’s doing so well, he’s almost done, they’ll get him into bed and he can rest.

None of the bruises on his legs are bad enough to merit bruise cream, let alone keeping the poor thing from his bed for a moment longer. Instead, Janus quickly covers the one on his ribs and lifts the prince into his arms.

Roman jolts.

“Shh, shh,” Janus murmurs, stroking a free hand through his hair, “shh, shh, shh…”

Roman shushes, just in time for Janus to lie him down and tuck him in, one hand still in his hair as he sits on the edge of the bed. A furrow grows between his brows.

Should’ve gotten hurt worse.

Janus freezes.

Should’ve let them hit you more.

Got off too easy.

It should hurt more. You deserve it. Maybe if you pay enough it’ll get better.

“No, sweetie,” Janus whispers, reaching out before he can stop himself and cradling Roman’s sleeping head in his hands, “no, no, no, don’t ever believe that we want to see you hurt.”

Shouldn’t have come back.

Shouldn’t be a burden.

At least none of the others know about it, they would only complain and ignore you. Useless, worthless prince.

“You’re not worthless, sweetie,” Janus promises, still cradling the poor thing’s head, running his fingers through his hair to keep him lulled and asleep, “shh, now, everything’s alright, hush now…”

As the lies drift off into nothingness, Roman along with them, Janus’s face falls.

Roman is the protector. The prince that will always put himself between them and whatever dared to try and hurt them. He’s not meant to fight a war on two fronts.

Who protects the protector?

“I will, sweetie,” Janus whispers, so, so quietly as he tidies up Roman’s room and gives the sleeping prince one last pat, “I’ll look after you.”

Roman, perhaps more than any of the others, is essential to Thomas’s mental help.

Roman is Thomas’s hopes and dreams, the things he wants above all else, the things he strives for, the things he desires. He reaches and reaches and reaches for Thomas, holds every single one of his wants close to his chest, and keeps them safe until they can bubble up into reality.

Roman is romance, the reason Patton gets all fluttery and bubbly inside. He’s the suave, fabulous, gay disaster that encourages Thomas to be happy, to reach for who he wants, for who he desires.

Roman is creativity, the livelihood that Thomas has chosen. He works nonstop, tirelessly producing idea after idea for Thomas to film, to write, to create, so Thomas can live and be proud of what he’s doing.

Roman is the Ego.

What is the Ego, you may ask? Well, although Freud is largely considered bullshit by modern psychologists—or at the very least, upsetting due to the fact that his research was largely corrupted by the rich men funding it—there are certain aspects of his work that remain in the public mind.

Simply put, the Ego is the conscious mind. It is the sum of your thoughts, beliefs, and habits as they interact with your physical body. The tether that stretches into your awareness and consciousness and into your physical form. It is a combination of body-thoughts-feelings and the consciousness taken to activate it.

The Ego gives you a sense of self-worth. It is a mask, one you put on and play as a role.

Everyone and anyone, it seems, has been warned about the dangers of an out-of-control Ego. Overconfident, hubristic, arrogant, with no regard for others. A vapid complainer, sustained by the power of approval hoarded selfishly. You are encouraged, if not instructed outright, to learn how to live without paying any attention to your Ego.

Here’s what they don’t tell you.

The Ego is what you think of yourself. It gives you self-worth because that’s its job. To make you feel secure in who you are. It is sustained by approval because it lives in fear. It itself puts on a mask of strength, of imperviousness, that it is indestructible, because it is soft, malleable, and so very afraid.

It is true that the Ego is nourished by positive comments, because it isn’t a crime to feel good, or to feel proud, or to want to be validated. It is true that the Ego sometimes reaches too high, only to fall, because that is its nature, to want, and to hope.

They don’t tell you that when you turn your hatred inwards, your Ego doesn’t just bruise, it crumbles.

So when Logan constantly tells Roman that they can’t do something, or it isn’t a worthy use of their time, despite his best intentions, he’s not doing much other than snatching Roman’s dreams away. Roman learns not to ignore Logan, yes, but at the expense of constantly being told that it is his fault when Thomas feels crushed, never mind that Roman is crushed, too.

So when Virgil insults and belittles his worth, tells him he’s stupid and unimportant, despite the fact that Roman will snipe back at him, all he does is reinforce the idea that Roman is the only one at fault, that Virgil is allowed to sit and insult him to his heart’s content while Roman has to apologize for standing up for himself. Roman learns to stand quietly while Virgil tells Thomas he’s a disappointment until the time comes where he believes it’s true.

So when Patton decides that Roman is bad, after how much Roman has sacrificed for Patton, to do what would make Patton happy, Thomas happy, when all he needs is just someone on his side, something, anything, Roman has to stand there, alone, hurt, angry, upset, and be told that he’s wrong. Roman learns that he’s only here to give, not to receive, that no one will hold him when he falls apart.

So when Remus starts to show up, more and more, less and less restrained, no one puts it together that Roman literally does not have the strength to hold him back. Roman learns that the others don’t realize how little confidence he already has, only that their approval of him is directly proportional to how much they hate his brother.

So when Janus decides that Thomas needs to take better care of himself and that the only one he needs to focus on is Patton, Roman is the perfect tool, the perfect puppet, to be used and tossed aside when he no longer needs him, because it’s so easy to twist and turn the little prince so he dances in just the right way, never mind how much it hurts. Roman learns that no one ever cared about him, not really, and perhaps they never will.

As you might be able to imagine, destroying the thing that gives one self-worth is absolutely the best way to go about things.

Can any of you guess where the blame gets pushed when Thomas’s mental health suddenly plummets?

It’s definitely where it should be.

The thing that scares Janus the most about how that meeting goes is how resigned Roman is.

His hands are folded neatly behind his back. His face is politely blank. His mind is quiet.

When there’s a break in the conversation—if you could even call it that—he opens his mouth.

“What would you like me to do?”

“Have you not been listening?” Logan adjusts his glasses. “To…anything we have said?”

“Of fucking course he hasn’t,” Virgil grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Kiddo,” Patton admonishes, crossing his arms, “Thomas hasn’t had any ideas or dreams lately and it’s stressing him out.”

“Which means you need to get out of the pity party and back to reality with the rest of us,” Virgil adds.

“Which means,” Logan sighs, crossing his arms too, “you are going to have to start talking to us again.”

Roman looks between them. “Are we not…talking now?”

“He means actually interacting with us, Princey.”

“Have I…not been doing that?”

“It means accepting that things have changed,” Logan snaps, “and working through it.”

Roman tilts his head. “How would you like me to do that?”

“Well—“ Logan adjusts his glasses— “let’s start with an apology.”

Something flickers across Roman’s face. Janus looks back and forth between Thomas and Remus. Thomas just looks a little confused as to what’s going on—which, when doesn’t he?—and Remus is staring right at Roman. There’s a strange expression on his face.

“What would you like me to apologize for?”

Janus winces when Virgil scoffs, turning away, and Logan’s mouth hardens into a thin line.

“Why don’t you try starting,” Patton says, “and we’ll see.”

“No, you know what? No.” Virgil points a finger at Roman. “I’m done holding your hand through all of this. Waiting for you to realize that you fucked up.”

“Virgil—“

“No, Pat!” Virgil gestures between the three of them. “You know how hard it’s been on us, waiting for something to change, and now he wants us to just…what, walk him through what he did wrong?”

Patton spares a glance at Roman before looking away.

Roman’s face twitches. He looks down.

“Perhaps Virgil is right,” Logan says, “when Roman can try taking the first step, then maybe this conversation will be more productive. Until then, I see no reason to waste time.”

“Great. Bye, Thomas.”

“Wait, you guys are just leaving?”

“I see no reason to simply stand here and be unproductive,” Logan shrugs, “perhaps if something changes, you can summon us back.”

“Doubt it,” Virgil mutters, grabbing Logan’s shoulder and sinking them out. Patton spares one last look at Roman before he leaves too.

Thomas shuffles a little. Remus keeps staring at Roman.

After a moment, Roman moves.

“…you want me to apologize?”

Janus definitely imagines the chill that goes through the room.

Roman raises his head. He does not look at where Patton stood, he does not look at where Virgil stood, he does not look at where Logan stood.

He looks directly at Thomas.

“I’m sorry, Thomas.”

Thomas splutters. “Roman—“

“I’m sorry that I sent you to the wedding,” Roman says softly, Thomas’s words dying in his throat, “I’m sorry that I made a decision that I thought you wanted. I’m sorry that I tried to put your friends above your own wants, because I thought that was right. I’m sorry that I thought I was doing what was right.”

Thomas’s eyes go wide.

“I’m sorry that you never had faith that you would win the callback,” Roman continues, never once looking away from Thomas, “I’m sorry that your dreams are always too far away, that you must always feel the need to crush them in favor of what is more practical. I’m sorry that you constantly feel like you’re set up to be one big disappointment.”

Janus’s arms drop in shock.

“I’m sorry that I can’t do what you want,” and by this point, Thomas looks on the verge of tears, “even though that’s supposed to be my job. I’m sorry that nothing I do is ever good enough on its own, that you feel so afraid, so scared of doing the things you want. I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel even the tiniest bit of my fear.”

Thomas stifles a noise.

“I’m sorry that I don’t know things.” Roman chuckles sadly. “I’m sorry that it takes me so much time to figure out what to do. I’m sorry that it always feels like everyone’s one step ahead of me, that you have to wait for me to catch up, even though I never, ever do. I’m sorry for not sticking to the plan.”

Something heavy presses against Janus’s throat.

“And I’m sorry that I’m hurt. I’m sorry that it’s been a little too much for me to handle. I’m sorry that my pain is an inconvenience to you.”

“R-Roman—“

Roman just smiles sadly when Thomas can’t finish the sentence. He spreads his arms, giving a little gesture to himself.

“I’m sorry that this is your Ego.”

Janus sees the moment the horrified realization dawns on Thomas’s face.

“I’m gonna fucking kill them,” Remus snarls and it’s only years of practice that makes Janus’s reflexes fast enough to catch hold of him before he sinks out. “Let me go!”

“You can’t hurt them,” Janus grunts, “you know you can’t.”

“Fucking watch me!”

“No, no, Remus,” Thomas splutters, “don’t—don’t do that.”

“Why the fuck not?” Remus snarls, spittle flying from his lips as he struggles against Janus’s hold. “You heard what Roman just said, they—they—“

“We did it too, Remus,” Janus says softly, glancing at Roman, “we’re not blameless either.”

Remus keeps struggling. “Let—me—“

“Remus.”

Roman’s soft voice still the duke entirely, his head whipping around. Roman just stares at him, resignation and acceptance written plainly on his features.

“It’s not fair, Ro,” he mumbles.

“Life isn’t fair.”

“I—I can summon them back, we can get them back, they can listen to you—“

“But they won’t,” Roman cuts off in the same soft fury, “they won’t listen to me.”

“Roman, they love you!”

Janus winces. Roman just turns to look at him. He can’t meet his eyes.

“Maybe,” Roman says eventually, “maybe not. Either way…”

He spreads his hands.

“Here we are.”

“Let me go, Jan.”

“If I do, will you stay?”

“Fine.”

Janus lets him go, only for Remus to lunge and wrap his brother in a tight hug. Roman stands there, immobile, until Remus lets out a howl. Roman just murmurs another soft ‘I’m sorry,' and sinks out.

Remus collapses to the floor, his Morningstar cupped in his hands.

“What—what just happened?”

“The twins share things,” Janus murmurs quietly, his eyes still on Remus, “including emotions when they are particularly strong.”

“So—“ Thomas shakes his head— “so Remus is feeling what Roman’s feeling?”

“No,” Remus snarls, still gripping the weapon tightly, “I’m feeling what Roman isn’t feeling.”

He stands up, eyes blazing.

“I am what Roman isn’t. To you. What Roman isn’t, I am. Which means—“ his knuckles turn white— “the fact that I’m feeling so strongly right now means that Roman isn’t.”

Thomas goes pale. “What?”

“Roman is numb,” Janus says quietly, “he’s closed himself off from…everything. To protect himself.”

“It means my brother, the good Creativity, passion, desire, romance, hopes and dreams, whatever you want to call him,” Remus growls, “is now numb, touch-starved, and too afraid of rejection to reach out for anything.”

“What do I do,” Thomas asks frantically, “how do we fix this?”

“You can let me kill the others.”

“No, Remus.”

“Talk to them,” Janus suggests instead, “I’m not sure they realize what Roman being the Ego means.”

Thomas nods. “Okay, we can do that. Should we do that…now?”

Janus opens his mouth to respond only for something very familiar to trickle into his mind, along with an all-too-familiar tug.

Stupid, useless, worthless, toxic, dumb, unimportant, bad, can’t do anything right, selfish, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong—

“Not now,” he manages, “get some rest. You need it.”

Thomas nods tiredly. Remus just gives him a look that says ‘you’d better not fuck this up’ and leaves, probably to go work out some of his aggression on creatures in the Imagination.

Janus sinks straight into Roman’s room and his heart breaks.

Roman is on the floor, pieces of his prince costume thrown haphazardly around him, sobbing hysterically. It’s so loud that for a moment, Janus worries that someone else will come, trying to figure out what’s wrong, before he’s hit with another wave of lies.

Broken broken broken broken broken broken broken broken wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless—

He aches.

Because he knows he can’t do anything while Roman’s awake. He’d never let him close, never let him see this. A sick feeling crawls into Janus’s stomach at the thought of invading Roman’s privacy like this but it wars with the knowledge that he’d be summoned anyway, and that Roman is falling apart.

So he has to wait.

Watching as Roman falls apart, believing himself unloved, unwanted, and unseen.

Slowly, far too slowly, the harsh sobs morph into softer cries, then sniffles, then Roman stills, slumping on the carpet as his breathing evens out. Tears of his own threaten the corners of Janus’s eyes.

The poor thing cried himself to sleep.

But as he moves closer, reaching out a hand to stroke back his hair, he lets out a coo before he can stop himself when he sees more tears.

The poor thing cried himself to sleep and kept crying.

“Oh, sweetie,” Janus whispers, moving to cradle him as gently as he can without waking him, “sweetie you come here, shh, shh, honey, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

He lifts the poor prince into his arms, moving swiftly to the bed and laying him down, tucking him in protectively and running his fingers through his hair.

“It’s okay, sweetie, you’re safe now, it’s okay, you’re safe…” He settles Roman’s head on the pillow. “Shh, shh, shh, that’s it, shh…”

Sleep-clumsy fingers curl around his arms. Oh. Oh, dear. Well…

“Oh, sweetie, are you—do you want me to stay?” Janus tries to pull away a bit only for Roman to grumble and hang on. “Oh—okay, sweetie, I’ll stay, just—just a moment.”

He snaps the fingers on a free hand and changes into something softer, something he can sleep in, something Roman can hold and cuddle. He slides into bed next to him, only to be immediately cuddled by a sleeping, still crying Roman.

“Shh, sweetie,” he whispers, nuzzling Roman’s head, “I’m right here, I’m not leaving, I won’t leave you.”

Roman mumbles something and snuggles into Janus’s chest. He makes another comforting noise at the evidence of more tears.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetie, I promise, I’ll look after you, I’ll take care of you.”

And when Roman lets out a little cry, still asleep, he breaks, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Roman melts.

“Oh, sweetie…”

Janus spoils him with kisses, across his forehead, down his tear-stained cheeks, running his hands through his hair, down his arms, over his back, soothing a particularly painful hitch with a hand on his tummy, rubbing gently until he lapses back into a peaceful sleep. He buries his face in Roman’s hair and holds him tight.

He swallows heavily, guilt and concern warring in his throat.

“I don’t want you to think,” he begins carefully, “that I’m only apologizing because I feel guilty over seeing you hurt and that it’s my fault.”

He tightens his grip on the sleeping prince.

“I am sorry, Roman,” he whispers with his lips against Roman’s forehead as if to speak the truth into the prince’s dreams, “for all the hurt I have caused you. For using and manipulating you, for dismissing you and letting you think you were useless, and for letting the others make you believe you were so unlovable.”

He shudders, his breath coming out shaky.

“But mostly…” he swallows, “mostly I’m sorry that I won’t be brave enough to say that to you when you’re awake.”

+1.

Janus blinks. There’s sunlight coming in through the curtains.

His room definitely has curtains.

Oh. Right. He’s in Roman’s room.

Shit, he’s still in Roman’s room.

He’s fallen asleep, he realizes, in Roman’s bed, with Roman cuddled protectively to his chest, after the poor thing had sobbed himself to sleep in the aftermath of that awful, awful meeting.

Unconsciously, he goes to tighten his grip on the sleeping prince before realizing that he should be doing the opposite.

He should leave. Now. Before Roman wakes up and sees him.

He definitely wants to be around for that conversation.

So, despite the ache in his stomach at the thought of leaving Roman alone right now, he grits his teeth and starts trying to disentangle himself from Roman, despite Roman’s best efforts to cling onto him. If he weren’t so afraid of the consequences of getting caught, he’d find it adorable.

Okay, maybe he still finds it adorable.

But Roman’s so soft when he sleeps, so lovely, so unabashed at chasing what he wants. He clings to Janus’s shirt with clumsy fingers, burbles soft noises of protest when Janus’s warmth leaves his side.

“Come on, sweetie,” Janus coaxes, gently prying Roman’s fingers off, “let me go, you don’t want me to be here when you wake up.”

“Mmno.”

“You say that now…” He still won’t let go. “Come on, sweetie, let me go…”

He leans down to press a kiss to his cheek, hoping Roman will melt and he can escape.

“That’s it, just go back to sleep, sweetie,” he murmurs, his voice low and hypnotic, carding his fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead, “sleep, sleep, sleep…”

“Stay,” comes the sleepy little mumble, its voice still lost in the dream, “take care ‘f me.”

The earnest plea brings a sad little smile to Janus’s face.

“If you knew who I was,” he whispers, “you wouldn’t ask that.”

Roman opens his eyes and stares right at him.

Janus freezes, his hands still caught in Roman’s hair, Roman’s hands still gripping his shirt.

“Stay,” Roman repeats, his tongue thick with sleep but awake, “don’t run away this time.”

This time?

Oh.

Oh, no.

Janus swallows. “How long—“

“You said you didn’t hate me,” Roman mumbles, still tugging on Janus’s shirt to get him back, “and that it hurt more that the others didn’t realize.”

“You were supposed to be asleep.”

“You were supposed to hate me.” Roman tugs harder. “Come back.”

Janus gets slowly back into position, letting Roman cling to him like a child with a teddy bear. Without permission, his own arms wrap around the sleepy prince, and Roman all but purrs.

“We c’n talk later,” the prince mumbles, already drifting back to sleep, “but stay. Want you to stay.”

And…well, if it’s the first time Roman’s asked for something he wants in god knows how long, what else is Janus supposed to do but obey?

“Alright, sweetie, I’m right here,” he murmurs, curling his arms tightly around the poor prince, “do you want to try and go back to sleep?”

“Mm.”

But his eyes don’t drift closed. Instead, they stay glassily alert, one hand fisted loosely in the slack of Janus’s shirt.

“Sweetie,” Janus calls after a little, “do you want to change into something easier to sleep in?”

He lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.

“Can I help?”

Another shrug. Janus tucks a loose piece of hair behind Roman’s ear, snapping his fingers to put the costume on the mannequin in the closet and replace it with a soft red shirt and boxers. He presses another kiss to Roman’s forehead and ruffles his hair.

“Why don’t you hate me?”

Janus frowns, pulling Roman closer. “How could I hate you?”

He holds a finger gently up to the prince’s lips before the lies can fill Roman’s head again.

“Let me rephrase: I don’t hate you, Roman, I promise.”

Roman’s disbelief is palpable. “But why?”

...maybe he is going to have to do this.

“I can hear lies,” he murmurs, “whenever someone says them or thinks them. If they’re not true, I’ll hear it. No, no—stay here, sweetie, shh, I’m not angry, I’m not disappointed. I can hear them when you tell yourself that you’re worthless, or toxic, or that we all hate you.”

He lifts Roman’s chin gently.

“They’re lies, sweetie, that’s why I can hear them. You’re not worthless, you’re not toxic.”

Roman whimpers.

“You’re not broken,” he continues softly, holding him still, “you’re not hard to love, we don’t hate you.”

He cups Roman’s face and pulls him in to rest their foreheads together.

“And I care about you, sweetie, so, so much.”

Roman’s breath shudders warmly on his cheeks.

“Shh, shh, oh, come here, sweetie—there you go, you can cry, honey, I’ve got you, I’m right here, shh, shh...”

The weight of the prince’s tears drying on his collar makes it hard to swallow. He tugs the blankets closer around them and lets Roman cling onto him as he cries.

“I know you don’t believe me,” he whispers as familiar lies start to drift across, “but it’s true, sweetie. It’s true, it’s true, I promise. I’m here to take care of you.”

“I’m—I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor—sorry—“

“Shh-shh-shh, don’t apologize to me, sweetie, you don’t have to apologize, I’m right here, I’m not angry, nothing’s so bad.”

“I’m sorry.”

Janus hushes him gently with a kiss to his cheek. “I know you are...even though you don’t have to be, not like this.”

His chest aches when Roman won’t stop burbling apologies.

“Roman.” He takes the prince’s face firmly in his hands. “Roman, look at me.”

Roman’s glassy eyes fixate on Janus’s face.

“I forgive you, my prince,” he says, “I forgive you.”

Roman’s mouth stills.

“If that is what you need to hear,” he continues, softening his grip, “I forgive you, my prince.”

“You...you do?”

“I don’t want you to think that you need my forgiveness for me to love you,” Janus murmurs, “but yes, sweetie. I forgive you.”

Roman collapses.

Janus catches him. Of course, he catches him. He curls around his prince and murmurs sweet nothings, reassurances, anything he needs right now.

It’s messy, it’s frantic, it’s desperate, it’s human.

He can care for Roman while Roman lets himself be human. So he holds the poor thing while he cries himself out.

He doesn’t cry himself to sleep again, thankfully, just enough to slump against Janus’s chest and huff.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, that was long overdue.” He runs his knuckles up Roman’s back. “Can we get you something to drink?”

Roman stiffens. “Does that mean going downstairs?”

“No, sweetie. Come on...”

He gets Roman seated on the edge of the bed with a glass of water in his hands. Roman drinks, blinking as Janus passes him a warm cloth, then a cool cloth, to clean his face.

“What do they want me to do,” he asks after he’s finished the glass and the cloths are hanging over the laundry basket, “now?”

Janus winces. Is he surprised? No.

“Shh, sweetie, I’m not angry,” he soothes when Roman tenses, “I’m concerned. You’re still—you still need to take care of yourself first before you worry about everyone else.”

But everyone else is worthy of the worrying, not me.

Janus hisses gently. Roman just sighs.

“It’s what you’ve told me,” he mumbles, “I don’t—I can’t just stop it.”

“I’m not expecting you to be able to just stop it, sweetie, it’s going to take time, but part of it is going to be recognizing what’s not true.”

“I know.”

Janus opens his mouth to say something else when Roman gasps, his hand flying to his chest.

“Sweetie? Sweetie, what is it?”

“I’m—I’m being summoned.” Roman clutches his shirt, staring up at Janus. “Thomas—Thomas—“

“I’ll go.” Janus gives Roman’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just wait here for me, sweetie, I’ll be right back.”

He can still feel the warmth of Roman’s shoulder tingling under his palm as he appears in the living room.

“I’m sure you have a wonderful reason for trying to summon Roman,” he drawls, raising an eyebrow at a Thomas.

Thomas looks up from his computer. “We were still filming.”

Janus stiffens. “You’re not thinking of trying to continue—“

“What? No, no, I’m saying that while Roman was talking the camera was still rolling.” Thomas points to the screen. “Which means we have it. All of it.”

Ah, now he sees where Thomas is going.

“You want them to watch.”

“They should, shouldn’t they?”

Yes, a bitter part of Janus growls, they should see how badly they’ve made Thomas’s Ego crumble.

“What do you think?”

Thomas rolls his shoulders back. “I think up until Roman said...all of that, I didn’t think the others were wrong either.”

He glances up at Janus.

“Did you?”

Janus huffs. “I don’t think we ever give Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he is.”

With that, the whole sorry tale spills out of him. He doesn’t reveal the exact nature of the lies, just the broad swaths of them and how many there are. To Thomas’s credit, he deals with it better than Janus expected. That is, he doesn’t burst into tears.

Thomas takes a deep breath.

“...yeah, we’re watching this now.”

“Right now?”

“Answer me this,” Thomas says, looking up at him again, “where is Roman? Right now?”

“...on his bed.” At Thomas’s pointed stare, he relents. “He’s not alright, Thomas, he hasn’t been for a very long time.”

“Then yeah. Right now.”

“Then I’m going to ask Roman if he wants to be here.”

Thomas nods. “Can you—can you tell him I’m sorry?”

“You can do that yourself when he’s ready to hear it.”

Understandably, Roman does not want to be there. Janus wraps him tightly in the softest blankets he has, tucked up with a pillow and a glass of water nearby if he wants it, along with the reassurance that if Roman wants him back here, at any point, to call. He’ll listen.

“Thank you.”

Janus leaves him with one last squeeze, appearing in the living room with the others. Thomas is back to setting up the computer so they can all see the screen.

“Thomas?” Logan adjusts his tie. “I was unaware we had something scheduled for today.”

“We didn’t. Spur of the moment.”

Remus shoots Janus a look. Janus nods. Remus shifts a little closer to him and his hand grips his Morningstar.

“Is this about the video from yesterday?” Virgil looks around warily. “Or is it something else?”

“It is about yesterday.”

“Shouldn’t we...wait for Roman?” Patton rubs the back of his neck. “He kinda—well, if we’re talking about yesterday—“

“Roman’s not coming.” Thomas keeps fiddling with the computer.

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Are we deciding how to film the video without Roman?”

“No.” Thomas glances at Janus. Janus nods. Thomas looks back at the others. “Roman’s not coming because he doesn’t want to.”

“What the fuck?”

“Language, kiddo,” Patton mumbles halfheartedly.

“Wait, so—“ Virgil doesn’t look so much as chided— “you’re just gonna let Princey throw his temper tantrum and not come work?”

“How much attention were you guys paying to what happened after you sunk out yesterday?”

“…not much, why?”

In response, Thomas just pushes ‘play.’

Their voices fill the room, telling Roman what he’s done wrong, why he’s holding all of them back, why he’s the source of all their problems. Lies, lies, and more lies. They get to the part where the other three sink out and Remus tightens his grip on the handle.

“…you want me to apologize?”

Virgil opens his mouth, presumably to make some quip, only to cut himself off with a strangled noise once Roman’s apologies begin.

Janus watches with a sick sense of satisfaction as Patton’s hands fly to his mouth, eyes wide at the hopeless tone coming out of the computer. Next to him, Virgil goes rigid, borderline catatonic. He looks as if one little push would send him toppling over.

He can’t see Logan’s face until Thomas stops the playback. It’s only when Logan takes his glasses off to clean them that he can see the tears on his cheeks.

Thomas looks up at Janus.

“Can you still hear them?”

“The lies?” Thomas nods. “Yes.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Roman is the Ego,” Logan whispers, mostly to himself, “Roman is the Ego. Of course…of course, I understand—I understand now.”

“What does that mean?”

Logan takes a deep breath and looks up at Patton. “It means that Roman is Thomas’s sense of self-worth, more or less, and that he—he takes the brunt of Thomas’s reactions to…any sort of feedback, more than any of us. Good or bad.”

Virgil stifles a curse. “And we’ve taught him to hate himself.”

“Quite.”

“We—“ Patton takes a breath— “we need to apologize.”

“We all do.” Thomas closes the computer and sets it aside. “I don’t…I don’t know how we do that, though.”

“Breaking patterns of thinking is hard,” Logan says, “and…especially hard when you have been taught not to ask for help.”

“But there has to be something!”

“Touch-starved,” Virgil breaks in, staring at a spot on the carpet, “Roman’s touch-starved.”

Janus raises an eyebrow.

“…when I was still having trouble,” Virgil says after a moment of them all looking at him, “Roman—Roman would just come and ask me if I wanted to—to—“

He hunches his shoulders.

“Sometimes it’d be a hug. Sometimes he’d sit next to me and—and lean on me. Sometimes he’d just—you know, with the forehead thing—“

“Bonk.”

They all turn to Logan, who has…a surprising flush to his cheeks.

“Roman said that he—he wanted to be able to express affection for me and not disturb my work,” he manages, “so we…came up with a solution.”

Patton blinks. “Is that why Roman will just walk up to you and bonk his forehead against yours?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

“That’s adorable,” Thomas says quietly, “that’s—wait, hang on, that’s really adorable.”

“It was Roman’s idea.” Logan swallows. “Most of his ideas are good.”

“Yeah,” Thomas says, “maybe we should try telling him that next time.”

Janus looks around. The others look to be in various states of remorse and determination. With the exception of Remus, who still looks like he wants to bash a few of their skulls in.

“…can we go hug Roman now?”

“I wanna do that.”

“If he’s—“ Logan glances between Thomas and Janus— “do you know if he would be amenable to that? If he—would like that?”

“We can ask,” Janus says quietly, “but I don’t know.”

“And if he says no,” Remus growls, “you get out.”

“We understand, Remus,” Logan promises. He looks at Thomas. “Thank you, Thomas.”

Thomas shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Not yet. We all have stuff to fix.”

Janus adjusts his cape. “Then let’s get started, shall we?”

They don’t sink right to Roman’s room. Instead, Janus knocks quietly on the door and waits for the soft ‘yes?’ from the other side to open it.

“Roman,” he calls softly, “hey, sweetie, why’re you over there?”

Because Roman, the poor thing, is at his desk, trying to work.

“I—um—“

“I’m not angry, sweetie,” he murmurs, arms going around the prince to pull him up out of the desk chair, “just concerned.”

“I figured that if I got to work they’d be less mad that I wasn’t there,” Roman mumbles, even as he lets Janus pull him back to the bed, “so I…”

“Oh, sweetie, no one’s angry at you.”

Roman looks up at him with such a heartbreaking look of disbelief that he lets out a soft noise, cupping his face.

“Would you believe me if I said they want to apologize and make it up to you?”

“No.”

He squints. “Have you believed anything I’ve told you since you woke up?”

“No.”

The lack of hesitation makes his eyes widen. Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against Roman’s as he pulls off his gloves, reaching up to cup the prince’s head.

“I meant every word,” he murmurs, doing his best to wipe away the bits of salt in the corners of his eyes, “every single word.”

He pauses, then leans closer.

“They’re sorry, Roman,” he whispers, “they’re so sorry and they want to know how to make it better.”

They don’t want you. They hate you. They’ve never cared about you. They don’t even want to touch you.

Janus hisses softly as he pulls Roman in for a hug. The poor thing still reacts like it’s the first time someone’s touched him in years.

“They want to see you, sweetie,” he whispers, “and I believe their exact words were ‘can we go hug Roman now?’”

“W-what?”

In response, Janus pulls away a little and nods to the door. Roman’s eyes widen.

“Can we let them in, sweetie?”

“They’re here?”

“Right outside.”

“They want—they want to—“

Roman’s desperate gaze flies to the door. He raises a shaking hand and lets it open.

Patton’s through the door before it’s even all the way open. Roman lets out a wounded noise as Patton barrels into them, his arms wrapped around Roman before Janus can blink.

“Pat—Patton—Pa—wha—?”

“I’m sorry, Roman, I’m so sorry, kiddo—“

Virgil follows not too long after, pulling Roman’s legs into his lap and reaching out to take Roman’s outstretched hand.

“Hey, Princey,” he says, the growl from not five minutes ago softened to a low rumble, “missed you.”

“Mis—miss—missed me?”

“Yeah, Roman, missed you. Didn’t feel the same without you there.”

Then Logan. As Patton and Virgil move to get Roman into a more comfortable position, Logan sits behind him so that when Roman leans back, his head rests against Logan’s shoulder. Logan reaches up to tangle his fingers in Roman’s hair, smiling softly at the low noise from Roman’s throat.

“Bonk?”

Roman nods, still blinking in confusion but lets Logan press his forehead gently to his.

“Thank you, little star,” he murmurs, smiling at the way Roman’s mouth falls open, “I didn’t forget, Roman, even if I haven’t been the best at showing it.”

“We don’t hate you, Princey,” Virgil says, squeezing his hand, “and we—well, we owe you one hell of an apology.”

“But we don’t have to talk about that now.” Patton adjusts his grip around Roman’s waist. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Remus picks this moment to not walk through the door and climb onto the bed but to sink down through the ceiling and land on top of them.

“Re!”

“Hey, Ro-Bro.”

“Re, get off, you—it’s too much.”

Remus rolls to the side, right into Janus’s lap, effectively making sure that none of them are leaving, not that they particularly wanted to.

Janus watches as Roman slowly asks if they can stay like this for a while, smiling when the answer is a resounding ‘yes,’ the cuddle pile closing in around their prince. Roman’s head rests against the crook of Logan’s neck, one of his hands wrapped in Janus’s, the other in Virgil’s. His legs lie in Virgil’s lap, Patton cuddling him protectively as Logan strokes his head. Remus and Janus keep watch, sentries over the resting prince.

For the first time, in a long time, as Roman drifts off to sleep, the only lie in his head is this won’t last forever.

They’ve got time to prove him wrong.

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist let me know!

291 notes · View notes

jonsa101 · 3 years

Text

Episode 3x14: A Reflection of How Max Stepped Into Love After A Season of Suffering

Gif credit @supagirl

Hey guys! I can’t believe the season finale has come and gone! I think my mind is just taking time to comprehend everything that has happened! Sharpwin is officially canon! As I’m typing this out, it feels strange writing a meta on the other side of things. Since season one, I’ve been writing metas about how these two belong together and making predictions about the trajectory of their relationship. Now, to be on the other side of things where I know longer have to do that because these two are finally together is kinda crazy. I feel so elated!

Now y’all, I’m not going to lie to you, I had a totally different meta planned out and that meta is still in my drafts. I will probably release it because it was a general review of the episode but I thought it was more important that I put this meta out first. When I was watching the finale live, I didn’t love it. I just didn’t. I loved that Max and Helen finally got together at the end of the episode but I had a major issue with how it unfolded. The issue my friends was this scene right here:

Baby!!! When I tell you this scene TRIGGERED me, it did! Now mind you, I wasn’t upset with Max’s storyline of searching and struggling to take off his wedding ring. It is human nature for Max to still have an emotional attachment to his ring. He’s not still grieving but essentially that ring is the only thing he has left of Georgia and represents a life he once had. Him taking it off was always going to be a monumental moment for Sharpwin and for himself. The issue that I had was Max casually telling Helen that he freaked out about losing his ring!!! To me, after the voicemail he left her, after Helen flew standby and was in a six hour flight to see him, it was an incredibly CALLOUS thing for Max to say. I know Max wasn’t thinking in this moment. I know his intentions were clearly not to hurt her but words matter and him being careless with his was a complete disregard of Helen’s feelings. She was deeply hurt and upset when he said this and rightfully so! I mean just look at her expression here:

Helen’s entire being read like

“I can’t believe you”

And girl same, because neither could I!! He knew he fucked up and he obviously made up for it in the end but y’all when I was watching it live, everything that came after that elevator scene was was tainted for me. I had a hard time believing that Helen would let what he said slide so easily and in the moment, I couldn’t appreciate the beauty of them finally coming together! 😩 In my personal opinion, there were so many other ways that scene could have played out without Max having to literally tell Helen to her face that he was worried about his wedding ring! I know they were trying to build up to the “big moment” where he finally takes his ring off and runs back to Helen’s apartment but man, that moment did not sit right with me in my spirit! It still doesn’t and I don’t think my opinion will ever change on this.

With that said, I’ve now done several rewatches of the finale where I specifically watched the scenes after that awful moment by the elevator. As I’ve had time to reflect, my perspective has changed. I no longer view the moments after the elevator scene as tainted but as something deeply profound and beautiful. Hell, even as I reflect on that scene by the elevator, I still don’t like it, but in a way I understand it in how it relates to Max’s overall journey when it comes to Helen. To me, Max Goodwin is a man who fell deeply in love with Helen in the midst of the most complex situations and a season of him suffering. It’s been deep rooted, complicated and messy from the start and over the past three years we’ve seen Max navigate through the complexities of his feelings for Helen and the circumstances he’s found himself in on our screens. I think when you look at season three finale and specifically the journey of Max finally making a choice to be with Helen, you have to put into context Max’s history and how it influenced what that looked like. So y’all that is exactly what I want to do in this meta so let’s dive in.

One thing I think we need to acknowledge is that, even though as an audience we have loved seeing Max and Helen’s journey unfold, the road has been so TOUGH for them. As Helen said in 3x13, it’s been a fight! Especially for Max. The suffering he has endured over the past three years has been unfathomable and much of his relationship with Helen and his feelings for her have been developed under these traumatic and tragic circumstances.

At the very beginning of the series, when Max and Helen first meet they clash but it doesn’t last for long. It’s his first day at New Amsterdam and as the new Medical Director, he wants her to stay at the hospital and treat patients instead of doing press tours. Helen on the other hand wants to continue doing press and for the most part ignores his demands for her to return to the hospital. When she finally does return, she does so because she learns that Max has cancer. This bonds them at the onset as Helen is the only person in his life that knows about his diagnosis. As an audience, when we first see them interact, we instantly saw the sparks fly between them. Their chemistry and natural witty banter made us immediately take a look at their relationship and what potential they could have in the future. Though we were shocked by his cancer diagnosis, I think the fun and lightheartedness of Sharpwin’s first interactions really masked how traumatic this must have been for Max. On the first day of his dream job, that he sacrificed his marriage for, he learns that he has cancer while having a baby on the way. Those are the awful circumstances that first bring Max and Helen together.

As Helen becomes Max’s doctor and he swears her to secrecy about his diagnosis, their friendship and bond grows deeper. His passion and drive to help his patients, reignites Sharpe’s love for medicine again and inspires her to put her patients first. They become vulnerable with each other more than anyone else in their lives. He confides in her about his broken marriage and she tells him that she wants a baby. When he almost dies, she becomes his deputy medical director so that he can focus on his care. All of these moments are significant to them because somewhere along the way they develop feelings for each other. They didn’t plan for it and it’s something neither of them are consciously aware of but unknowingly, they both start to fill a place in each other’s lives that was clearly more than a doctor and patient relationship or a friendship. This “place” wasn’t called out until episode 1x16 were the clairvoyant called out their feelings for each other. When episode 1x17 comes around, after a night of revelations and a scramble to get the power back on in the hospital, Helen decides to step back as his doctor. If she wasn’t aware of her feelings before, in this moment, she’s fully aware of them now. This is an effort to safeguard her heart and set boundaries because the lines of who they are to each other were already so blurred. When she “triages” their relationship Max’s reacts badly and honestly they’re both devastated and are on the verge of tears:

As viewers, we loved this moment but when you peel back the layers of what’s actually going on in this scene, it’s gut-wrenching. The subtext is so clear here yet their situation is so complex and layered. We know for a fact that Max wasn’t trying to lose her in ANY CAPACITY. We also know that in the way he TRULY wanted her he couldn’t have her and Helen knew that too. Not when he was married, had a baby on the way, and fighting cancer at the same time. Y’all that’s hard and profoundly painful when you think about it and it makes this scene all the more tragic.

When Helen steps back as his doctor, at first Max seems to be handling it well but as his cancer starts to get worse, he completely breaks. Like I said earlier, over the course of his cancer treatment, Helen filled a place in Max’s life that was so much more than just his doctor or his friend. So when he’s dying and no longer has the person he feels deeply for play an active role in his treatment, he lashes out. He’s dealing with a range of emotions he can’t handle or properly process. Things only get worse from there and at the end of season one Georgia and Luna’s life are on the line and Bloom and Helen scramble to save them. When it seems like everyone was able to come out of that traumatic event unscathed, they get into a devastating ambulance crash that changes everything.

Season 2 brings another level of pain and suffering for Max when he loses his wife after the crash and is thrust into single fatherhood. Not only is he grieving but he’s also dealing with guilt of falling in love with Helen while he was married. The complexities of his feelings is something he struggles with throughout this season and it affects his relationship with Helen. At some points he pushes her away and at others he desperately needs her. Once again, Helen and Max’s relationship is caught up in the most complex of circumstances that is riddled with agony and trauma.

By time we head into season 3, Max doesn’t even have time to breathe or think about his relationship with Helen because they’re both thrust to the frontlines of the pandemic.

I bring all of this up again to emphasize that there has never been a time where Max and Helen’s relationship hasn’t been wrapped up in trauma or some sort of suffering. It has always been one thing or another with them. It’s been A LOT and Max has tried to navigate being in love with Helen through his suffering and under these crazy ass circumstances. So after rewatching the finale, the questions that run through my mind are:

How do you step into love when all you’ve known for the past three years has been suffering?

How do you love openly and freely when for so long you’ve emotionally suppressed your feelings for someone because it was “wrong?”

How do you let go, heal, and move on with your life?

To me, answering these questions is what the season finale for Max was all about. When you’ve suffered so much and endured so much it’s not easy to step into a new chapter in your life that’s hopeful and filled with love and possibilities. For Max, I don’t think in his wildest dreams that he ever imagined that he and Helen would be in a place where they could actually be together. Considering everything they’ve gone through, quite frankly it’s a fucking miracle! So when he actually makes it to the other side and not only SURVIVES but has a chance for happiness, I don’t think he knows what he’s doing. Pursuing/having feelings for Helen from a place that isn’t wrapped up in trauma and tragedy, where there are seemingly no obstacles in his way, is totally and completely new territory for Max. I think he’s clueless in how to do that in the right way and as he navigates through that, naturally there are hiccups.

That’s evident with what he said by the elevator and also in this moment here:

Max doesn’t have a clue but he wants to make sure that he doesn’t fuck it up because he DESPERATELY wants this! I also think there’s something to be said about how we as human beings can self-sabotage ourselves when we finally have an opportunity to get what we want. Fear, guilt, worthiness usually comes into play with that and I think for Max there was definitely a fear with moving on with his life, guilt of surviving it all and having a chance to be with the woman he’s loved for so long, and a question of if he’s worthy of actually having happiness.

Their walk in my mind perfectly embodies him self sabotaging while also trying to navigate his feelings of desperately wanting to be with her. At the beginning of their walk, you see that at one point he clearly wants to hold Helen’s hand but he doesn’t (I would use a gif here y’all but I literally only have room for 10 😩). I’m focusing my attention on Max here because essentially this whole moment between them is a part of Max’s “mini story” in the episode. The ball has always been in his court and truly what we are witnessing is his journey to step into love because Helen is ready and has been waiting on him.

The most compelling moment in their walk scene for me was this one:

I find it strange for Max to walk so far ahead when he was the one who asked her if he could walk with her. My first thought while watching it live was “what is he doing” and I think Helen’s expression reads the same way. After analyzing this for a bit, I genuinely think that’s the point of this scene. Like I said earlier, Max doesn’t know what he’s doing. To be with Helen like this is, where its romantic, peaceful and drama free is probably blowing his mind and he doesn't know how to navigate this. He doesn’t know how to receive this second chance at happiness.

The internal war of Max stepping into love or allowing fear, guilt, and unworthiness to hold him back becomes all the more evident when they get to Helen’s door:

He knows he wants to come in. Helen know he wants to come in too. This man literally says goodnight twice and when Helen responds with “you said that,” it perfects this scene. She wants him to come in as well but she’s not going to ask him to. In this moment, she sees his internal struggle and she knows that he has to make the choice himself on whether or not he wants to move on with his life with her.

When he walks away, for a moment that was Max choosing to hold onto the pain and trauma of his past. That was him choosing to hold onto the guilt that was keeping him from healing and moving on. With the suffering he’s been through, it makes sense. In many ways he’s been conditioned to fight, to suffer and to endure. It’s what he’s used to. But praise the lord, he thinks of the moments he just shared with Helen.

The joy he has with just being in her presence.

The opportunity he has to freely be with her and have a life with her after loving her for so long.

He is not condemned to a life of suffering. It was only for a season. He’s in love with Helen and wants to be with her. Like hell is he going to let this opportunity at a second chance of love and happiness slip away from him. So guys, he slips off that ring, runs back to Helen’s apartment and makes a choice to step into love. Step into this new, uncharted, chapter of his life with Helen Sharpe.

Anyway guys! I hope y’all enjoyed this! I might be releasing one more meta but we will see how it goes.

As always feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr and on Twitter @oyindaodewale. Love you guys!

#new amsterdam #Sharpwin #Max Goodwin #Helen Sharpe #Max x Helen #sharpwin meta #new amsterdam meta

155 notes · View notes

krisingtons · 3 years

Text

So I got a sick!Izuku cared for by powered All Might request a while back from @nanami85240 that I've been hanging onto for a while. For reasons, I don't normally write powered Dadmight, but I took a stab at it! I felt like it fit Tumblr a bit better for no particular reason, so enjoy!

He's Fine

(Dadmight Sick fic)

Something’s off about Midoriya today. All Might can tell.

He’d grown accustomed to his protege’s moods and abilities over the course of their ten months of training. The boy has an excess of spirit, a spirit that will serve him well as a hero but causes problems as a hero in training. If only All Might could get Midoriya to pace himself on his own rather than needing to readjust his regime again. And again. And again.

So All Might can tell that something is off about Midoriya today. To the untrained eyes of his new classmates, nothing seems amiss. They continue the exercise All Might set for them in Heroics as if everything is fine, thinking only ahead to the upcoming Sports Festival in their determination and not behind to the disastrous USJ attack.

The attack that almost took All Might and Midoriya both.

All Might had been right that he could only hold his powered form for an hour after that, although if he didn’t fight at all in it, he could maybe stretch it to an hour and a half. It was a stretch, but he did it for the citizens, the students. For his successor.

So when All Might sees Midoriya’s sluggish movements and his glassy eyes, unnoticed by his classmates, All Might sucks in his gut even more, determined to keep his protective armor on.

Now he wears it for him and Midoriya equally.

Had he noticed the problem a split second earlier, All Might would have had the sense to stop the exercise and pull Midoriya out to assess the situation. But he’s still new to teaching and he still wants to encourage his student’s spirit and he still doesn’t want to single Midoriya out, so he hesitates. And that moment of hesitation is all it takes for the boy to collapse on the field, much to the surprise of the other students.

“Shit,” All Might mutters. He leaves the observation booth in a leap and lands right at Midoriya’s side. The boy pants heavily, attempting to lift himself up with his newly-muscular arms but fails spectacularly.

“What seems to be the problem here, young Midoriya?” All Might hears himself boom as his mind whirls with concern. Is anything broken? Is he dehydrated? Does he have cuts? Did someone hit him too hard? Midoriya once fell off a pile of trash during their training, and although the situation now seems much less dire than that, the concern All Might feels has somehow only grown stronger.

When the boy attempts to speak, perhaps to say, “I’m fine” but in a way that indicates he clearly is not fine, All Might leans over his small, fragile body to keep prying eyes away. “It’s okay, young Midoriya, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, quieter than he normally speaks in this form. Before he can question himself, before he remembers that UA has designated medical robots to take students to the infirmary, he scoops up Midoriya into his arms. It poses no strain at all, really, even if he’s been in this form for forty-five minutes already, but he notices how much stockier his successor has become since the time he fell off the trash.

“Alright, class, keep going with the exercise! Young Iida, watch over everyone for now.” Before anyone can question it, All Might leaps into the air and is gone.

He’s at the infirmary in no time, but to his dismay, he doesn’t see Recovery Girl right away. With a cough, he adjusts himself to keep the hold on his muscular form, not wanting to drop it yet. Not yet.

All the cots are open, so he sets Midoriya down on the one by the window. He’s been here enough to know that Midoriya prefers that cot, and knowing that sends a jolt of guilt through All Might. His successor has been here far too many times already. Now, though, it’s not through his heroics but through… what? All Might still doesn’t know.

Midoriya groans as he blinks his eyes open, peering about the room. All Might finds a cup and a pitcher of water, pouring it for the boy and handing him the glass.

“Here. Have some water and tell me what’s going on, young man.” Midoriya blinks a few times, takes the cup from All Might’s large hand and has a sip. He sits up, then stares down at the bed with a flush on his face. Before Midoriya can say anything, All Might brings a large hand to the boy’s forehead and frowns.

“You have a fever,” he says flatly. Midoriya’s face falls, as if he knew that already. “Be honest, young Midoriya: did you know you had a fever when you came to class today?” The boy flinches.

“I… kind of woke up feeling bad. But I didn’t think I had a fever, I swear!” the boy cries, his wide eyes pleading to All Might. “I felt fine most of this morning, but I don’t know, the heat was just a lot. I’m fine, I swear!”

“You’re not fine,” All Might scolds, causing Midoriya to shrink a bit. “You passed out in the middle of a training exercise. What if that had been a real battle, young man?” What if that had been the USJ? All Might thinks.

“I’m- I’m sorry, All Might. You’re right.” Midoriya says this in a way that indicates he’s not so sure if he believes All Might is right, but he’s also not yet at the point of refuting his hero. Then, his face scrunches up in confusion as he looks up at All Might. “Um, should you still be holding your hero form like that? I don’t want to make you use your time limit,” he whispers. All Might shakes his head.

“Nonsense, young Midoriya! You’re not feeling well, and that means I’m still on the job, so of course I’d still be a hero! Besides,” he adds in a lowered voice, “we don’t know who might come back with Recovery Girl whenever she returns, so it’d be best to not risk it.”

Midoriya nods as if that makes sense, but All Might knows that’s not the full truth of it. He doesn’t admit this, not even to himself, but as he stares at his successor in this cot, his mind flashes to him bandaged and broken after the USJ. All Might’s insides turn at his recent conversation with Tsukauchi and the implication of who created the nomu, and what that means for the boy lying in this bed. All Might’s mind whirls with all the dangers that could befall this boy before him, this boy he chose for these dangers, and the longer he knows him, the heavier the dread becomes at what could befall him.

So, All Might can stay in this form a little while longer. He needs to be ready to protect his student. He’ll protect him this time.

All Might’s pulled from his thoughts when he sees Midoriya almost drop the half-full cup of water, his eyes falling closed. His smile feels a little less strained at the sight of it, a little more genuine. It feels strange, but nice, to hold a genuine smile in this form.

“Young Midoriya, lie down. Go ahead and rest until Recovery Girl returns.” As Midoriya curls up on his side, All Might grabs the blankets and another pillow from one of the other cots. He sets the pillow gently by the boy’s arms, which prompts the kid to grab it and hold it close. Then, All Might draps the extra blankets over him. He shivers when they make contact, then settles into the bed. Soon enough, he’s asleep.

All Might pulls out his phone and calls Aizawa.

“Aizawa, it’s All Might. I need you to watch Class 1-A for me for the rest of Heroics. Midoriya came down with something and Recovery Girl isn’t back yet to check on him.” He pauses as he listens to the voice on the other end. “No, no, I’ll stay here,” All Might assures his colleague. “The class already has their assignment, so they just need someone to spot them. There’s no sense in us both moving around when I’m already here. Besides, there’s not much time left.” After begrudging agreement from the fellow teacher, he ends the call with a, “Thank you, Aizawa.”

After he ends the call, it still takes a while for Recovery Girl to come back. Later, All Might realizes that he’s held his hero form for longer today than he had since the USJ. But he’s fine, he feels fine. He doesn’t think much of it at all, honestly. He’s only watching the boy in the bed, the boy who was too stubborn to stay home when sick, the boy that All Might knows will be a wonderful hero someday.

But for now, since he can, All Might will stay vigilant over his boy. For now, he’ll ignore the fact that young Midoriya has become “his” boy somewhere along the way. For now, he’ll pretend like he’d react the same way with any student. And for now, he’ll silently hope that Midoriya feels better soon, not wanting him to hurt any more.

#dadmight #all might #izuku midoriya #bnha fanfiction #self promo #fic request #sickfic

108 notes · View notes

rosaliestark01 · 3 years

Text

Dusk Till Dawn - Part 9

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Tony reveals who Y/N's real dad is and Y/N confronts her family.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, angst, maybe some cringiness???

A/N: Although @annies-marvel-imagines will no longer be posting more parts, she will still receive credit.

"Can someone please explain what just happened?" Clint asks as he sits against the wall of their cell. He flicks a piece of lint from his sleeve before looking at the others for answers.

"I'm sorry. Did you miss the part where Y/N kicked our asses?" Tony backtalks. It's evident he takes your betrayal extremely personally, more so than anyone else.

"No, I think I was taking my afternoon nap," Clint deadpans. "What I don't understand is why."

"This is all my fault," Peter sighs. His shoulders slump and the regret is clear as day. "If I hadn't let my guard down at the dance-"

Everyone in the cell groaned in exasperation. Peter and Tony hadn't stopped blaming themselves the entire time, and it was shattering the morale of everyone there as though their spirits weren't already broken.

"Now's not the time to be playing the blame game," Nat discusses. "We need to figure out a way out of here."

"We wouldn't be in this mess if Y/N hadn't stabbed us all in the back," Bucky mumbles under his breath. He knew that you were a good fighter, considering he and Nat were the ones who trained you. He just never imagined that you'd turn on him and everyone else.

"No," Steve responds. "Y/N wouldn't betray us if she didn't have a good reason. He had to have forced her or something."

"Sorry to break it to you," Ezekiel chuckles as he approaches the cell with you and Eloise by his side, "but I didn't force Y/N to do shit. Isn't that right, sweetheart."

"Yeah, dad," you reply. Peter seems to be the only one to notice how uncomfortable you were to call that man your dad.

"Dad?" Tony quotes. His face turns beet red, and, for a split second, you were afraid that a vein would pop. He stares at Ezekiel angrily before responding, "You-"

Before Tony could finish his sentence, Ezekiel pressed a button, causing a soundproof metal barrier to surround the cell.

"Don't worry about them, Y/N." Ezekiel laughed, beginning to walk away. "They'll get what they deserve soon enough."

"With our sponsor ready to move to phase two, we'll be unstoppable," Eloise added. You refrained from becoming visibly alarmed at the mention of a sponsor. It made sense that that would have explained how they could get a hold of such advanced technology.

"Your sponsor?" You questioned, trying not to seem too interested.

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with," Ezekiel mutters, ignoring you in favor of questioning Eloise. "Has the shipment arrived?"

"Most of it," She states. They continue walking ahead of you, leaving you to wonder what the heck you've gotten yourself into.

-----------------------------

"Tony, is that true?" Rhodey asks. "Is that asshole Y/N's real dad?"

"You're kidding me, right?" Tony retorts. "Of course, that's not Y/N's real dad."

"Then who is he?" Steve questions, unaware of how Tony has been avoiding making eye contact with him.

"His name is Ezekiel Stane. His dad was my business partner until he betrayed me." Everyone nods their head, beginning to understand what was going on.

"And now he's using Y/n to get revenge," Steve finished. "Who is Y/N's real dad?"

Everyone looks at Tony expectantly. They're both eager to find out who your real dad is and curious as to why it is such a heavily guarded secret. Whoever it is, it can't be worse than the guy who is actively manipulating you as an act of revenge. When Tony fails to answer, Bruce speaks up.

"Dammit, Tony, this is important information," he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

"Banner is right," Steve declares, causing Tony to lose it.

"Fine! You want to know who her real dad is? It's you!"Silence engulfs the cell as everyone is too shocked to quickly process what Tony revealed.

"Is this a joke to you?" Steve's brows knitted in confusion and anger as he stared at Tony. Yet, the fear and bitterness that burned in his eyes told the truth. "I can't be Y/N's dad. It's impossible."

"You want to know how it's possible? Ask Fury," Tony seethed. He couldn't meet anyone's eyes, but he knew what they were all thinking.

"Fury knew?" Nat asks quietly, not ready to believe that Fury would keep something this important, something this profound, about you from her.

"Dammit, Tony. You had no right to keep this a secret," Steve yells as he begins to pace. The more he thinks about it, the more you look like someone from his past, someone he thought would be his future before he went in the ice.

"Didn't I?" Tony challenges. "Y/N is still my daughter."

"Now's not the time to fight about this," Nat mutters, still processing the information. "Y/N still thinks that that guy is her dad, and we need to find a way out of here."

"I don't think that Y/N thinks that guy is her dad," Peter pipes up. "You saw how uncomfortable she got when she called him 'dad', and I have a gut feeling that she's still on our side."

"I don't trust your spider-tingle, or whatever you call it. It's been wrong before," Bucky scowls, remembering one of the few times he remembers Peter's gut feeling had led them all into a few unpleasant situations.

"But I don't think it's wrong this time. I have faith in Y/N," Peter states confidently.

"I hate to say it, but the kid is right. Y/N is our only hope of getting out of here."

------------------------

"Would you fucking quit it? You're giving me a headache," Eloise fusses. At this moment, you'd give anything to shut her up. You came here to think, but all you could think about was how her constant bickering was distracting you. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

The two of you were in what Ezekiel called the "weapon room ." Although there wasn't a weapon in sight, you had a feeling that they were still in the piles of unopened metal crates that were stacked around the room.

"They're the Avengers," You tell her. "Aren't you worried they'd escape?"

In reality, you were more worried about helping them escape. You'd be lying if you said that you thought this out entirely through. You should have realized before you put your friends and family in a cell that you'd need to know how to get them out of it.

"Unlike you, I have faith in the cell Zeke created. There's no way they can escape without the remote," Eloise glares at you from where she sat. The dislike she had for you was more evident than ever, but you didn't have it in you to be sad about it. The sweet girl you became friends with months ago never existed.

"What remote?" You ask. Her eyes narrowed at you as though she were scanning you for any signs of betrayal.

"Like I'd tell you," she huffs angrily as she rises to her feet. Either way, learning about the remote gave you a new plan. "Unlike Zeke, I don't trust you for a second. Not when we've got your slimy boyfriend in a cage."

"He's not my boyfriend." The words, despite their truth, burned your mouth. Peter wasn't your boyfriend, but that didn't mean you didn't want him to be.

"Sure." The second she turns around to leave, you notice something peaking out of her pocket. This could be the remote, you thought. Then again, what if it isn't. Either way, you weren't going to pass up the chance in case it is.

"Eloise." She turns toward you, but before she could react, your fist collides with her jaw, causing her to collapse on one of the crates. You check to make sure that she stayed out cold before grabbing the remote.

You couldn't help the rush of anticipation as you make your way towards the cell. You weren't sure what you were going to say to them or if they were even going to hear you out, but you had to try.

"Okay," you mutter as you stand in front of the cell. You stare at the remote in your hand, and you click on the button that you hope would open it. Abruptly, the cell seems to unlock before a door popped open. Inside stood the shocked faces of your family, who you double-crossed.

"You guys probably hate my guts, but trust me when I say I had a good reason," you stated as you stared at their faces which were a mixture of anger, disappointment, and relief.

"Care to explain?" Nat crosses her arms dauntingly, prompting you to lower your head in guilt.

"Well..." You began, fiddling with your sleeve. "I'll start by saying that I made a mistake by trusting Eloise and Ezekiel."

"You think?" Bucky scoffed. You couldn't help the shame that washed over you at the sight of the disappointed looks etched on the faces of your two mentors. You knew it would take a lot to earn back their trust, but you hoped that this was a start.

"But when I realized that Ezekiel wasn't my real dad, I had to play along," you explain. You look up at everyone and hope that they'd understand. "I think that they're planning something big."

"Answer this. Did you start playing along before or after you kidnapped all of us?" Nat questioned. The look on her face is unreadable, which slightly unsettled you.

"It was the night of the dance," you confirm. You felt bad about ditching Peter that night. It wasn't until afterward that you remembered that Peter didn't like Gwen. Instead, he chose you. You just had to go and mess it up by choosing Eloise. "They started talking nonsense about Tony attacking them and how they needed to destroy the Avengers, so I played along to find out what their endgame was."

You subtly wince at the way Tony's face fell when you used his name, regret washing over you immediately. For all you knew, Tony is your real dad, and the file that Hydra had on you was one big lie.

"What do you think they're planning?" Peter asks. You meet his eyes for the first time and answer honestly.

"I'm not sure, but Eloise said something about their sponsor being ready to move on to the next phase." You let the severity of the situation soak before continuing. "They've already received truckloads of metal crates just like the one we got from that Hydra base weeks ago."

"The one with the red wax stamp?" Nat asks, meaning she remembered.

"Exactly."

"So, do you have a plan?" Sam asks, getting up from the floor.

"Yeah." A small smile made its way to your face as you look at your family. "I have a plan."

TAG LIST:

Message me if you would like to be added or removed.

@eridanuswave @perspectiveparker @spidey-reids-2003 @ilovespideyyy @purplekitten30 @slytherinambitious @starryeddie @grapesauze @elephants-bubbles-brachosauruses @thegayseance @whiskeywinter89 @big-galaxy-chaos

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader insert #tom holland peter parker #avengers #peter parker x stark!reader #avengers x y/n #avengers x stark!reader #avengers x teen!reader #avengers x reader #avengers reader insert #the avengers #th peter parker x reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker x yn #peter parker x reader angst #peter parker x stark!daughter

239 notes · View notes

stacie-marie-bloom · 2 years

Text

GLASS HEARTS: Chapter Seven Nestor Octeva Fanfiction

Word Count: 1152

Nestor watched as Ruby struggled with her words, how she refused to look at him. He could handle torturing all kinds of people to extract information from them, but he could feel guilt rise into his chest like acid for lying to the redheaded woman before him. His thoughts were starting to cloud and the once sure man was beginning to doubt the choice he had made. Yet it was also too late to turn back, for here Ruby was telling of her past life.

"When I left for college, I vowed to myself to never go back." Laughing slightly at that statement Ruby finally looked Nestor in the eyes. "Forever and never are two short words that represent a significant amount of time in one's life. Any who I broke that promise, ended up returning home when Abel was born and stayed through six years of hell before finally leaving. Probably the only people from that life I keep in contact with are of course my mother, and Happy. Though the latter of the two is more spiritic than consistent." Ruby took a deep breath and looked out the window beside her. It wasn't everything but how was one supposed to expose themselves and all the trauma they endured?

Moments that felt like hours past before one of the two finally broke the silence. "If that life was so difficult, why did you choose to work for the Galindos? Surely you knew what kind of world you were getting yourself into?" Nestor probed.

"Maybe I am just glutton for punishment." Ruby slightly laughed. "I promise none of my old connections would have been a part of what happened. It's been at least four years since I left and all of those bridges were burnt." The redhead got serious again, finally looking at Nestor with pleading eyes. "Nestor, I swear on my life that my past life has nothing to do with Cristobal's kidnapping. I want him found just as much as you." Boldly Ruby reached her hand across the table gently taking the man's hand in front of her. "Please believe me."

The man, in the cartel world known as a mercenary was melting at the simple gesture of holding a woman's hand. Not just any woman, but again he has to remember his position as head of security for the Galindos. Clearing his throat, Nestor removed his hand from Ruby's. "I believe you, just had to confirm and get the story from you. Instead of assuming."

Nestor watched Ruby, how she moved her hand back to her coffee, how the redhead fidgeted with the position of her cup. All he wanted was to reach across the table and hold her hand again. 'What is this woman doing to me?' Nestor thought to himself before looking in Ruby's eyes. The mercenary knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was telling the truth. Even though he did not know her as he wished, Nestor knew she wouldn't lie. What he was itching to know most was her actual relationship with the rough biker.

"How are things at the house? How is Emily?" Ruby so desperately wanted to change the topic. Her heart sank the moment Nestor pulled his hand away, avoiding his gaze and feeling foolish. 'What was I thinking, he probably saw the way Happy kissed me and wants nothing to do with that.' Ruby berated herself for being so bold. She was actually so wrapped up in her own thoughts, she completely missed what Nestor had said.

"Ruby?" Nestor finally stopped talking about the family he and the redheaded woman worked for. The mercenary took notice in the absence of joy in the woman's eyes. This time he was the one to slightly touch the other's hand. Almost instantly Ruby was pulled from her trance and looked at the man before her.

"I'm sorry, I zoned out. Do you mind repeating? Promise I'll pay attention this time." Ruby admitted sheepishly.

"I was just saying how Emily is doing the best that she can with the situation. It's interesting to watch though because she has been more invested in the family business than ever. Are you okay though? I know our conversation about your past must have been difficult but you seem even more out of it than before." Nestor examined Ruby, her eyes were dark and normally that was the only place he would find light.

"Yeah. It's just that talking about everything is practically dejavu, old demons coming back to haunt. I'll be fine I promise." Ruby smiled but Nestor could see right through it. "Are you doing okay Nestor? We've been talking about me and my past but haven't even discussed how you are handling the chaos back home."

She was deflecting, her heart was genuine but he also knew she was deflecting. "I have been alright. Just trying to keep everyone safe, get Cristobal back, and keep Miguel sane." Laughing slightly at the last half of the sentence Nestor continued. "The latter of those though is probably the most difficult."

The small redhead tilted her head to the side observing the man before her, his walls were slowly coming down. His face became softer as he spoke of those he held near to his heart. Ruby saw similarities between the two but they were also vastly different from one another. Both were rough around the edges, with glass hearts surrounded by barbed wire to protect it, though their exterior is sharp, the heart was soft. It is fragile that has been calloused by this world and they have learned to protect it the best way they could. Ruby noticed how they were different from each other as well though. How Happy was always rigid, even around his club. Yet Nestor was a lot more relaxed around the Galindos. Although Nestor would be on high alert while out, when home he was a lot more relaxed.

"Nestor, how did you join Galindo's security team?" Ruby finally spoke after an extended pause.

"Miguel and I grew up together, we were practically brothers. Once we graduated high school I joined the Navy and Miguel left for college. Although we knew he was going to take over the family business someday. When my time in the military was up Mr. Galindo reached out for me to join the security team, then once Miguel took over I was promoted." Nestor paused for only a moment before starting up another conversation.

This went on for sometime, the two having conversations about how they grew up, likes and dislikes. For the first time in the time spent working together they were genuinely getting to know one another on a personal level. It was Nestor's phone ringing that interrupted the two talking. One of the men from the Galindo security team called and by the expression on Nestor's face their time was up.

#happy lowman #galindo cartel #mayans #mayans mc #miguel galindo #emily galindo #nestor oceteva #nestor x oc #sons of anarchy #kurt sutter

9 notes · View notes

spenciegoob · 3 years

Text

Cracked Mirror

A/N: hi, I continued to see a bunch of “season 2 Spencer would be so scared of season 12 Spencer, so I decided why not write them meeting? let’s do it, baby super angsty :P it took everything in me to not tag ‘how it should’ve gone’ but basically this is ‘how it should've gone.’

Summary: Spencer Reid? Meet a very much older Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Season 15 Spencer & Season 2 Spencer

Category: Angst

Content Warnings: no ship, mentions of drug addiction, drug abuse, Tobias Hankel, Maeve, mentions of Jeid

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

_____

Spencer 15:

The smell was always the first thing I noticed when I woke up from a restless sleep. It meant I was alive, that the terrors that danced across my eyelids like a ballad of the doomed were not real. I never believed in the Higher Power, but if there was an Evil Spirit, it possessed my mind the second my guard fluctuated.

The smell, however, the one made up of stiff air that paralyzed you and blood you weren’t sure was yours, that smell meant I got to live another day.

It also meant I could still die.

But now I woke up in a startle because I wasn’t supposed to be here. I escaped this place before, I made it out. Did my only indicator of life just turn into my own personal Hell? Was I finally gone, seconds ago hoping for rest only to come to the conclusion that I would never get the chance?

I was back in a gray jumpsuit, and what scared me the most was how quickly I got up to make my bed.

“Reid, you have a visitor.”

Spencer 2:

They say every person in their career has a moment that changes the way they view their job forever, and I would’ve liked to continue to believe I had mine already, when I put away the first unsub that didn’t deserve the life they were unfortunately gifted to live out. I know I couldn’t sleep much after.

But now that I hurry past empty cells and recreation rooms on my way to a stone box with a killer, I changed my mind.

This was my moment.

I had to keep up with Hotch, and I wish it was because I was scared of getting lost, but it wasn't. If I lose Hotch, I’m afraid I’ll lose my life.

We just had to reach the interrogation room, and we’ll be fine. We just have to talk to... to who?

Who are we here to see? Why am I here?

“Hotch.” The older man stopped his fast pace to turn to me exasperated. I would have that expression too if someone stopped me in a place like this, but here I am, feet stuck to ground like a fear-inducing glue because I can’t remember why I’m here.

“What’s wrong, Reid?”

“Why am I here?” Hotch didn’t get angry, or confused at my question. Instead, Hotch’s face turned into something that was a prized rarity at other times, but right now, it ran my blood cold.

He nodded at me, his face visibly relaxing with understanding, and kindness spreading from his eyes into mine.

“You have someone here you need to see.”

And then he just continued the path we were on until we reached a metal door with a window not large enough to see who was waiting for me on the other side. I didn’t get too close, giving myself a 5 foot head start in case I needed to run, but Hotch would never put me in a position like that, right?

He would never use me as a pawn in a game of life or death.

“Whenever you’re ready.” By the time all the questions flooded through my head like a tsunami that made it to the tip of my tongue, Hotch was gone.

The invisible magnetic field between myself and the door was a force backed up by science. I felt the way it tugged me forward, like negative and positive electrons charming me with the song of the buzzer unlocking it.

When I was ready, he said. Would I ever be ready for the feeling that washed over me? I felt the weight of the world rest on my shoulders, stuck in an ocean made entirely of resin, slowly hardening around me to keep me trapped.

But I still grasped the cool metal doorknob, and I wish I took a deep breath before entering. It was the wrong call on my part, because I walked in and all the oxygen left my lungs in a flash.

The air in the room felt different. It hung with the purpose of imprisoning those who dare breathe it into their lungs. Enchantment and intoxication were meant to hold beauty and grace, leading the charmed to a fulfillment in life worth living.

But the eyes of Medusa were in the room with me, and I was stupid enough to turn to stone.

“Who are you?” How could I ask that? I knew the answer by looking into his eyes. I say his, because they weren’t mine. Sure, they had the same hazel color, and the same round, boyish shape, but they looked so dull. Sadness, the kind that moves mountains and starts wars, was buried deep in the beholder, casting a shadow over his soul.

I didn’t stare for very long. I couldn’t.

“You know who I am.” His voice was worse. “I know why I’m here. Sit down.”

“I- I just... Absolutely not! This is- this, I- I can’t. I have to get out of here.” Insanity! It had to be. I was staring at a person I didn’t know, yet knew every little detail about, and I couldn’t breathe.

“Sit down before you panic.” There was no point in lying and saying I was fine, he knew it would be a lie. We weren’t just profilers.

So I sat, taking my time to round the table and pull the chair farther back to establish a far enough distance between us. He did the same. Of course he did.

“Answer my question,” I whispered, looking down at the place where the leg of the table met the top.

“There are far better questions to ask me.” He was right, there were more pressing matters at hand, but how do you ask someone what landed them in a jumpsuit when you were terrified of the answer?

“Did- is time travel a thing?” The second the question left my mouth, I realized how absurd it was, but so was staring into the cracked funhouse mirror I was currently stuck in front of.

“Come on, we don’t have much time, and that’s what you want to ask me? Dig deeper.” Is this how Morgan feels when I’m always right?

How could I dig deeper when it all went so far that the only thing consuming my soul was a bottomless black hole? The memories flashing from projectors all around me as I sank further until eventually my oxygen ran out. Going deeper meant letting the weight of my heart push against my chest like a rock thrown into the depths of the ocean, but I suppose he would follow me.

“What happened?” I looked up to see him take a deep breath, leaning back in the chair with careful contemplation. There was something more though, something that lingered the second we met eyes.

Jealousy. There was nothing of myself to be jealous about, however.

“We made too many mistakes.” We. Only one of us was in the jumpsuit. There had to be some way to avoid that, right?

“God, this is insane!” I promptly shouted, standing up frantically. “You’re the prisoner here, not me, okay? I didn’t do anything. You did. How am I even here? What is happening, I don’t understand.” At the end of my yelling, I was so far out of breath that I had to lean against the wall. “What is this?”

“Tobias Hankel.” No no no, it can’t be. Am I dead?

“Sit down.” I listened immediately this time, too exasperated to care about being cautious about it.

“You’re with him right now, and from what I can tell, you’re probably in a drug-induced dream.” My head shot up at the mention of Tobias’s coping mechanism for myself. “When you wake up, I don’t expect you to hold onto hope, but for that quick second you let go, don’t feel guilty about it. It will eat you alive if you do.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe, but I’m right, and you need to listen to everything I’m telling you.” I was never one to make demands like this.

“And if I do? Will it stop me from becoming you?”

“No, probably not.” Before I had the chance to get angry again, I watched the way his eyes started to glisten with tears. I watched him crack a little bit more, adding to the already gaping slashes across his heart. How many more until he breaks?

“Leave them in his pocket,” he continued after taking a grounding deep breath. “You don’t need it.”

“What are you talking about?” Secretly, I knew what he was meant, because after this nightmare ended I would be back in a far worse one silently begging to return to this interrogation room.

There were so many thoughts running through my head that it was hard to focus on just one. Plus, I wasn’t really getting any context here.

“I don’t think I can give you many details. I don’t even know if we’ll remember this, or how I got here, but we don’t have much time. There are so many things you need to know.”

“I know practically everything.”

“No you don’t, kid. You know nothing.” He suddenly stood up, walking over to the wall on our left, leaning a hand against it and hanging his head. “When you feel like something is wrong with him, don’t keep it to yourself. Tell Hotch, request time off, do whatever you have to do. Just, go visit him.”

“Who?”

“You’ll know.” There was so much guilt in his voice that I felt it in my chest. It was like a hole was drilled into me, leaving my heart exposed to vultures who wouldn’t hesitate to rip pieces from me.

“What about my mom? Do I... you know?”

“No, you don’t, but promise me something.” He turned to look at me again, hazel meeting hazel. “On days that she’s lucid, tell her everything. Tell her what you ate for breakfast, and that one time Morgan fell trying to kick a door open. Tell her about the dark parts, about how much you love her. Tell her everything.”

“Oh God is she-”

“No. I don’t think I should be telling you that, but no. Don’t think like that.” As if remembering something, he rushed back over to sit down, pulling his chair in and leaning over the table. “Stop running every negative outcome of every situation in your head. Be careful, but don’t be so careful it becomes reckless. That’s how people get hurt, including you.”

“Is that what happened to you? Is that how you ended up here?”

“No. I’m innocent, always was. I ended up in here because I let myself get blinded by a fantasy I had no business dreaming about. There’s going to be times for you to have dreams bigger than yourself, but the second they start to become nightmares, you have to pull yourself back. Don’t get trapped, kid.”

“You know, Morgan calls me ‘kid’. I don’t really know if I like it or not.”

“You’ll come to love it, but with Morgan, don’t push him away. He’s one of the only few people in this world that won’t scrutinize or judge you, and you need to be honest with him.”

“Why?” After asking, I immediately regretted it, because his answer was the one I’ve been dreading the most.

“Because things are going to hurt you, and it’s okay to ask for help every once in a while.”

“What things? Tell me,” I begged, rushing my words and internally cringing at how desperate I sound, but I needed to know. I needed to know the truth.

“When you fall in love, tell her.” He casted his eyes downward, staring at his hands rough and calloused from the years, kind of like Hotch.

“Is it... is it JJ?”

“No,” he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head softly. “You’ll learn one day the difference between being in love with someone, and just simply loving them.”

I couldn’t help the disappointment spread through me for a second, but I quickly gained my composure when I remembered I’m sitting across a profiler.

“This is too much.” My brain was starting to hurt.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” A question crossed my mind causing my hands to stop their fidgeting for just a moment, but as quickly as it came, it was gone and my hands resumed. He caught it though. Of course he did.

“What was that thought?”

“My d-” I cleared my throat before continuing. “William. Did he ever...?” I let the words fade out, hoping that he would understand where I was going. He did. Of course he did.

“No.” He took a deep breath, eyebrows furrowing and jaw clenching tightly. “He didn’t.”

“Oh.” While I was disappointed, he looked angry. As sick and twisted as it was, I wish I was more like him. Even with the despairing look in his eyes that came with agonizing memories, he was the man everyone expected me to be.

He looked at me as if he also wished the roles were reversed. Of course he did.

The edges of the room slowly started to get fuzzy, my vision blurring for a second. “You’re waking up.”

“Can- can I ask you something?” Even though I was terrified of the answer.

“Of course.”

“When did it all go wrong?” He let out a long sigh before running his hands down his face.

“I can’t tell you the exact moment, because even I’m not sure. I can tell you that even when it doesn’t feel like it, you’re alive. You survived, and on some days that’s all that’s going to matter.”

“Do you smell that?” Please say yes, because the smell of burning fish hearts and livers was burning my nostrils and clouding my head.

“Wake up, Spencer. It’s okay.”

“Wait!”

Spencer 15:

My eyes shot open only to be met with blinding lights that seared my pupils. The beeping coming from the machine next to me was the second thing I noticed, and the third was a very alarmed Penelope.

“What happened?” My voice was raspy, and my throat burned intensely.

“You don’t remember? Spencer, you collapsed.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t think of what else to say. Logically, I knew I probably sustained a head injury from the explosion, but when I tried to think beyond that, my brain got fuzzy.

“Are you okay? You know, besides the whole passing out thing?”

“Y-yeah, I just.” I stopped talking. Just what? Penelope hummed curiously for me to continue, but I couldn’t.

“I think I got a second chance.” No matter how vague it was, how little she knew of what that truly meant, Penelope beamed with joy at my answer, and I smiled right back.

“I’ll go get the doctor.” And when she left, I stared up at the ceiling, hoping that the scared kid I used to be took my advice.

____

Join a taglist here Tell me your thoughts on this fic here Have a request? Send it in here

Taglist: @the-girl-who-writes-fanfiction @haylaansmi @masumiyetimziyanoldu @cielo1984 @rexorangecouny @username2002 @calm-and-doctor @pieceofried @mermaidshmari @missyoumaybank @everythingbutnormal @seasonfivereid @no-honey-no @muffin-cup

211 notes · View notes

canary3d-obsessed · 3 years

Text

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 23, second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Nature Abhors a (Power) Vacuum

Jin Guangshan, Nie Mingjue, and Lan Xichen have gathered to decide what to do about the remaining Wen people and also what to do about the Yin metal. They have not invited Jiang Cheng to this discussion, or blowhard Clan Leader Yao, despite those clans having been hit particularly hard by the Wens in the course of the war.

The three of them have a conversation about what to do with the Wen captives, showing their different attitudes towards killing.

Jin Guangshan: Killing is awesome, particularly in project management. It's just so efficient. Nie Mingjue: Killing is necessary, and a little bit fun, too. Lan Xichen: Killing is necessary, sadly, but we can randomly spare some women or old people, as a token sign that we’re not monsters. Kind of like when you have a fancy dinner and include a tofu dish for the vegetarians. Nie Mingjue: Nobody likes tofu, Xichen.

Jin Guangshan says he's looking for the Yin Iron and that they can't let any Wens or "ambitious people" get a hold of it. By ambitious people he means Wei Wuxian, not himself and his murder kid. Lan Xichen realizes this right away but doesn't, you know, do anything to contradict him. Jin Guangshan says he's asked "A-Yao" to look into it. Which is smart, because A-Yao is already in cahoots with Xue Yang, who actually has the piece of Yin Iron they're looking for.

Getting Jiggy With It

Then Jin Guangshan introduces Meng Yao, now renamed Jin Guangyao, in a weird twist on generation names. He has given him the name of a sibling or cousin of his own generation (starting with Guang), rather than a name of the next generation (starting with Zi). JGS says that JGY just recently learned about about being related to him, although we know perfectly well that's not true.

And they both talk like he appreciates JGY's efficiency and helpfulness, but that's not why JGS has him at his side. He has taken him in because he is a steel-eyed murder bot, not in spite of it.

(OP does not believe that Jin Guangyao could have been a good person if only his dad had let him hold Jin Ling that one time, as some have argued. Dude killed his own child because there was a chance he might be disabled in a way that could lead to gossip. Dude is a stone cold killer.)

(more after the cut)

In the language of CDrama costume (which is not, precisely, the language of actual historical clothing), Jin Guangyao has chosen to dress as a minister instead of as a chevalier. This is partly an artifact of his mother's ideas about a gentleman. It also suggests that he’s content with the sort of career that's available to a bastard of a noble house--not inheriting the noble title, but having enough favor to rise in power.

It may also be a ruse to make him seem like he's not a strong cultivator and not a strong fighter, when in fact he is both, at least by the time he’s throwing death chords at Jiang Cheng, much later in the show.

Mingjue makes all kinds of grumpy faces and snarky remarks to let everyone know that he fucking hates Jin Guangyao. Xichen agrees to his “nice refugee camp with only a little death” plan, with no qualifications.

Now we get to see Jin Guangyao's manipulation of Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen says that Nie Mingjue wants a plan that’s more killy, because he believes in punishing evil. JGY deliberately misunderstands this, pretending that Lan Xichen said he, JGY, is evil, kind of forcing LXC to reassure him and take his side in an argument that isn’t actually happening.

They have a little handholding while bowing, and then after Lan Xichen leaves, Jin Guangyao puts on his evil face and has all the prisoners killed behind the big closed door.

This is done in such a violent fashion that the blood apparently flows up several stairs to the door, and over the tall raised threshold, before flowing downward toward the camera. Some evil is so extreme that even traditional Chinese doorway architecture can’t stop it.

Run To the Rock

Then we go outside to where Wei Wuxian is standing on a rocky outcropping, thinking it would be a good strategic spot to choose if he's ever in a battle where he wants to commit suicide right quick.

Lan Wangji comes to join him and admire the view, not knowing yet that this view, or one a whole lot like it, is going to be seared into his memory for most of his life.

Lan Wangji is becoming more and more committed to Wei Wuxian, more and more inexorably joined to him, but he still doesn't agree with him. So they each have this comfort in each others' presence at the same time as being massively in conflict.

Wei Wuxian asks him what he thinks of all the politicking and murdering. Who is good and who is evil? LWJ doesn't answer because WWX is leaking black smoke, so he grabs him and tells him to concentrate. Lan Wangji is, incidentally, wearing Princess-Leia quantities of lip gloss.

Lan Wangji asks if Wei Wuxian would like to learn a new tune, "Absterge" according to Netflix. The fuck? [op looks it up in the dictionary]. "To cleanse, especially by wiping." Also known as aftercare. Netflix. Honey. This word is MIDDLE FRENCH. Will you knock it the fuck off?

So anyway, instead of answering his question about who is good and who is evil, LWJ asks if he wants to learn a song called "Cleansing." Wei Wuxian says “hey babe, are you fucking kidding me?”

His actual words are "you doubt me too?" meaning "you think I also took the missing 4th chunk of Yin iron to make my ugly tiger amulet, rather than obviously having used that giant sword I pulled out of the turtle?"

Lan Wangji mentally replays Wen Ruohan's questions in his head--the questions he barked at Wei Wuxian right before choking him unconscious--which Lan Wangji also feels entitled to know the answers to. Fuck you, Lan Wangji. He answers WWX with "when did you forge your amulet?" Which is his way of saying "yes, I doubt you."

Wei Wuxian kindly refrains from saying "while we were on a break, bitch" and instead tells him the exact truth--I found a yin iron sword in the turtle--but says it in his patented "make it sound like a lie" way.

LWJ keeps grilling him, eventually coming out and saying dude, you knew the sword was Yin iron, why did you need to use it?

This is the crucial question--why WWX broke his first promise, to Lan Yi, which was to try to get rid of the Yin Iron. He won’t tell anyone the answer, which is that he needs to use it because he can't cultivate normally, because he lost his golden core. He made a lot of promises before that happened, and he probably expected to keep them. But without his core, everything changed; without his core, he’s a different person, so it’s maybe not fair to expect him to honor his previous promises.

I’m reminded of my grandfather, who was the oldest son of an old southern US family, with lots of expectations as the firstborn. He went off to WWI as a soldier, expecting to die. He didn’t die, and so from that point on, he regarded his life as a gift. He felt could do whatever he wanted with it, and let go of expectations from before the war. He moved to Paris and took up with a glamorous divorcee 7 years older than him (my Grandma, eventually).

The actual point of that story, other than OP having cool grandparents, is that when you think you’re going to die, and then you don’t die, your ideas about what you owe to people can change quite a bit. Wei Wuxian expected to die in the Burial Mounds; he expected to die at Nightless City; he expects it, over and over, and each time he doesn’t die, he gets further and further from being what everyone else wants him to be. And--a lot like soldiers returning from a war-- NOBODY in his life knows how to talk to him about it.

Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji to back off, Lan Wangji says why aren't you letting me help you, and they are once again on the edge of the same fight they keep having. Lan Wangji does some impassioned arm holding while Wei Wuxian says he's not like Wen Ruohan.

Romantic Duet #1

The argument is interrupted by screams and killing, so they go to check it out, and find the Jins hunting down some prisoners for sport. They arrive in time to save two people. Yay?

Jin ZIxun acts like a jerk, as always. The new element is that per Jin Guangshan, anyone concerned with Yin Iron shouldn't be alive. He says that the Lan and Nie clans agreed, and challenges Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji stops him from responding, grabbing his wrist.

The Jins leave and Wei Wuxian refers back to their earlier conversation, saying there will be more resentful spirits now and that "Rest" is the music to play, not "Cleansing."

He gives Lan Wangji a long look and then pointedly removes Lan Wangji’s hand from his wrist, by holding his hand, which is some next-level mixed signaling. Lan Wangji totally deserves it at this point, though. He keeps pushing and pushing WWX about his cultivation method, but he refuses to discuss the underlying morality of it, or the morality of the killing going on right in front of them.

WWX walks off, leaving LWJ to stew in his own juices surrounded by a bunch of fresh corpses.

Lan Wangji fails his saving throw against the guilt trip, and sits his ass down to play Rest, just like Wei Ying told him to. So switchy! Wei Wuxian, out of sight but not out of earshot, hears him and accompanies him on Chenqing.

This scene is slightly ridiculous and a whole lot sublime. Ridiculous because it's their first time playing music together, so it's a super slow, romantic, extended scene, but they're surrounded by corpses. And not the helpful, friendly, third-wheel-on-a-date type of corpses.

It's sublime because the occasion of their first beautiful, literally magical duet is an argument. And they are joining together to play beautiful romantic music - as a service for the dead. And they are doing it while they are on literally opposite sides of a literal killing field. And Lan Wangji is sitting literally in the middle of a wide open road; the sort of road that they will both reject, metaphorically, later in the show. There is so much about their conflict and their journey that is encapsulated in this one musical moment.

Lan Wangji, by playing the song Wei Wuxian said was needed, is telling WWX that he took his words to heart, that he is listening, even though they're at odds.

WWX, by stopping and playing with him, is acknowledging this. And by settling the dead souls together, they are both reinforcing their dedication to doing what's right even as they both struggle with knowing what that is.

When Other Friendships Have Been Forgot, Ours Will Still Be Hot

Now we have the sworn brothers thing. I understand, plot wise, why this has to happen, but why would Nie Mingjue ever agree to this? Lan Xichen's puppy eyes are just that persuasive?

If they ever crack your spine, drop a line If they ever cut your throat, write a note If you’re ever in a mill and get sawed in half, I won’t laugh (HA HA HA HA)

Tedious Party Time

Now there's a cultivation party, which is about as excruciating to watch as it would be to attend.

Everyone is lining up to praise Jin Guangshan. To be fair, he did provide shelter for most of the smaller clans while the war was going on. So being grateful is appropriate, but Clan Leader Yao practically breaks his own neck kissing Jin ass. Yao says JGY’s contribution was the greatest of the war, adding, "fuck Wei Wuxian; everything is his fault."

The Jiangs show up wearing mourning belts that show off their itty bitty waists, and Jin Guangshan makes shifty eyes like a cartoon landlord when he sees them arrive.

JGS praises Jiang Cheng, and asks when his fancy clan-leader ceremony is going to happen. Jiang Cheng says he's still in mourning so it's not appropriate. JGS is like “Oh...yeah," as if he totally forgot about all the Yunmeng slaughter, and talks up his friendship with Jiang Fengmian. He acts comforting while WWX manages not to barf.

Then the Lan clan shows up and there is nice encouraging chit chat between LXC and JC...

...and just, SO MUCH mournful staring between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian.

Then the Nies arrive. Jin Guangshan tells Nie Mingjue he's late, and that everyone's waiting for him. That might be true in the script but it’s clearly bullshit on the screen, where the Lans and the Jiangs are still milling around looking for the coat room.

Nie Mingjue--who, let's remember, JUST swore to be brothers with Jin Guangyao--looks at him like he's something that fell off a garbage truck. Lan Xichen jumps in to maximize the discomfort by pointing out that Jin Guangyao should address Nie Mingjue as Big Daddy Da-ge from now on.

Then the Jins offer Nie Mingjue the giant fire throne because...he's the leader of the Sunshot campaign, I guess? Of course it's all a manipulation tactic, designed to make him say he won't sit there, so that JGS can elevate himself to head cultivator, or something? And sit in front of the throne but not on it? Cultivator succession seems kinda arbitrary.

I swear to god, it wasn't until I was clipping this episode that I realized Wen Ruohan had two thrones and they're in different rooms from each other.

Finally everyone goes to sit down, but because there hasn't been enough fucking awkwardness, JGY stops WWX to ask him what's on his mind. WWX asks him why he's not carrying his sword, which made me laugh and laugh. Wei Wuxian must have been just waiting for a chance to ask someone else that question for a change.

Jin Guangyao says he threw it away, because it was just a random sword, but he really means he had it made into a sneaky murder belt, that he will be using again in 13 to 16 years. They both fake-laugh and trade Mean Girls insults pretend to like each other.

Everyone wanders around toasting each other. Lan Wangji goes to find Wei Wuxian, after first making sure that his hair looks good.

Wei Wuxian is lying around on the steps, sprawling and drinking wine, and not, incidentally, looking for Lan Wangji. He continues to not seek him out and Lan Wangji continues to chase after him.

Wei Wuxian says "how about playing Cleansing?" but Lan Wangji says he's learning a new score. It looks like it's going to be another argument, but then Wei Wuxian smiles and kind of praises Lan Wangji for being stubborn.

Awkward Marriage Proposal

Just then everyone inside starts cheering for Jin Guangshan to give a speech. Jin Guangshan is making a move to marry Jiang Yanli to his son, which is a big time power grab, given that the Jiang Clan is 1. vulnerable and depleted 2. has control of the Yin tiger amulet.

We get a very rare glimpse into Jiang Cheng’s inner mind, where he thinks that saying yes isn’t a great idea, but isn’t sure what to do. This marriage would make his sister happy, but could destroy the Jiang Clan's independence.

Fortunately, Wei Wuxian joins the party just in time to fuck up Jin Guanshan’s plans. Will this teach Jin Guangshan not to invite Wei Wuxian to parties? It will not.

Soundtrack: Friendship, by Cole Porter (from “Anything Goes”)

Bonus:

#the untamed #the untamed gifs #wangxian #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #words:2750

243 notes · View notes

asweetprologue · 3 years

Text

me lámh le do lámh - Part VI

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Geralt tried to make an effort after that.

It was a fine line to walk, of course. He wanted to be more vocal—more honest—about how much he cared about Jaskier. His deception about the nature of the ritual made him itch to tell Jaskier other things, to bury the lie under a heap of truths. The idea that Jaskier might not know how highly Geralt regarded him, might think that Geralt didn’t care, was unacceptable. No matter how uncomfortable it made him, he began to try and show Jaskier, in small ways, that he wanted him.

He just couldn’t show too much, couldn’t let himself speak the deeper truths of his heart. A fine line indeed.

Initially, Jaskier acted almost suspicious. They stayed by the ruins for three days while his head recovered. His ankle took longer, and Geralt could admit that he was coddling a bit. He forced Jaskier to sit as he made camp and cooked dinner, took away his notebook when Jaskier had been squinting at it for too long in the dusk light. He needed to rest, Geralt insisted, and he couldn’t do that if he was constantly at work. Jaskier was resistant, as always. Geralt had tended him a few times when he’d come down with a particularly nasty cold, and once when he’d been honest to gods poisoned by a rival bard. Jaskier was always petulant, irritated at being cooped up even when he couldn’t keep down anything thicker than broth. He was no better now, fighting Geralt every step of the way to recovery.

Geralt tried to retaliate with affection. He sat closer to Jaskier in the evenings, telling him the stories he craved, watching afterwards as he mouthed words up at the stars to fit new ballads. He told Jaskier that he enjoyed the tune he was humming, and Jaskier had blinked at him like he’d grown two heads. When they finally decided it was time to move on, Geralt offered to let him ride Roach, and Jaskier stood gaping at him.

“Excuse me?” he spluttered. “Did you just say you want me to ride Roach?”

Geralt sighed through his nose. “Was that not clear enough?”

Jaskier leaned against Roach, one arm out to steady himself on the saddle. His ankle still wouldn’t hold his weight for more than a few moments. “I should throw something silver at you,” Jaskier said, “or douse you in holy water. You’ve been replaced by a spirit.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s tone was a warning.

“A much nicer spirit,” Jaskier said as he began pulling himself up into the saddle. “A very kind spirit who lets his poor injured friend ride his very sweet, docile horse. Nice Roachy. Please don’t throw me off.”

“She won’t buck you,” Geralt snorted, hiding a grin. He took the reins and began leading them back to the main path, heading southwest. Their next destination, according to Triss, would be just outside of the Brokilon Forest. The last of the moonflax supposedly grew in that area, and hopefully the locals would know how to point them in the right direction. They found their way back to the main road easily enough, and it was several long moments before Jaskier spoke.

“I’m really fine, you know,” he said, and when Geralt glanced up at him, he found Jaskier staring resolutely down the road, a small pinch to his brow. “So you can stop being weird.”

“I’m not being weird,” Geralt said automatically.

“You are,” Jaskier insisted, looking down at him. His eyes squinted at Geralt as if he were trying to see straight through his skull. “And I know it’s coming from some misplaced guilt that you’re carrying around, thinking that it’s all your fault that I got hurt, as if somehow your witcher powers could stop a floor from collapsing—”

“I’m not—” Geralt started, and then bit back the words. He was guilty, and of course Jaskier could sense it on him. It just wasn’t entirely for the reason Jaskier thought. Instead he said, “It’s not about that.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows in an expression that meant he thought he was about to win an argument. “Then why are you being so nice to me?” he asked, jerking his chin forward cockily. Like he was already sure of the answer.

The question gave Geralt pause, literally. He stopped for a moment on the road, blinking up at Jaskier. His hair was backlit by the noonday sun, his eyes as brilliantly blue as the cloudless sky above them. It was a shame, Geralt thought, that he’d never before seen Jaskier from this angle. He’d have to let him ride Roach more often. “I realized I wasn’t really, before,” he finally said, haltingly. “I mean—I want to be. Nice. Nicer.” He grimaced.

Jaskier’s expression changed to one of blatant shock, and then smoothed into something softer that Geralt couldn’t identify. It made his breath quicken in his chest, catching in his throat. “You’re a good man, Geralt. You don’t have to perform social niceties for that to be true.”

“I meant to you,” Geralt clarified, shifting uncomfortably. They were stopped in the middle of the road now, and he knew he should probably keep going, because if he kept looking up at Jaskier during this conversation it was going to feel a lot more profound than it needed to be. “I don’t really care about what every farmer or lord I deal with thinks of me.”

“But you care what I think,” Jaskier replied, face once again open with surprise. He’d been making that expression a lot lately, Geralt had noticed. Like Geralt kept doing things that made him reconsider his entire worldview.

“Yes,” Geralt said simply, because it was true. “You’re my friend. I should be nice to you.” He quirked a smile, hoping to break the tension. “That’s what Ciri tells me, at least.”

It had the desired effect; Jaskier tossed his head back and laughed, and Geralt was forced to reconcile himself with the long line of his throat. His mouth went dry at the sight, and he forced himself not to move—not to reach out, not to pull Jaskier off Roach’s back, not to press his lips to the pale skin that peeked out of Jaskier’s loose collar. He stayed stock still, until Jaskier looked down at him with a grin. “Ciri is a smart young woman,” Jaskier said, “and I can’t find fault with her argument. Though truly, don’t make any great effort on my account. I know how difficult I can be to tolerate.”

Jaskier’s mirth made something relax in him, and Geralt found himself smiling back. He unstuck his limbs from the ground and turned to continue on, giving Roach’s reins a gentle tug. Jaskier leaned forward at the sudden movement, and Geralt allowed himself one touch, reaching out to put a hand on Jaskier’s thigh, stabilizing him. Wryly, he said, “You really aren’t.”

Jaskier looked down toward him, and leaning forward as he was, they were suddenly much closer than before, and Jaskier’s face was softened again in surprise and— something else. Geralt felt sure, for one crystalline moment, that Jaskier was going to lean down the last few inches to press their lips together. He held his breath in anticipation, and for a moment Jaskier wavered. And then Roach huffed and canted forward a step, and Geralt’s hand jerked where it was clenched white-knuckled around the reins. He leaned back and away, taking his hand off of Jaskier’s thigh, and felt cold despite the warmth of the day. Jaskier straightened in his seat, and when Geralt looked up at him again his face was blank, squinting up at the sky.

Geralt’s hand burned as he started forward again, leading them down the road towards their destination. He had been right, he thought, to avoid touching Jaskier. Every instance was like flying closer to the sun. He couldn’t survive it if he kept pushing his limits.

They stopped for the night at an inn. It was unusually vacant; they were far enough south now that the last vestiges of winter had faded behind them, and the roads had been plenty busy. On their way into town they’d passed a large band of travelers—merchants, a cobbler, several families—headed in the other direction, so it was likely they drove off any others passing through the area. The innkeep looked tired, a woman who couldn’t be older than Jaskier but had a full head of gray hair. She gave Geralt a shrewd look when they entered, but was quickly swept up in Jaskier’s charm, especially when he exaggerated the limp a bit.

“Afraid there’ll be no one to play for this evening, my boy,” she said, the thick accent of southern Velen making her words sound like chewed barley. “You’ll have to pay for a full night.”

The rate she gave was fair, not marked up for the presence of a witcher as far as Geralt could tell. They were well off on coin after a drowner contract he’d taken before the ruins. They were always particularly active in the spring, having grown hungry under the ice and snow all winter. Geralt had cleared out at least thirty of them from a lake and its nearby stream, gaining no more than a few shallow claw marks but a hefty bag of coin for his efforts. “The rooms are a touch small,” the innkeep said. “You’ll want two; no chance of sharing with this one’s shoulders as they are.” She nodded to Geralt, her gaze passing over his broad chest. He huffed, annoyed.

Jaskier hummed himself, a slight frown passing over his features. “Are you quite sure? We’re accustomed to sharing, and it would save us some coin—”

“We have coin,” Geralt said, slapping the money down on the counter. Jaskier made a noise of protest that Geralt silenced with a look. “I don’t want to risk fucking up your leg by lying on top of it. Two rooms, one night.” It was fine. They were in no danger of running low on funds. There was no need for them to spend a night in discomfort. “It’s this or the road, bard.”

At that Jaskier pouted and dropped the issue.

That night they ate dinner together in the main room of the inn. The food was good, hearty liver sausages with a thin vegetable broth to wash it down, and a loaf of dark oat bread. The ale wasn’t half bad either, even watered down as it was. Once they finished eating, Geralt allowed Jaskier to goad him into a few rounds of Gwent. He never understood why Jaskier wanted to play—Geralt always won handily. Five extra decades of experience and a long tradition of playing for his meals made him the better player by far, and his deck was tournament worthy. Yet Jaskier needled him at least weekly until Geralt gave in and pulled out the cards. Maybe he thought eventually Geralt would let him win. He would continue to be disappointed.

It was, admittedly, hard to concentrate on the game when the light of the fire backlit Jaskier just so, like the halo of some old god. His long fingers worried at the edges of the cards, a terrible tell he couldn’t seem to shake. He always played with the corners of particularly good ones in his hand. Geralt could almost use it to predict the end game totals by this point. Jaskier’s fingernails were a patchwork of color; he’d had them painted sometime while he was staying in Oxenfurt, and the dark burgundy was almost completely chipped away after a few weeks on the road. It was a miracle that the color clung on at all, or that Jaskier had allowed them to remain partially decorated when they lost their perfect shine. Maybe there was a poetic appeal. Something about one’s masks being slowly chipped away, or some such nonsense.

He won the first game. Jaskier begged for best three out of five, and Geralt won the next two games as well. Jaskier finally relented, and the smile on his face wasn’t that of a good natured loser accepting his lot. He said, “I suppose you win again, my dear,” and his eyes were warm as he looked at Geralt.

It was rare that Jaskier could be described as soft in any way. He was boisterous, and excitable, and generally prone to fits of dramatic romanticism or unbridled rage in equal measure. Sometimes he was melancholy, and other times—sometimes when he was very drunk, he was giddy, and he would rope Geralt into unwise activities like they were school children. He was almost never quiet. Even in moments of calm he would be busy moving, strumming his lute or scratching in the margins of his notebooks or singing a new line or two at the stars. But now he was sitting and looking at Geralt over a pile of cards, and he was still. Just looking, chin resting on one hand, as if Geralt’s face held the key to an interesting riddle he was trying hard to solve.

Geralt cleared his throat, feeling unmoored. “Time for bed. Early start tomorrow.”

Like that the spell was broken, and Jaskier rolled his eyes with a groan. “And for what reason? Roach, for one, would deserve the rest. We mustn’t always get up at the first light of dawn, witcher.”

“But we will,” Geralt said, feeling his lips twitch. He turned towards the stairs to hide it, hearing Jaskier’s uneven gait follow after him. He resisted the urge to turn around and offer his arm to assist, knowing that it would only annoy Jaskier and put them in close proximity. Something he was trying his best to avoid.

They parted ways at the doors to their rooms, set next to each other in the hall. They were almost identical, and Geralt wondered if at some point a wall had been constructed down the middle of a room to provide the inn with more to rent out. The result was two cramped spaces, with only enough room for a small bed pushed up against the wall and a trunk across from it. Geralt had deposited his things in the corner before heading back down in search of dinner earlier, and he now set about making sure that his equipment was taken care of. There was a spot on his armor that needed to be reinforced after a drowner had scratched it. The leather was still supple from regular oiling, but he would need a professional to look it over soon. Even so, he was capable of making his own minor repairs until then, backing the fragile spot with spare pieces that he kept for this purpose. The work was grounding in its familiarity. Once he was done he set about sharpening his swords as well. The silver would soon need a new coating; Geralt could see a few places where the darker iron core shone through, where he’d blocked the swipe of a griffin’s talon a month back. A problem for another town.

He could hear Jaskier in the room on the other side of the wall. It was thin enough that there may as well have been no barrier between them whatsoever. He could hear the bard humming to himself, the rustle of cloth as he tossed aside his clothes for the day. No, not tossed—Jaskier was meticulous about his clothes unless roaring drunk or in a haze of academic preoccupation, which tonight he was not. Geralt could almost picture the other man as he carefully folded his doublet over the back of a chair, set his undershirt to hang near the window where it would dry out after the sweat of the day. His pants would be pressed into a neat square and put into his bag alongside his other colorful finery. His hose would be draped near the doublet, his boots neatly set by the door. Dressed down to his braies, he would slip into bed.

The creek of the mattress came from closer to Geralt’s room than he might have expected. The beds must be pushed up against the same wall, mirroring each other.

Geralt slowly and methodically finished his tasks, sliding his swords back into their scabbards and putting them under the bed, within easy reach. With a flick of his wrist, he extinguished the lone candle in the room. He could hear from the noises filtering in from outside that Jaskier’s room had been the one graced with a window. No matter; he could see fine without the added help of the moonlight.

By the time he slipped into the small bed, Jaskier’s breaths had evened out in sleep. His heartbeat was loud through the wall, louder than it usually seemed in their small campsite, with the sounds of the forest drowning it out. The bed really was too small for two, Geralt thought, rolling over to stare at the wall. If they’d shared, they would have had to sleep practically on top of each other. Geralt would have had to wrap himself around Jaskier just to keep him in place. Put his hand over the bard’s heart and felt the rhythm drum out under his fingertips.

He turned around, pressing his back to the wall, listening to the sound of the bard on the other side. His chest ached. The bed felt huge and empty, big enough to swallow him whole. A ridiculous fucking notion. The thing was tiny.

Geralt wondered, really and truly, when it had gotten this bad. When he’d let it get this bad. He pressed his back more firmly against the wall, and fell asleep to the symphony of his own heartbeat matching Jaskier’s one to four.

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #witcher #the witcher #fic #fanfic #writing #my work #multichapter #me lamh #big bang #geraskierbigbang

83 notes · View notes

rivalsforlife · 3 years

Note

Do you have anything you wished was different from Ace Attorney canon?

Hello I'm finally slowly starting to get around to answering some of these! Sorry for the wait.

Uh this ask got super long so a basic summary of it: narumitsu being canon in a well-written way would be nice even though I don't think it would ever happen, I stand by not bringing back Phoenix as a main protagonist in DD, and I'd also want to rewrite all of SOJ so that Apollo goes to Khura'in in place of Phoenix, to have more interesting character stuff going on.

So the longer answer is this:

Aside from some of the actually problematic stuff that I don't feel qualified to talk about, story-wise, I answered a sort of similar question about a year ago here. I have changed my opinions a little bit since then, particularly with regards to the canonicity of narumitsu... because while I do love narumitsu I feel like I don't trust Ace Attorney to actually do it properly. After all if this past November has taught us anything "making a ship canon" could actually be quite undesirable and I have no desire to see Phoenix and/or Edgeworth sent to superhell. (I literally know nothing else about supernatural sorry about that.)

If capcom were somehow able to make narumitsu canon but in an unobtrusive way and as a natural progression of the storyline, like oh hey, the court record profile for Miles Edgeworth's Obligatory Last-Case Appearance has Phoenix mention they're dating, and maybe there's a few lines suggesting they live with each other, but it's not like... taking the entire story to force them together and otherwise does not change the way they interact with each other and butcher one or both of their characterizations in the process? I'd definitely be happy about that. Not gonna lie even if they made narumitsu canon in the most terrible way possible I'd have a "holy shit I can't believe they did that it's the best day of my life" kind of moment before I could think about it critically. But I honestly see no chance of them ever actually making narumitsu canon, so that's quite unrealistic to hope for anyways.

Aside from that in that other ask I talked about basically the premise of an Apollo trilogy and not bringing back Phoenix as the main protagonist in DD, and I still stand by that, buuut in my other ask I did touch on making SOJ a different game where Apollo goes to Khura'in instead of Phoenix - and you know what I'm going to take some time to actually talk about my dream version of SOJ because there were a lot of little things about the one we got that I didn't like. And it's going to be very long. So it's under a cut.

SO yeah I talked about it a bit in the other ask. I think that Phoenix going to Khura'in is a rather weak idea both externally and in-universe. In one of the interviews, too lazy to find which one, Phoenix basically goes to Khura'in because the writers couldn't figure out how to challenge him anymore. ... And then they don't actually challenge him at all. Because oh well now we're going to this new country where they KILL DEFENSE ATTORNEYS WHO LOSE and then it's supposed to be *shocking* that Phoenix would risk his life for a kid or his best friend. you know the guy who ran across a burning bridge to save his best friend. you know the guy who got punched in the face, nearly killed by the mafia, and tazed trying to save his clients. This doesn't tell me anything new about Phoenix's character. His whole travel in Khura'in doesn't tell me anything new about Phoenix's character. Basically the only reason he's there is to see Maya - Maya who theoretically would be returning home in about two weeks. Maya who was still in her training for two more weeks when Phoenix visited so he wouldn't be able to see her anyways. ... And in the meantime Trucy had the biggest show of her life that was going to be on TV and Phoenix wasn't there for it. And of course Phoenix didn't return home after Trucy was accused of murder (yes he couldn't be there for the trial, but he definitely could have for the emotional support afterwards) and instead just sits for two weeks in Khura'in doing literally nothing after Ahlbi's trial.

(And yes I know about the anime prologue that has Phoenix think Maya's in danger... but that's not strictly canon since it's never mentioned in game, isn't technically a part of the game, and even still, why wouldn't he go home after knowing that Maya's safe and that Trucy had been ACCUSED OF MURDER. Honestly that's what makes me angriest about this whole thing is that it makes Phoenix out to be a terrible dad. We really don't need any more takes like that, especially not from canon.)

And what about Apollo, you may ask? Well, given case 5 of SOJ, Apollo actually has a personal link to Khura'in and ends up staying there afterwards... after being there for like a day or two. I should note here that it has been a while since I went through SOJ in its entirety so I am fuzzy on many of the details. But both through what I remember and some conversations with people who actually played the game recently, the motivation for Apollo to actually stay in Khura'in isn't that great. It mainly seemed like guilt about his dead dad who he hadn't been in contact with for years and had completely written off until a few days ago but oh he died and then went to go visit him so... better take up the law office!

If Apollo had gone to Khura'in in place of Phoenix and spent more time there, reconnecting with his childhood home and actually getting passionate seeing how corrupt the legal system is there (even though we have a corrupt legal system at home) and being driven to fix it, that would make for a stronger story, I think. The Khura'in plot is more personally focused around Apollo than it is Phoenix. Phoenix's connection to Khura'in is through Maya, but Maya doesn't really have much of a connection to it aside from "it's where spirit channeling is from and she trains there". But Apollo, I guess, grew up there. So it's so strange to me that they force all of Apollo's connection to Khura'in in the last case while Phoenix is running around doing who-knows-what for the rest of the game. Phoenix spends more time getting to know the state of Khura'in and the Defiant Dragons and case 3's whole thing but he isn't the one who in the end decides to sit down and fix it; that's all on Apollo. It almost feels like they forced one of the two plots in to everything. And it was probably conceived as a Phoenix story that they needed to fit Apollo into last minute because oops he's supposed to be a protagonist too.

Some other strengths to Apollo going to Khura'in include that it would shake up the character dynamics a bit. Instead of Phoenix defending Maya, it's Apollo defending Maya, and that's a particularly interesting thing to look at in the context of Khura'in's "we kill defense attorneys" system. Of course, Phoenix would risk his life to save Maya, 100%, every time. But what about Apollo, who hasn't met Maya, who only knows her as "Mr. Wright's former assistant" - would he risk his life for her? And I feel like Maya would argue more against him defending her because of that. "We're strangers, you don't know me, you don't have to risk your life defending me." (Sidenote that I was always upset that Maya didn't protest much when Phoenix offered to defend her, knowing his life was at risk - sure she knows him better and knows he's always been able to get her out of these situations, but at the same time, the fact that there was no "what about your daughter?" conversation sucks. I really wish SOJ wouldn't have like. completely forgotten about the phoenix-trucy father-daughterisms.)

Let's say Apollo goes to Khura'in. Phoenix stays at home. Phoenix gets a call from Apollo that's basically "uhh hi Mr. Wright you know your friend Maya, she's been arrested for murder, if I defend her and I lose we're both dead," then you can tie in to that moment in 6-2 where Phoenix (who can't make it in time for the trial!) believes in Apollo and his skills as an attorney, not just to save Maya's life, but also his own. It ties in a bit more to the overall challenge of defending someone at the risk of your own life. Again, Phoenix would have very few hesitations, if any, risking his life to defend Maya. Apollo may have more defending a stranger at the risk of his own life.

Then if you can actually have Apollo and Maya talk together that would be neat - Maya can tell him embarrassing stories about Phoenix's rookie days, for instance. Their dynamic would be quite a bit different from Phoenix and Maya's, and that would be an interesting thing to see, unlike what we have in SOJ where all of Maya's substantial interactions are with characters she already knows or brand new characters.

(It would also be pretty neat to know more spirit channeling politics and dive in more to Maya's perspective on Khura'in and also her role as upcoming Master of the Kurain Channeling Technique and where she plans to lead the village in the future and also reconcile with her family's bloody legacy, but I'm not quite sure how to fit that in right now.)

And how about Phoenix, back home in Japanifornia? Evidently he'd end up being in charge of defending Trucy. Now, I did love the siblingsisms in canon 6-2, but I feel like there is still potential for Phoenix defending Trucy. All of Apollo Justice has a bunch of good moments between Apollo and Trucy, and she's co-counsel on all his trials, but we've never had any substantial Phoenix and Trucy investigation or co-counsel moments. I feel like AU 6-2 would be a great opportunity to dive more into Phoenix and Trucy's relationship and how it may have changed after Phoenix got his badge back. Plus, Phoenix being "the only one who knows how she really feels on the inside", he'd have unique insider knowledge into some of the Gramarye stuff that comes up in the case and Trucy's personal connection to the Gramaryes, which Apollo knows a bit of, but Phoenix knows more of. ... Or at least, should know more of, given that he raised Trucy for nine years at this point and they're very close, and Phoenix knows her better than anyone else does, even if capcom has forgotten this.

... Of course having Athena defend the case would also be great because more Athena spotlight is never a bad thing, but it's hard to come up with a reason why Phoenix wouldn't be there to defend her. And doing more switcheroos in terms of role in the plot is a bit beyond the scope of what I have in mind right now. Sorry Athena.

Aside from that, Athena still gets Storyteller, Apollo still heads Turnabout Revolution, and Phoenix still gets the DLC case. Apollo stays in Khura'in in the end with a bit more to his motivations. Rather than it just being about carrying on Dhurke's legacy, it's also something Apollo is passionate about after all he witnessed here. While we're at it I'd still rework a lot of Turnabout Revolution to make it so that Phoenix genuinely believes in Atishon because that makes for sooo much more interesting of a plot and actual character development on Phoenix's part than "Maya was kidnapped again and Phoenix is only wrong when he has no other choice", but that'd require some more detail and this post is long enough already.

And in terms of other details that need to be sorted out, there's the question of why Apollo would need to go to Khura'in in the first place. I'd probably say something to do with Dhurke. Maybe he comes back a bit earlier - actually alive, maybe, though crossing borders would be a bit of a challenge, or he reaches out to Apollo remotely somehow and Apollo goes to yell in his face about abandoning him (or at least that's what he thinks he wants.) Then we could have some more Dhurke and Apollo bonding time, potentially? Idk, if you switch up Phoenix and Apollo you're pretty much writing a whole new game and obviously I have not worked out all the details, but I think if Capcom had tried to go with this route from the outset they'd have a stronger game. At least stronger character motivations.

So... yeah. Those are my opinions. If you read through this whole thing I'm very impressed because it got very long!

#asks #soj spoilers #aa6 spoilers

53 notes · View notes

btxtreads · 3 years

Text

Stuck on You

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: ILLUSION

↳ Pairing: Choi Soobin x Reader

↳ word count: 2k words

↳ rating: PG

↳ genre: fluff, angst

Y/N released a deep breath, clutching the bathrobe close to her body as she trudged over to the jaccuzzi. The girl pursed her lips as she shivered at the cold breeze blowing by.

As soon as she arrived at the jaccuzzi, her eyes immediately landed on a shirtless figure submerged in the tub—eyes staring up at the starless sky. His hair fell in front of his eyes as he sighed softly, eyes lowering down to lock gazes with her.

“Oh, Y/N,” he said in surprise, raising his eyebrows. “you’re here.”

“Yeah, well,” Y/N shrugged. “Everyone can use the jaccuzzi right?”

“Yeah, most of them are partying or staying in their rooms, though.” Soobin pursed his lips. “What are you doing here?”

Y/N didn’t answer, trying to find a response as Soobin crossed his arms.

“Soobin,” she started softly. “I-I want to talk.”

“Oh, so now we can talk?” Soobin scoffed. “You’ve been ignoring me the whole day, I just wanted to be with you but you acted like I had the plague or something.”

“I was confused.” Y/N replied, sitting down at the side of the jacuzzi and dipping a finger in the water to avoid looking at the boy. “I had a lot of things to think about.”

“Like Beomgyu?”

“Like Yunhee.” Y/N said, exasperated. “Like the fact that you like her and that’s why we’re here.”

“Y/N, you don’t know that.”

“Actually, I do.” Y/N shook her head. “We had a whole ass contract for it, you don’t have to lie—and isn’t this better? You sat with her on the bus ride here, and I saw you talking to her in the lobby.”

Soobin didn’t answer, lips only tilting up slightly as he shook his head.

“I wanted to sit with you.” He softly replied. “I got your favorite snacks and everything, and I downloaded your favorite movies you always wanted me to watch.”

Y/N’s eyes widened a little as she processed what the boy said, blinking in confusion as Soobin shook his head.

“I had my mom teach me how to cook for this, you know.”

“You did?”

Soobin’s eyes flitted up to her, a smile on his face.

“Of course, it’s for you. Why not?”

Y/N sighed, turning back to the hotel building with a sigh.

“Sorry we didn’t get to do that.” Y/N said once more, pursing her lips.

“Food’s still in my room.”

“Tae and Kai probably broke into your suitcase and ate it all by now.” Y/N laughed, spirit lifting up at Soobin’s soft chuckles.

There was a moment of silence before Soobin straightened up.

“How can you be so smart yet so oblivious?”

Y/N shot him a confused look, making him roll his eyes.

“It’s nothing,” Soobin said, shaking his head with a sigh and a smile. “You can join me now. Come on.”

Y/N smiled, rising up and pulling her bathrobe away and revealing her swimwear—making the boy grin. His eyes raked her figure as he chuckled.

“How long were you planning to sit in the cold if you had plans to swim with me anyways?”

“Until you either invite me in or tell me to leave.”

“And if I wanted you to stay?”

Y/N didn’t answer as she waded over to stand next to Soobin. There was another moment of silence before the taller boy turned to her.

“Were you waiting for someone?” Y/N asked, turning over to him.

Soobin didn’t reply, instead, he turned his body—caging her in as he cupped his hands around her face, leaning down to press his lips on hers. The girl didn’t respond, causing the boy to pull away softly.

“I-I’m sorry, I know this isn’t in the contract.” Soobin said. “I just had to one last time, and—“

Y/N cut him off reaching out to pull on the back of his neck, tilting her head up to catch his lips with hers as his hands immediately fell on her hips and pressed her back against the walls. She can feel Soobin’s lips wrap around her bottom lip, sucking lightly before he pulled away.

His wet hands reached up, brushing her hair behind her ear as he searched her eyes.

“I’m not ready to let you go yet.” He whispered softly, leaning his forehead on hers.

“Then, don’t.” Y/N whispered back, grinning at his smile before he leaned back down and crashed his lips against hers.

After many kisses and loving gazes later, Y/N and Soobin sat next to each other in the bus on the way home the next day. In front of them was Yeonjun, who took up two seats for himself and across was Kai and Taehyun—sleeping with their heads leaning against each other.

Soobin’s hand tightly gripped hers and they giggled, talking about sweet nothings for the rest of the trip. The boy leaned down, pressing loving kisses to her lips every once in a while. His arms would wrap around her figure with a satisfied smile, sighing as she leaned back against his chest.

It remained this way until the bus stopped in front of the school, the couple leaving the bus hand in hand as a sleepy Yeonjun, Taehyun and Kai followed them.

“I’m calling mom to pick me and Tae up.” Kai slurred sleepily as he wandered off, hands clumsily pulling his phone out.

Taehyun and Yeonjun agreed to take their things from the trunk, making Soobin roll his eyes.

“I’ll get our stuff.” Soobin hummed, turning over to the girl to press a soft kiss to her lips. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Y/N smiled as the three boys wandered off, standing idly at the sidewalk as she waited. It was at this point when a girl approached her—a familiar grey hoodie wrapped around her body. Still, Y/N paid her no mind, pursing her lips as she waited for her friends to come back. She can see Soobin’s head from afar, his eyes bright as he chatted with one of their classmates.

“I’m glad you’re such a cool girlfriend, Y/N.”

Y/N sighed, turning slightly as she smiled at the girl next to her.

“Hey, Yunhee.” Y/N sid, raising her eyebrows. “What was that?”

“I said, you’re a cool girlfriend.” Yunhee smiled. “I mean, most girlfriends won’t let their boyfriends hang out inside their ex-girlfriends’ hotel rooms unmonitored, right?”

Y/N froze, eyes hardening as she smiled stiffly.

“Really?”

“Oh,” Yunhee’s eyes widened comically. “You didn’t know? He did it last night. Just until I got sleepy.”

Y/N opened her mouth to answer, a hurt expression dancing across her face. However, Y/N eyes fell towards Yunhee’s wrist as she brushed her hair. A familiar bracelet rested on her hands, making Y/N’s heart ache.

“Where did you get that?”

“Hm?” Yunhee raised her eyebrows. “Oh, this? From Soobin! I think it’s pretty, don’t you think? He gave it to me.”

Y/N didn’t answer, her eyes still stuck on the bracelet as Yunhee smiled brightly.

“I should go, bye Y/N.” Yunhee giggled. “Good luck with Binnie.”

Y/N only watched as Yunhee sauntered off.

“Ew, what was that about?” Yeonjun fake gagged as he, Soobin and Taehyun arrived back—luggages in her hands.

“What did she want?” Soobin asked, pressing a soft kiss against her neck.

Instead of melting against him like she usually would, Y/N’s eyes hardened as she turned to the boy.

“We have to talk.” She mumbled, pulling him away.

Yeonjun and Taehyun glanced at each other, shrugging as the couple left. Soobin blinked in confusion as they entered the empty field, furrowing his eyebrows in concern when the girl released him and paced angrily.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t.” Y/N sighed angrily, holding herself back as she turned over to him. “Did you go to her last night?”

Soobin opened and closed his mouth, wracking his brain for answers making a hurt dance across her eyes.

“Soobin, did you go to her?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Y/N pleaded, holding herself back as she bit her lip. “Did you?”

“Just a little while, that’s all.” Soobin mumbled. “She wanted to chat. I promise, that’s it.”

“If that’s it—why didn’t you tell me?” Y/N whispered, shaking her head before asking him another question. “Before or after the hot tub?”

Soobin hesitated, looking down at his hands.

“Soobin.”

“Why is that important?”

By this point, Y/N was holding her tears back. She can feel her heart breaking in her chest.

“Fine.” Y/N spoke, stilling herself as she held her head up. “My bracelet—I told you it was important. Why did she have it?”

“I—She took it.” Soobin sighed. “I was occupied so, I forgot to take it back. I swear.”

“You forgot or you didn’t want to?”

Soobin stepped forward, taking her hands.

“Y/N, it’s not like that.” Soobin said.

His words didn’t help at all. Hurt and heartbreak danced across Y/N’s features, and Soobin can feel his own heart crack at the tears pooling in her eyes.

“Baby.”

“You didn’t stop her from taking it—why?”

“Y/N, stop.”

“Is it because it’s her? Because she wanted it?”

“Y/N—“

“You just can’t say no to her, can you?”

Y/N softly pulled herself away from his grasp, shaking her head as tears fell down her cheeks.

“It’s because you still love her, right?” Y/N chuckled sarcastically. “All this time I was holding onto some stupid illusion that maybe it’s my turn to be chosen. How stupid was I?”

Soobin tried to reply, tried to find a way to defend himself and stop her from leaving—but he felt his thoughts go haywire when he saw her slowly backing away from him. Guilt and hurt crept up his chest as he stepped forward once more.

“Y/N, wait—“

“That’s enough.” An irritated voice piped up before a hand grasped the girl’s arm.

“Beomgyu?” asked as the boy stepped forward, running a hand through his hair.

The said boy shot Y/N a quick smile before shooting a glare at Soobin.

“You’ve done enough for today.” Beomgyu said to the older before placing his arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“Y/N, wait.” Soobin said, rushing forward and grabbing her hand. Y/N turned back to him, and so did Beomgyu—who had an annoyed expression. “Please don’t leave with him. Let me explain.”

“Okay.” Y/N said, turning back to him expectantly as Yeonjun arrived at the scene—frantic eyes dancing between the three. “Explain, Soobin.”

Soobin didn’t reply.

His eyes were frantically shifting between Y/N, their joined hands, Beomgyu, a frantic Yeonjun and a confused Taehyun and Kai. Soobin ran his hands through his hair as he stuttered, trying to find a way to justify his actions.

“The bracelet was—I went to—“ Soobin wracked his thoughts before sighing and looking up. “I didn’t think the bracelet was that important.”

Beomgyu walked back up to the couple, prying Soobin’s hand off of the girl before dragging her away—Y/N only following sullenly as Soobin called after her. With an angry expression, Yeonjun walked forward and slammed Soobin’s car keys against his chest.

“Hyung—“

“The bracelet was one of the things Y/N’s parents gave her for a job well done when we were still kids—and you know how insecure Y/N is with her sister.” Yeonjun explained. “But even if it were useless, she told you it was important, but you didn’t care enought o remember that.”

“Hyung, I—“

“Do you even like her at least a little bit?”

Soobin’s eyes widened as he looked up at the elder, almost offended at the insinuation that he didn’t.

“Hyung, of course I do!” Soobin argued. “I can’t imagine what I’ll do without her—“

“Then, show it.” Yeonjun said, shaking his head. “I’ve had enough of people treating her like shit. I just thought you wouldn’t be one of them.”

Soobin stayed silent, mulling over his thoughts as Yeonjun scoffed.

“Guess I was wrong.”

The tall boy can only watch as Yeonjun stormed off, his heart breaking as he thought of the girl he let down.

206 notes · View notes

magmagicstyle · 4 years

Text

DON’T START NOW

*HURT/COMFORT*

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x male!reader, Clark Kent x male!reader

The reader and Bruce used to date until he messed up. Not being able to handle the idea of being in the same city as the millionaire, the reader goes away. Luckily for him, in his new city, there’s a nice and a bit nerdy journalist ready to make his heart flutter again.

A/N: Hey! It’s been awhile… the only thing I can say to justify me: college is hard, kids…

If you don't wanna see me

You really thought that the relationship was going to last until you both were old and you could see the children have kids and that the kids would call you grandpa. Of course, reality proved you wrong at the moment you saw him fucking Selina Kyle in the bed that was supposed to be yours and his. Her moans and cries of pleasure were quite irritating, the way he grunted and moved against her body while she made noises that made her sound like a cat in heat was so disgusting for you, it made you feel sick. The worst part wasn’t the fact that it was your first anniversary, it wasn’t the fact that he was doing this in your bed, in the bed where you laid with him a lot of times and just whispered “I love you” while he smiled and whispered “I love you” in response. No, that wasn’t the worst part, the worst part of being cheated on, was that you knew that this wasn’t the first time and that he was saying “I love you” towards her.

Did a full 180, crazy

Thinking 'bout the way I was

Did the heartbreak change me? Maybe

But look at where I ended up

I'm all good already

So moved on, it's scary

I'm not where you left me at all, so

If you don't wanna see me dancing with somebody

If you wanna believe that anything could stop me

“Well, it seems that I’m not needed.” You said quite loudly while you entered the room and closed the door behind you. Your face was stone cold while you looked at the bastard that had the nerve to cheat on you and at the bitch that called herself your best friend.

Bruce's face was a poem, surprise, embarrassment, maybe a little bit of guilt, but… was it guilt for cheating on you with the woman who called herself your friend? Or was it guilt that came for being caught in the act? Selina looked scared, guilty, even sad; at that moment you didn’t care enough about her. If she was going to feel guilty, she shouldn’t have fuck your fiance in the first place.

You opened the closet and grabbed two suitcases. They were Bruce’ suitcases but, to be honest, he had more than enough money, so he could buy more if he wanted to do it and well, you deserved to take something after being treated like a fool. You put them on the floor and opened them, then you started to grab your clothes and put them inside the suitcases. After you finished you grabbed a backpack and started pulling your jewels, electronics and important things that were inside the bathroom or around the room.

“(Y/N)...” Bruce said, he was sitting in the bed, a sheet was carefully hanging around his waist and Selina had another sheet around her naked body.

“Don’t worry, I will leave and you will do whatever you want, Brucie…” you said coldly, making fun of the stupid nickname his lovers had used before he started to date you. After all, you knew that he hated that nickname, it made him feel shallow and like an idiot, but if he was going to act like it, he deserved to be called by that nickname.

“Goddammit, (Y/N), I didn’t mean this to happen, not like this…” He said while standing up and grabbing your shoulder to turn you around.

That sentence and his touch combined made you snap. You were trying to be cold, trying to end this quickly because this way, you thought, it wouldn’t hurt as much as it did. You tried to ignore the crushing pain that you were feeling over your heart being broken in a thousand pieces. You were trying so hard while you picked up the things that only helped you to remember about the times when you thought you two were happy and in love. You tried so hard but he wasn’t making this easy, he was going and acting like it was nothing. Like he didn’t just destroy your life together because he decided to think with his cock. You tried but you couldn’t accept him acting like this was nothing. So you turned around and looked at him with eyes full of pain, hate and tears pouring from them.

“And how did you expect this to happen? Tell me, Bruce. In which way did you expect me to find out about you fucking the whore that I thought was my friend? Enlighten me, Bruce, because I have no idea.” You said, while your voice was sounding so bitter and crushed.

“Do not call her a whore” He said, jaw locked and frown in his face. Of course, Bruce the hero to the rescue, you thought feeling even more hurt (if that was even possible). Of course, he was acting like you calling Selina a whore was the biggest sin in the world like he didn’t decide to throw away all your time together just for a nice fuck.

“Oh, sure, because you love her, I forgot about that detail, right Bruce? Because you fucking love her, and I’m here, like an idiot thinking that you still loved me!” You yelled, slapping his hand away, making him look so shocked by your reaction. But let’s be honest, what did he expect? Did he think that you would just laugh this off and call it a day? Of course not, you were hurt, and you weren’t willing to stay with him anymore, so you turned around again and grabbed the rest of your things.

“(Y/N)... I…” Selina tried to call you, to tell you whatever excuse was in her mind but you stopped her by turning and looking at her with pure hate in your eyes.

“Shut up, you fucking bitch... what? You didn’t want this to happen, right? You couldn’t help yourself, right? Don’t fucking look at my face and lie to me” You finished saying this and turned around closing your suitcases and standing them up so you could easily grab them and leave the place.

“(Y/N)! Stop, I won’t let you talk to her this way.” Bruce said, clearly angry at you, but you didn’t care, you were hurt, he hurt you and he didn’t care about it, he only cared about his lover.

“Oh, boo hoo, so sad, Brucie is angry at me for insulting his whore, what am I going to do? Let me think...” you said while moving and putting your hand under your chin, pretending to think for a few seconds while you faced him. Suddenly, the ring on your left hand shined and made you notice it, almost like a divine sight.

“Now I know! I’ll fucking leave.” You said and took off the engagement ring. Then you threw the ring towards Selina and grabbed your suitcases, turning around one last time and walking towards the door of the bedroom.

“Have fun with your boyfriend, Selina, well, of course, until he cheats on you with one of your friends… wait, you don’t have friends so you will be fine, right?” You said and walked until you were outside of that hellish mansion.

“Master (Y/N)!” You heard Alfred yell and walk towards you. He looked quite regretful and sad, and even if you wanted to be able to lash out to him, to ask and yell at him for not telling you or not keeping Bruce under control. Even if you wanted to be able to blame someone else besides the man that you thought loved you. You knew that you couldn’t blame him for not being able to control every step Bruce took.

“Alfred… tell the kids that if they want to, they can call me any time… and also, if you need me to play chess, have some tea and talk, call me.” You said with a sad smile on your face and hugged the man. Alfred hugged you back and just let out a deep sigh, then he gave you the keys of one of Bruce’s cars.

“Alfred?” you asked confused.

“A car cannot replace a broken heart, but it can be useful to pursue a new life and also, Master Bruce deserves a little punishment for acting like a dumb teenager.” He said and helped you put the suitcases in the trunk of the car.

“Goodbye, Alfred.” You said with a soft chuckle.

“Goodbye, Master (Y/N)”

At that moment you hoped on the car and started to drive, you didn’t know your destiny but you just knew that you didn’t want to be anywhere close to Bruce and Selina.

Don't show up, don't come out

Don't start caring about me now

Walk away, you know how

Don't start caring about me now

Aren't you the guy who tried to

Hurt me with the word "goodbye"?

Though it took some time to survive you

I'm better on the other side

I'm all good already

So moved on, it's scary

I'm not where you left me at all, so

You were in Metropolis. After what happened, obviously, the media of Gotham started to talk about the hot news and “the dazzling couple” of the moment. Some people thought that Bruce was an asshole for dating a woman just after your breakup, even talking about how the breakup was probably due Bruce being a playboy unable to keep it in his pants. Other people supported his choices and thought that it was a good thing that Bruce stopped acting so, like they said, “delicate”, obviously wanting to say gay. The other group didn’t care enough about the topic. But even if some people supported you, every newspaper, magazine, or tv was talking about the new couple, about how good they looked together and just stuff like that, and if you had to be honest, you weren’t comfortable with the idea of seeing your ex and his lover in every part of the city,

So you left. You left Bruce's car with Dick and then bought a plane ticket and just flew to the nearest city that you could think of, and that was Metropolis. You started to get more modelling work there and decided to concentrate more in your career since you couldn’t do that while dating Bruce. Then you just started to get invited to different parties. So, in hopes of forgetting about Wayne and Kyle, you kept going to the parties, drank different things, and even tried some drugs, always being careful so you wouldn’t end up being addicted to something. You danced around with other celebrities, and the Metropolis’ newspapers that also talked about Bruce and Selina at first, started to talk about you and how you became a party spirit after being “freed” from Bruce’s claws.

The media in Metropolis stopped portraying Bruce as a guy who was freed from you, and started to see you as a model who gained his freedom and his humour back after being cheated on (yes, the rumors about Bruce’s affair became so strong that now all the media commented about it like it was a fact, which it was, but nobody had real evidence besides you and the couple). Some girls took you as an example of self-love and improvement after a bad relationship and in general, after a bad period of time. Obviously, this meant that you had more work as a model and that you even got invited to some tv shows. Your agent even told you that this was the perfect opportunity to publish some of the stories and novels that you had written a few years ago, so you did. Of course, this also was something that caught the newspaper’s attention, after all, they didn’t have the opportunity to talk about how the ex boyfriend of a millionaire was a model, writer, and one of the most liked persons in the whole city. This helped you to get your head off Selina and Bruce and just helped you to get better in general, so you kept going to different shows, took more work, published more stories and just enjoyed your time in this new city.

This didn’t mean that you had forgotten everything about your life in Gotham, the kids called you from time to time, to know about you, to see if someday they could travel and visit you or to just hear your voice once more. And, to be honest, you were so glad that they didn’t forget about you after your breakup with Bruce, even Alfred called you from time to time, to see if you were planning to go back to Gotham so you and he could have a nice play of chess. But, every time you answered that even if you were feeling better and you were doing just fine in Metropolis, you weren’t sure if you wanted to go back to Gotham, not even for a visit. Still, after saying this, you told him that no matter what he could go to Metropolis to see you with the kids and that your house’s door would always be opened for them.

As soon as you offered that, they accepted it so from time to time, the kids or Alfred, or even the whole group came around to spend time with you. Of course, you loved to go to parties with the older ones and go to amusement parks with the young boys, but one of the best things was having movie nights together. Just cuddling in the couch of your living room, while enjoying some tasty and healthy (you are fun but also need to take care of your shape to maintain your career) snacks. They didn’t talk about their father and the last thing you knew from them about him was that they had fought over his stupidity. Usually you would act like the peacemaker between them but that wasn’t your job anymore and if you had to be honest, you weren’t interested in working for Bruce again.

If you don't wanna see me dancing with somebody

If you wanna believe that anything could stop me

(Don't, don't, don't)

Don't show up, don't come out

Don't start caring about me now

Walk away, you know how

Don't start caring about me now ('Bout me now, 'bout me)

You met him at one of your parties. A few months prior you started to host parties and not only attend them like you were doing before. After all, hosting parties was a good opportunity to meet more people that worked in the same field as you and that could help you get more gigs or other types of opportunities. This was one of the most “open to the public” types of parties, some people from the media, famous models, actors, singers, or just the socialites of Metropolis.

When you saw him, the first thing you thought was that he looked quite charming, handsome and even a bit sexy. Even if, when you saw him, it was just after he was being dumped by a black-haired woman, that you supposed was his (now) ex-girlfriend, in a gorgeous dress; he looked quite charming. In fact, if you had to be honest with yourself, the sight of him being all confused and almost looking like a sad puppy, was quite adorable. So, not wanting to see this handsome and cute man sad anymore, you made your way towards him, grabbing two glasses of wine on your way and just thinking about what you could do to make him smile again, knowing that he probably had the most beautiful smile ever. While you walked towards him, you had to give your greetings to different people that were dancing or drinking around the place. Some of them looked at you with envy and others with desire, it didn’t matter, you only had had for the blue eyed beauty.

“Hey there, mister…” You said with a little smile on your face while you stopped in front of him, offering one glass to the black haired man and hoping that he was kind enough to tell you his name.

“Kent, Clark Kent…” He said, while grabbing the glass and looking a little bit awkward. His reaction made you think that maybe he was quite shy around strangers, or maybe being in a party like this wasn’t exactly his scene. Well, you couldn’t blame him, parties weren’t your scene before you started to go to more of them.

If you had to be honest, he really looked like a lost puppy. This fact was making you want to cuddle him and protect him from the psychos (and probably, ex-girlfriends) that lived in this world (luckily for you, most of the psychos lived in Gotham). In fact, you actually cooed towards him and showed him a delicate and caring smile, making him blush softly, and give you a little but nervous smile. You were right, even this type of smile from him, was so gorgeous.

“I’m (Y/N), nice to meet you, Mr Kent,” You said and raised your glass making a little toast. “For our meeting” You finished with a smile on your face and a soft gleam in your eyes, looking quite happy.

“Oh, sure…” He said, also raising his glass. “Wait… (Y/N)? Like the model?” He looked at you directly with a surprised expression on his face.

“The one and only.” You answered with a smirk, loving the fact that he wasn’t polite or kind when you talked to him first because he knew who you were but mostly because that was the way he was. You were done with all the fake people around you that only cared about your new fame and your reputation.

“It’s so good to meet you, thank you so much for the invitation.” He said with a big smile on his face and a soft but amusing gleam on his eyes. Alright, you had to admit that his smile made your heart skip a beat and well, maybe he wasn’t only a shy puppy like you thought at first. “To be honest, in my work we’ve been trying to get an interview with you for a while… but as you obviously know, you seem to be quite busy.” He said with a soft but deep chuckle, and lord, what a nice and deep voice he had.

“Well, if you are so thankful and want to have an interview… I could use some company,” you said with a little and sly smile while putting your hand on his arm and trying to hide the soft gasp that wanted to escape from your lips when you felt his hard muscles under your touch.

“It would be my pleasure.” He answered you with a smile and offered his arm for you to hang from him, his smile turning into a playful smirk while he noticed your surprise thanks to his body, feeling the sudden need to know you better, to talk to you and maybe, just maybe, to kiss you.

You gave him a little but honest smile. Your eyes shone with the expectations of meeting someone that seemed as interesting as Clark. Inevitably your mind started to wonder about the fact that maybe Clark wasn’t a puppy but a nice wolf ready to play with you if you asked for it. That only thought turned your little smile into a playful one, and in that moment you thought that maybe this party was going to be more promising than what you thought at first.

Up, up

Don't come out, out, out

Don't show up, up, up

Don't start now (Oh)

Up, up

Don't come out, out

I'm not where you left me at all, so

“Babe… babe… baby… honey… love… bunny… Baby!” You said with a soft and a bit needy whine.

“Yes, hun?” Clark said with a small smile on his face, magnificent deep voice making you smile inevitably and since his dark-framed glasses were resting in the little nightstand, his gorgeous blue eyes were looking directly at you while his fingers caressed your cheek.

“Do you really have to go today? Can’t you just… stay here and rest with me? Maybe have some grown-up fun.” You said with a smirk that had the intention of being seductive.

Of course, calling sex as ‘grown-up fun’ made your boyfriend laugh softly. After all, with you, talking about just fun could be anything, sex, play a video game, run around your house with nerf guns or even, just lay on your bed while cuddling was fun for you. You were just like that, you didn’t need a lot of things or fancy stuff to be happy together and that was so special in your relationship. When you were together, you didn’t need to be the perfect model and the shy but smart journalist, you didn’t need to keep appearances or try to impress the people around you. Clark didn’t need to be the wonderful and perfect hero that he was in front of the citizens when he was showing himself as Superman and you didn’t need to act like a crazy party model, and that was just so perfect. Besides, Dick, Jason, Tim and even Damian loved him. You weren’t sure why they warmed up to him so quickly but you accepted it when they told you that you would know with time.

“I have to go… you know this mission is important and that the team needs me…” He said with a soft sigh, caressing your face and hair, getting closer to you so you were almost laying on top of him, since you were already cuddling.

“I can cuddle for a couple of minutes but then I have to fly…” He said with a relaxed smile, knowing that this was going to be enough to keep you happy for a couple of minutes before he had to go.

Clark hated the idea of leaving you. The idea of going away from home to fight some villain was quite awful for him, since it meant that he was going to leave you alone and unprotected. But he knew that he needed to be there, and he knew that deep down you understood him. After all, he really loved helping people and you were so proud of him because of that.

You knew that Clark was Superman. He had told you about it after you decided to make your relationship official. So, one of your date nights, while you were cuddling in your bed and watching a movie, he had confessed everything. Of course, at first it was hard to believe, almost thinking that he was making some weird type of joke, but after he explained more and showed you that he wasn’t joking, you began to understand different things about his behaviour and his weird explanations for the sudden “work trips”.

So, you were aware of his different fights and at some point you decided that you weren’t going to just stand there while he fought the bad men and got hurt from time to time. This meant that you decided to help him. Of course, when you told him that you were going to aid him he got quite mad. The idea of you putting yourself in danger just so you could help was something that he did not wish for. So, the fight between the two of you kept going until you talked about the things you thought you could do to help and he realised that you weren’t talking about fighting by his side, but to help him recover from injuries and to write some of the articles he had to do for his daily job. Eventually he accepted the idea and everything was alright again.

Just as he had promised, Clark stayed with you for a few minutes before flying away. You let out a soft sigh and sat down on the bed, knowing that even if your boyfriend was strong and probably more powerful than whoever villain he was going to fight, you couldn’t help but to get worried for his safety. After a few minutes -or half an hour, but who counted, right?- of you worrying for him, you decided to stand up and start to cook for the next day. You were planning to do something simple like a pie or a cake, after all, you wanted to be able to concentrate on the mail meal tomorrow and this was the best way to do so. Clark and you had planned a nice day so he could introduce you to the league and you thought that the best way to do it was to let you host the meeting. You wanted everything to be just perfect, after all, you knew that the league wasn’t only Clark’s colleagues, but also his friends, and you wanted to be accepted with them since the two of you were dating for almost a year.

If you don't wanna see me dancing with somebody

If you wanna believe that anything could stop me

Don't show up (Don't show up), don't come out (Don't come out)

Don't start caring about me now ('Bout me now)

Walk away (Walk away), you know how (You know how)

Don't start caring about me now (So)

Clark was by your side, his caring and big hands on your waist while you let your back lean on his chest. The two of you were standing in front of a mirror, and while Clark wasn’t wearing the glasses that kept his hero persona hidden, he was in civilian clothes. You were also wearing casual clothing, comforting yourself in his touch while you tried to relax and just avoid the nervousness that was creeping over your throat.

“Everything is going to be fine… they are going to love you, really” Clark said with a big and relaxed smile on his face, trying to calm you while he caressed your body over your clothes.

“Are you sure? Maybe what I cooked won’t be tasty enough… or maybe they hate the dessert… or... “ You started to ramble while leaning even closer to Clark. It was almost as if you were trying to hide under his touch.

“Stop, they are going to love you just as much as I do…” He stopped you in the middle of your rambling, leaving soft kisses on the side of your face and then pulled away, making you turn around so he could kiss your lips briefly.

You were about to stand up on your toes so you could kiss him again but you stopped when you heard the doorbell ringing. You knew that this sound meant that the league was already on your doorstep, you weren’t sure who would be the first to arrive but you decided that you couldn’t postpone this situation anymore. So you took a deep breath, kissed your boyfriend one more time and then started to walk towards the door of your house, involuntary smiling when you heard Clark’s footsteps right behind you.

In front of you were a couple of people that had kind smiles on their faces. Diana and Barry, like Clark had introduced them to you, were quite kind and easy to talk to. As soon as they arrived they commented about how wonderful your house looked and they talked about the food smell that promised a wonderful meal. Soon enough the four of you were talking and enjoying each other's company while you waited for the rest of the league to arrive. You were in the middle of a story when you heard the doorbell. Clark, being the sweet heart that he usually is with you, went to open the door while you stood up and started to pour more drinks to your visits and the new guests.

“Well, hun, apparently most of them decided to come at the same time…” Clark said with a chuckle while he entered the house with almost everyone from the league following him.

“Well, this means that we can start serving lunch, don’t you think, babe?” You turned around with a smile on your face. Smile that disappeared from your face and couldn’t help but gasp while showing your surprise when you saw, not only the kids, but Bruce walking behind your boyfriend. Bruce also looked surprised, and if you had not lost your power to be able to interpret his expressions, he looked a bit horrified.

“(y/n)?” He asked while looking directly at you, his eyes fixed in your figure standing a few steps away from him.

You knew you looked different, you knew that seeing you in this house, with a new boyfriend, looking so relaxed and happy wasn’t something he expected. You knew that he didn’t wish for you to be unhappy, but he probably thought that you wouldn’t be able to love somebody in a long time. Oh, he was quite wrong about that. But being totally honest, he didn’t have a right to judge you in any way. After all, the breakup was because he couldn’t keep it in his pants while being with that woman.

“You are Clark’s partner...?” He said after a few seconds.

You knew he couldn’t judge you in any way. You knew he didn’t deserve a thing from you after all what he did. You knew all of this. But still, you couldn’t help but shiver while looking at the man that with his affair, pushed you to go away from your city and leave the kids that you considered yours.

“Long time no see…” You finally said like an answer, while looking at the other man and walking closer to Clark. You man, noticing your reaction, walked the steps that were necessary until he was close enough to put his arm around your waist. It was clear. With this action, Clark was saying “back off”, he knew about your breakup, he wasn’t sure about the circumstances because the one time he asked you explained that you didn’t want to talk about it and he understood. But he knew that there was something wrong with the way you reacted towards Bruce and he wasn’t going to leave you by yourself while you were feeling insecure or bad about something.

“Why…?” You started to ask while looking at the man in front of you. He was wearing a simple shirt and pants, it wasn’t totally casual but if you thought about it, Bruce was never casual. Still, his attire didn’t explain why he was there like it was fine, like he didn’t enter a place full of superheroes.

“Wait… Are you Batman?” You finally asked while looking at the man with big and a bit surprised eyes.

Of course, when you were dating you had some suspicions. After all, the man tended to disappear in the middle of the night and then appeared like there was nothing happening. But at that moment, most of your thoughts were about him going to fix some problems in the office. After all, being the owner of a company as big as his wasn’t something easy. So when every time that you asked about him going away, he told you that he was working, you believed him. Certainly like a fool since he was lying to you straight to your face but, still, you believed in him.

After that train of thoughts you couldn’t help but think about your kids, and then about the young heroes that were with Batman from time to time, and as easy as adding two plus two, you had the whole picture in your mind. At that moment you were ready to yell at him, to explode with rage towards the man who endangered your children without even caring if you knew about it or not. Because yes, your relationship with Bruce was brief and quite rushed (biggest example; being engaged to the man after months of dating) but since the moment you met the kids you knew that they were your children and that you had to protect them. You were ready to scream with anger towards him but you stayed quiet, not really because you wanted to, but because at that exact moment Bruce had no better idea than to talk again..

“I know that you already made all the connections about it but yes, (y/n), I’m Batman… now, care to explain why you are dating Clark?” He asked looking at you like you’ve done something bad. Like he had the right to judge you and lecture you about your love life.

“Well, Bruce…” You started while putting your hand over Clark’s free hand, caressing the fingers that weren’t hugging your waist like he was ready to fly away at any moment.

“I don’t really have to explain anything to you, you know? In fact, I feel like I’m the one who needs an explanation, maybe about the fact that you are my ex-fiancé and I didn’t know about your little hero persona, or about how you decided to hid from me the fact that my kids are also heroes and that they are in danger every night without me knowing about it…” You said while looking at the man that surprisingly looked a bit nervous under your gaze, then you looked at the children who shifted nervously and looked a bit scared when you told them that the conversation with them was going to be later.

“(y/n), you are a civilian, if you knew about all the hero stuff, you would be in danger.” Bruce said in a tone that pretended to show him as calm and collected. But you knew him, at least, you knew this part of him. Bruce was scared, he was nervous because he didn’t even think about him being caught by you. Maybe he thought about you being so dumb that you never noticed the signs of him being Batman or maybe he just didn’t expect for you to discover him since you have broken up a while ago, in any case, it didn’t matter since you did discovered him.

“Yeah, try another thing buddy… also, me being in a relationship with Clark? Because yes, Bruce, we are in a relationship, it isn’t your concern, you are my ex fiancé, because you wanted to be my ex fiancé, you ruined our relationship and that made me walk away…” You made a pause while you looked how he seemed almost hurt by your words. Clark’s hold on you became a bit more tight, but he didn’t say anything, knowing that you needed to do this by yourself so you could be calm again. He was also quiet because he was really surprised by the whole situation. To be honest, the whole group that was around you (except your kids because they knew that their father was an asshole towards you and they knew how the whole relationship ended) was watching the interaction with surprise in their eyes. After all, it was surprising the idea of seeing someone snap at Bruce and even more surprising the fact that he seemed affected because of it.

“So, Bruce… I won’t be against you being here and enjoying a nice evening with the league, children and my boyfriend… But I won’t allow you to come to my house and to demand for an explanation that you don’t deserve… are we clear?” You finished talking while crossing your arms over your chest and looking directly at the man that you could finally say was nothing to you. For a few seconds, Bruce remained in silence, looking at you with a frown on his face. Confusion, anger and maybe a bit of regret were all over his face in an expression that you couldn’t fully interpret. He almost seemed conflicted, but when you thought that he was going to argue with you, he just let out a sigh and looked at you with a sad smile.

“Yes, (y/n), thank you for inviting us to yours and Clark’s home…” He said towards you before nodding and starting to walk inside your living room.

Soon enough, the children hugged you and after a few words of apology for keeping their secret identities from you, they walked inside the living room being followed by the rest of the league. All of them greeting you and complimenting the decorations of the house. The rest of the day was spent in the middle of conversations, eating food, you being complimented for your cooking skills, and fun stories that helped to clear the air between you and Bruce. You weren’t friends, you weren’t going to try to be friends, but at least you weren’t hostile towards one another and it was all thanks to the people around you.

When the sunlight started to disappear and the food was almost over, the members of the league considered you a new friend and they slowly started to go towards their houses. After talking with the children, you came to the agreement that they were going to stay with Clark and you for the weekend. Then, when almost everybody was gone, you stood while leaning on the door frame of your house, Bruce was in front of you, looking directly towards you with a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. He wasn’t faking the smile, but you knew that like before, this smile was full of sadness.

“I lose you forever, right?” He asked softly, almost in a whisper and like a year ago, you remembered him whispering the same voice a quite adorable and caring ‘I love you…’

“Yes…” You answered and put your hand on his cheek, smiling towards him with the same sad and tired smile that you couldn’t help but to show him.

“Does he make you happy? Really happy?” He asked and you just closed your eyes while nodding before opening them again when you felt his hand caressing yours.

“I’m sorry for hurting you… It’s good that you are happy and I hope that we see each other again...” He said before pulling away and starting to walk towards his car before going inside and driving away.

You weren’t friends, you probably would never be friends again, and you knew that he was sorry, that he missed you. But you were sure that he knew that he lost you at the moment he even thought about cheating on you. He knew that you weren’t going to be back with him, and that being back in your life would be hard and painful for you and him. So he did what he thought was for the best and walked away. If some day you wanted to give him an opportunity to be friends, he would be grateful and take it, but he wasn’t going to show up again to try to win you back just so he ended up ruining everything. He wasn’t going to hurt you again if he could avoid it.

Up, up

Don't come out, out, out

Don't show up, up, up

Walk away, walk away (So)

Up, up

Don't come out, out, out

Don't show up, up, up

Walk away, walk away, oh

#batfam imagine #batman x male reader #superman #clark kent x male reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x male reader #batman #batfam x male!reader #x male reader #x male!reader #dc comics x male reader #dc comics imagine #DC comics #clark kent imagine #bruce wayne imagine #don't come out

729 notes · View notes