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gamerwoo · 4 years ago

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[Tales from the Pack] Hansol: Fire and Ice (Part Two)

Characters: Hansol x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, angst, a little bit of fluff in there tho, a hint of crack, lots of talking about death, mention of stabbing

Word count: 1,964

Summary: You’ve always been one to let your emotions get the best of you – your power reflects that – and you’ve never been good at expressing them. That’s why you always thought you’d be awful with a mate, but you never thought things would be this awful.

Previous | Next | Fire and Ice Masterlist

It wasn’t until the mates at Jiung’s house watched the werewolves perk up and strain their ears that their heart started racing, the too-quiet and tense atmosphere being broken. Chanseong stood up to follow Rin – who had come home alone before everyone else after chasing after you – as she went straight for the door. But she still didn’t smile. Nobody in their pack had smiled once since you ran out with Chan chasing after you.

Rin turned to look at Rika, saying something quickly in English. The smaller girl understood, ushering the mates that had made it back on their own back into the living room.

“What is it?” Yeji asked worriedly as Mingyu rushed right out the door behind Rin.

Rika sighed, trying her best to get a look out the window, “I know you’ve all guessed something was wrong, but… Somebody didn’t make it back.”

“What?!” Jooyeon cried, already assuming the worst.

“Someone’s missing?” Jia asked urgently. “Who?”

Rika just shook her head before sitting on another couch between two of her pack’s mates.

Then the front door opened, and everybody in the living room stood, waiting to see who would enter. But every face was somber, and some had silent tears in their eyes or sliding down their cheeks.

The group in the living room watched as Hansol entered, carrying you, who was passed out in his arms with your face tear-stained and set in almost a scowl. Rika just stared at him for a beat of silence before wordlessly leading him out of the room. None of them were sure what happened to you, but they hoped you were okay.

They watched as Chanseong stood after seeing you, and walked out of the room with a loud sob escaping passed his lips. Jimin got up to follow him.

Eyes scanned each person one-by-one as they entered, everyone wanting to know who made it back okay. Were their mates okay? Was it the person they loved most who didn’t make it back? The group in the living room watched as members of Jiung’s pack entered, all silently crying as they filed in. Jaesang, Hanbin, Jinyoung, Baekhan, Hyojun – all of them had tears in their eyes and sliding down their cheeks. But even Seungcheol’s pack looked upset. The alpha himself entered, head bowed and tears brimming his eyes as he tried to not cry in front of his pack. It wasn’t until Jooyeon cried out his name and ran into his arms that he sobbed into her hair.

They realized once everyone was inside that it was the alpha of the pack that had helped them that didn’t make it back. Jiung had died.

The reunions were sweet, and almost made everyone in Seungcheol’s pack forget about whatever had happened. Jia clung to Minghao’s arm, frantically whispering things to him in Mandarin as she sniffled and kissed his cheek -- even giving Junhui a quick peck on the cheek and telling him she was happy he was safe. Wonwoo enveloped his sister and his mate in a tight hug, kissing both of their heads before taking his niece in his arms and cooing to her while she slept.

And of course, brothers and sisters hugged each other and said their forms of love and caring. Joshua gave a stern look to Soomin before he hugged her and complained for scaring him half to death. Jihoon gave Suvi a genuine smile as he patted her hand and told her he was happy she was finally safe. Seungkwan threw his arms dramatically around Chan and cried that their “baby is okay��. Even Soonyoung strolled up to Jooyeon casually, giving her a side-hug as he grinned down at her.

“Saw some of those assholes with knives in their chests,” he commented like it was nothing. “I’m proud of you, Yeon. You defended your pack.”

“I’d do it again if I had to,” she told him with a proud smile before Soonyoung squeezed her shoulder again.

“Let’s hope we don’t have to,” Seokmin spoke up.

“So, what happened in town?” Wonwoo had asked as the pack finally settled into the living room to discuss the aftermath.

Things were calmer now. Mates were relaxed together, Wonwoo and Danbi were sitting beside each other on the couch and softly talking to each other, and Eunjin looked peaceful as she looked curiously around the room. For once, things felt normal, which was a rare occurrence for the pack.

“I can assure you that the son-of-a-bitch Donghae is dead,” Soonyoung nodded. “Our little Suvi is safe – oh, and happy birthday, by the way.”

Chan held Suvi a little closer to his side – he had returned from disposing of the tracker, and Suvi’s arm was healed thanks to Joshua – pressing a kiss to her temple and making the girl blush. It made both packs happy knowing that he didn’t have to worry about her anymore. He could just be with her.

“Does anybody care to explain the _____ situation?” Danbi wondered slowly. “She freaked out before she left, and came back out cold.”

Obviously the pack had noticed Hansol hadn’t come back yet even though they’d seen Rika wandering around, so nobody was sure what happened to him or you. Those who weren’t there to see what happened did, however, notice Wonwoo’s gold eyes suddenly look down at the floor. Danbi just knew he did to you what he had done to Jooyeon her first night at the wolves’ house.

“Well…” Soomin began, since she was one of two mates to come with the pack.

Jeonghan clamped a hand over her mouth.

Danbi, however, knew that this was a dead giveaway that you being passed out was her brother’s doing, “Wonwoo!”

“It’s not his fault,” Hanbin suddenly appeared from the kitchen, carrying two mugs in his hand, which he started handing to mates. “_____ was becoming hysterical.”

“Somebody didn’t come back. Who died?” Jia wondered bluntly, though her voice was soft.

She was the only one who didn’t know because nobody wanted to be the one to tell her. Jiung’s pack was grieving and they could hear everything. Nobody wanted to talk about it and make it worse.

Hanbin sighed, a crease forming between his brows, “Our alpha, Jiung.”

“He sacrificed himself for Hansol,” Eunjin spoke up, her voice quiet and airy like her head was somewhere else – and judging from the spacey look, it was. “That’s why I thought Hansol was the death… He indirectly caused it…”

“But Hansol’s also _____’s mate,” Seungcheol continued, making the mates and Chan look up at him in surprise.

Before anyone could say anything, though, Danbi spoke up, “That doesn’t explain why Wonwoo had a vile of that sedative with him!”

Her brother just shrugged, “After Jooyeon, I just kept it on me.”

Hanbin continued to go back and forth from the kitchen – eventually assisted by his mate, Jimin – until each of the pack had a hot cup of tea in their hands. It had started pouring after the pack came inside, but the rain eased up as the tension in the room became less and less. Still, water continued to fall from the sky, and Seokmin refused to look at anybody as he sipped his tea.

“You can all stay here for a little while before going to the other house,” Hanbin said, mustering up a soft smile. “I’m sure Hansol wants to be with _____ anyway.”

“What happens to her?” Joshua suddenly asked. “From what I know, if the werewolf had a werewolf sibling by blood, the sibling becomes alpha.”

“An alpha can also denounce their alpha status if they leave their pack,” Soomin spoke up, being an expert on this thanks to Beom. “If Kyung chooses, she doesn’t have to be their alpha. However, if she wants to be alpha but chooses to come with us to be with Hansol–”

“Doubtful,” Jeonghan commented.

“–then she cannot be her pack’s alpha,” Soomin concluded, ignoring Jeonghan.

“Look, that’s _____’s choice,” Seungcheol spoke up, “and she’s not around, so let’s not discuss it.”

“Let’s discuss how Wonwoo drugged yet another girl,” Danbi spoke up, making the pack erupt with laughter, happy her comment could ease more of the somberness. “You’re really on a roll, Woo.”

“Yeah, he’s really a peach,” Soomin nodded, making Wonwoo’s face turn red as he smiled and rolled his eyes.

The pack started to fall asleep in various places of the living room, but Eunjin had noticed Seungcheol excused himself and never returned. She recalled him going outside, so since she was one of the only people still awake -- the voices wouldn’t let her sleep -- she decided to go see what was up. She figured he just couldn’t sleep, and she didn’t blame him considering the events that had occurred.

Eunjin opened the front door and poked her head out. Standing by the railing of the porch was Seungcheol, looking up at the stars. She stepped outside and softly closed the door, walking over to stand beside him. The wood of the deck was cold on her bare feet but it felt nice.

Even though Eunjin sometimes unintentionally snuck up on even the wolves, the alpha knew she was there and began talking to her, still staring up at the stars, “Do you believe in Heaven?”

Her brows furrowed, “What?”

“I wonder if that’s where Jiung ended up,” he continued, his voice soft. “Or maybe ghosts exist and he’s still around. I don’t know if those voices are ghosts or just...something else.”

Eunjin frowned, looking up at Seungcheol, “You don’t feel guilty, do you?”

He shrugged, “I just feel…sad. He shouldn’t have died. He wasn’t just a leader and a pack brother, he was somebody’s twin brother. He was such a caring person, it just– The whole situation just sucks.”

They both knew the pack was worried for Hansol because of what happened. You blamed him, and Hansol even blamed himself. Not only that, but Joshua pointed out that you weren’t doing well emotionally, and clearly lashed out without thinking things through. If you did anything to yourself, nobody was sure what would happen to Hansol. Sure, he would be patient with you, but if you just flat out denied him, you’d both die. If you ran off and did something to yourself… The question that people wondered was if Hansol would be able to carry on like Joshua had, or if the heartache would be too much for him.

Seungcheol was probably more worried about that right now. Hansol was the second youngest in the pack and Seungcheol wanted to make sure he’d be okay. The alpha wanted to somehow help, but he didn’t know how to. What could he say to help the situation? What could anybody say?

“Where’s Hansol?” the banshee wondered quietly.

“He’s just waiting outside _____’s door,” he replied with a sigh, finally looking away from the stars to look down at his hand on the railing. “He wants to give her space, but he wants to be there for her, too. Jaesang told him that _____’s feeling just as conflicted.”

“Sounds familiar,” she murmured, raising your eyebrows as she recalled not only her own confliction with Seungkwan, but the stories she heard of the alpha and Jooyeon.

Seungcheol chuckled, his golden eyes looking down at his sister, “Kinda does, huh? I guess our pack has an issue with conflicting feelings.”

Eunjin let out a soft sigh and simply nodded. She thought it would be weird to tell Seungcheol that she had a feeling everything would eventually be okay because of what the voices were telling her, so she opted to just leave the conversation on a somewhat lighthearted note.

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just-come-baek · 4 years ago

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get in, loser 3

Pairing: Taeyong x female!reader

Themes: smut | mafiaboss!taeyong | streetracer!reader | carthief!reader

Word count: 6.8k

Summary: Taeyong has another assignment for me, and though it seems quite simple, I could not foresee these complications. Also, why do actions have consequences? Somebody should’ve warned me before!

A/N First of all, special thanks to Ally for supporting me through ko-fi! 🥰 Also, sorry for not updating it sooner, I’ve been busy with work and college, the next chapter will be probably around New Year, since I’d like to write something christmasy. 🎄Enjoy~~

There’s something unexplainable about Taeyong.

He’s a living paradox; on one side, he’s a ruthless mafia boss who won’t hesitate to attack people who had dared to wrong him. However, on the other, he’s a caring leader that is ready to go out of his way to protect his loyal associates.

Though it was, give or take, two weeks since I got to know him personally, I could deduct this much. There was nothing he valued more than loyalty, and I made a mental note to myself to never let him down, especially in this department.

Despite witnessing him murder Haechan and Jisung, I felt oddly safe in his arms, and it was alarming as fuck. Only God knows how many red flags I decided to ignore this night for the sake of his warm embrace. Perhaps it was stupid and reckless, but I didn’t care.

I was scared, and it provided me with warmth and comfort. Taeyong was the one who inflicted the wound on my mind by making me torture Haechan. However, at the same time, he was helping me to treat it with his support.

I didn’t do anything wrong. However, according to Taeyong’s twisted sense of justice, it should be me to punish them – an eye for an eye and all of that bullshit.

As soon as Taeyong led me out of the basement, he leaned in. His whisper tickled my sensitive skin as he ordered me to wait for him in my new car. With a slight nod of my head, I exited the mansion, awfully glad he let me go. Though I tried to forget it even happened, my mind was replaying all of the events from the last hour, making me sick.

The cold fresh breeze hit my face, making me shiver. Wrapping my arms around my torso, I made my way to the vehicle. Once inside, I turned on the music player, looking through for my therapy playlist.

The first song on the playlist was “Don’t Cha” by The Pussycat Dolls, and I nervously began tapping my fingers against the steering wheel in the rhythm. At some point, I unconsciously started singing my heart out, and it actually helped me calm down my nerves.

Unfortunately, the sensation was short-lived. As soon as Taeyong sat down in the passenger seat and closed the doors, I once again became a nervous wreck.

What did he want to discuss with me in private?

“Your opponents didn’t make it easy for you, did they?” Taeyong asked with a mischievous smirk upon his face after he saw the current state of the car.

“It’s just a couple of scratches; it’s no big deal,” I stated, trying to brush it off. Though it pained me, I knew Doyoung would gladly help me fix the vehicle in exchange for a fancy bottle of booze. (And some free ride coupons if he happened to be extra whiny.)

“So…” I cleared my throat, trying not to seem overly intimidated by his presence. “What did you want to talk to me about?” I asked, avoiding his dominant gaze. Under the influence of Taeyong's penetrating eyes, I’d most likely agree to anything in a heartbeat, and that’s not what I wanted at the moment. I had to be assertive and stand my ground.

“First of all, where is the money you won tonight?” Taeyong inquired, and I tilted my head toward the glove compartment, where I had stuffed all the cash I had won in the race. With a playful smirk, Taeyong reached in, pulled out the bag, and looked inside.

“You made me really proud tonight,” he commented, staring at the money before he put his hand into the bag and threw a handful of cash on my thighs. “That’s the tip, spend it wisely,” Taeyong added, and I smiled sheepishly, having no idea what I could spend this money on.

“Thanks,” I answered out of courtesy.

“I know you must be exhausted, so I’ll be quick,” Taeyong started, and I smiled, glad he understood my state. I had survived a couple of terribly tiring days, and right now, I just wanted to return to my tiny apartment, crawl under the covers, and sleep to my heart’s content.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Next Saturday, I have a business to tend to, and I’ll be needing a driver,” Taeyong explained vaguely, and I nodded my head, making a mental note of it. “Normally, I’d ask Lucas, but we’re a bit understaffed right now, so he’s going to be pretty busy.”

If I wasn’t half-asleep by now, I would be outraged. Ever since I had stolen Taeyong’s vehicle, I put my blood, sweat, and tears into proving I could be a legit gang member. And now, they were looking for recruits, the nerve! Partially, I might’ve been an indirect reason they were understaffed at the moment, yet it still managed to anger me.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll do it,” I replied dismissively, not even bothering to ask for any additional information. The case seemed too easy; there must’ve been a catch, but at this point, I didn’t care. I just wanted this conversation to be over with. Taeyong wouldn’t assign me to this task if he didn’t believe I could pull through, so I naturally agreed, hoping I wouldn’t regret this negligence.

“Someone will text you more details sometime next week until then, get some rest, you look like you need lots of it,” Taeyong spoke teasingly as he once again eyed me from head to toe. I could only guess how awful I looked with the bruises, the eye bags, and an unimpressed frown on my face.

“Gee, thanks for that,” I jested, making Taeyong smirk in response.

“See you soon, doll,” having leaned toward me, he whispered before pressing a delicate kiss in the corner of my mouth, confusing the hell out of me.

What the hell was that?

***

Though at first, I was doubtful, I somehow managed to get better over the week. I still had a vivid picture in my mind of the crime scene unfolding in front of me, but it didn’t bother me as much as it had earlier. Also, I didn’t feel like throwing up out of stress when I thought of Taeyong. As time passed, all the intensity seemed to wear off, and I was glad because I wasn’t ready to take in any more stress.

Right now, I felt great.

Most of the bruises already healed, and I slept to my heart’s content and even went to the fitness club for some yoga classes. Last night, Doyoung and I had a sleepover at my place with classic 90’s movies, unhealthy snacks, and fruity face masks.

Life’s beautiful, I’d say.

Just as Taeyong had said, someone had texted me the details about the next gig. It was Lucas, and as much as I liked hearing from him, I’d much prefer a face-to-face encounter. He was hot as fuck, and though out of my league, I would love to appreciate his ethereal beauty in person instead of imagining him in yet another gorgeous outfit. I just couldn’t help myself; it was his fault he looked like his place was on the cover of Men’s Health.

His message was short, but it provided me with a lot of information, and in all honesty, I was glad he didn’t give me too many details. All I had to do was to escort Taeyong and his friend to a nightclub outside the city and drive them back to the mansion. The car would await me in Taeyong’s driveway, and I should arrive about half an hour before the departure. Oh, and of course, what the dress code was – nightlife extravaganza.

I had no idea what business they were to tend to, but I decided it was for the better. The less I knew about Taeyong's dirty dealings, the less trouble I was getting myself into. If I knew what they were about to do, I might’ve found myself in yet another one stress-heavy episode. It seemed like the only reasonable option to stay the hell away from any possible stress factors.

“How do I look?” I asked Doyoung as I stepped out of my bathroom, letting him check out the outfit. I was wearing a black two-piece, consisting of a cropped top with straps around the waist and a pair of high-waisted leather skinny pants. With ankle strap red high heels, a matching quilted purse, and sharp make-up, I felt sexy and empowered.

“You look like a badass CEO, is this the look you were going for?” Doyoung stated after carefully judging my outfit. Sighing, he put one leg over another. “I like it,” he smiled, giving me thumbs up. “Top it off with that leather jacket, and you’re good to go.”

“The black one or the red one?” I asked, looking at the jackets, wondering which would suit me better, ignoring ‘the really???’ look that Doyoung was giving me. “OK, never mind, sorry I asked,” I groaned, throwing the black jacket at Doyoung’s face, putting the red one over my shoulders.

“Mr. Bad Boy won’t be able to take his eyes off of you,” Doyoung remarked in a snarky manner, and I stuck my tongue out, trying to ignore the verbal jab. Very sophisticated conversation between two best friends, I had to admit.

“I won’t even reply to that,” I sighed and went to the mirror to check out if my make-up needed any retouch. Doyoung must’ve really thought I was trying to impress Taeyong with the outfit, and to be honest, it was the least of my worries. Though we barely spoke with each other, Taeyong didn’t seem to understand the meaning of personal space, so I doubted he cared what I was wearing. As long as I’d let him take it off, he would be satisfied.

Not that I thought about letting him do that…

I was a professional, and sleeping with my boss, or even thinking about it isn’t at the top of my priorities. I’m a skilled car racer and a thief, and that’s what I’m planning on focusing on.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back. Close the doors when you leave, okay?” I told Doyoung, and he smiled, lying on the couch, reaching for the TV remote.

“No worries, I’ll just watch the game, clean up the mess you made, and leave,” he said before he stuffed his mouth with a handful of potato chips. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

***

Punctually, I parked my cute Fiat on Taeyong’s driveway right next to a big ass black Hummer. Having got out of my tiny vehicle, I made my way around the monster truck, seeing Lucas in the driver seat, setting up the navigation system. I knocked on the window, and the man turned his head around in a second, sending me a playful smirk.

God, he’s ridiculously hot. My memory didn’t do him justice. With his hair swept back, in a loose red jacket and a low-cut black t-shirt, he looked mesmerizing. A minute later, he exited the vehicle, and I saw him in all his tall glory, and for a brief second, I forgot how to breathe.

It was the effect® Lucas had on regular people.

“The keys are in the ignition, the location already typed into the GPS system. Taeyong and the other guy should be here in a few,” Lucas said, and I nodded.

Who’s the other guy?

Not even Lucas knows his name?

Strange…

“Hello to you, too,” I spoke, smiling at him. Taeyong was nowhere to be seen, so I cleared my throat before firing a question, initiating small talk. “How is recruiting going?” I inquired, genuinely curious about the progress he must’ve made.

“Nothing much yet, but I’m full of hope,” Lucas answered honestly, scratching the back of his head. “Actually, you inspired me to broaden my horizons,” he added, and I cocked up my eyebrow, wanting him to continue. Did I inspire him? Wow.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’ve done some impressive shit,” Lucas confirmed, and I blushed at the compliment. “I’ve figured we need more women in our field, and I’ve talked to two best female candidates I could find. Right now, we discuss terms of recruitment,” Lucas explained excitedly, and I was positively shocked to hear such news.

Did someone hit him in the head with the feminism manifesto, or what?

“I don’t know what to say…” I whispered, trying to wrap my head around the newest revelation. Having experienced the treatment I received from most of them, it was hard to believe it took them so little time to change their mindset. I mean… it was just Lucas for now, but the change was already visible. “I’m happy to hear that; I can’t wait to meet them,” I added, turning my head to the side upon seeing Taeyong and his friend.

“Meet who?” Taeyong asked in confusion as he didn’t know the full context of our conversation.

“We were just talking about new recruits. I fill you in as soon as I have everything confirmed,” Lucas spoke. Taeyong nodded his head in comprehension, not even half as interested as I was. “Have a safe trip. I’ll get going,” he excused himself before walking away to a white Lamborghini Huracan.

“Missed me, doll?” Taeyong asked with a suggestive smirk decorating his face, as he bit on his bottom lip, glancing at me from head to toe. Yikes! It was unprofessional, and I wanted to scold him for being such a caveman. However, on a second thought, I decided to straighten my back to assert my confidence. Taeyong just wanted to express his appreciation for my fantastic outfit. Even though he chose the creepiest way of doing it, I chose to ignore it with a subtle eye roll.

“Is he always this nasty with you?” The mysterious man asked me as he walked past Taeyong, stretching his hand, greeting me like a regular person. “Pardon him, I’ve told him many times to work on his manners, but it’s like talking to a wall,” he added, and I chuckled, respecting the man already. He was talking shit about Taeyong in his presence – it was admirable.

“Who’s nasty? Speak for yourself!” Taeyong yelled, but his shorter friend just brushed it off.

“I kind of got used to it,” I replied casually, trying to give him a neutral answer.

“I’m Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, but since no one can pronounce it right, everybody calls me Ten,” he introduced himself, and I replied with my name, hoping he would use it instead of yet another infantile nickname.

“Nice to meet you, Ten,” I answered, smiling at the man politely.

“Should we get going?” Having cleared his throat, Taeyong asked, urging us inside of the vehicle. Following Taeyong’s order, I smirked, thinking of his ridiculous behavior. It was the first time when I didn’t give him my full attention, and it was evident it bothered him.

It was new and refreshing, and it was kind of cute of him.

“Yeah, sure, get in, losers, we don’t have all night,” I added, growing a little bit impatient with their slow movements.

“You really have to stop calling me that,” Taeyong whispered in a low voice as he put his hand on my thigh and gave it a firm squeeze.

“And you really have to fasten your seatbelts, or we’re not going anywhere,” I teased with a big, artificial smile, scraping his hand off my thigh. “Those rules apply to you, too,” I added, looking into the rearview mirror, catching Ten sitting comfortably, ignoring seatbelts.

“Is she always like this?” Ten asked, yet obediently following my instructions.

“No. Usually, she’s way cooler,” Taeyong answered, pouting slightly.

***

A little over an hour later, I parked the Hummer in front of a night club. Apparently, all types of shady dealings were meant to be discussed over strong liquor and with a half-naked lady sitting on their laps.

“Good luck, boys,” having turned off the engine, I spoke, sounding awfully like a mom, dropping her kids at another soccer practice.

Annoyed, Taeyong smirked. “Oh no, you’re going with us,” he added, and I cursed under my breath, displeased that Taeyong managed to ruin my plans of staying behind and not getting involved in whatever business they were about to discuss. The less I knew, the better, and Taeyong was really making it difficult for me.

Trailing slowly behind them, I entered the club.

“Get anything you want. We’ll be back in a few,” Taeyong whispered into my ear as he slid his platinum credit card into my palm. “Don’t cause any trouble,” he added before they both walked away to the booth at the back of the establishment.

I still could see them, though they were outside my earshot. It couldn’t get any better. I wouldn’t have to worry about hearing anything that wasn’t meant for my ears. However, at the same time, I could appreciate their natural beauty, fashion sense, and confidence in their original habitat.

I was a designated driver tonight (duh), and it was more than irresponsible to buy myself an alcoholic drink – especially with my ridiculously low alcohol tolerance. Leaning over the counter, much to the bartender’s dismay, I ordered a virgin Mojito.

Having checked whether or not the bartender spat into my drink, I picked up the glass, wrapped my lips around the straw, and took a sip. Though it was delicious, I’d much prefer it to have some alcohol in it. Maybe next time, perhaps tomorrow on my day off, I told myself as I spun on the barstool to have a look at Taeyong and Ten.

They both looked gorgeous, though they didn’t fit the typical mobster description.

Taeyong had his now baby blue hair styled down, a white suit jacket, a baby blue T-shirt, and light pants that made him look like some lawyer on a business trip. Ten, on the other hand, with his messy parted bangs hairstyle, an olive bomber jacket, black hoodie, and a pair of black cargo pants, resembled a lost college student.

The men, who they were meeting, were a completely different story, though. All of them seemed like lethal mobsters with their short hair and all leather outfits. I knew for sure I wouldn’t like to stumble upon them in a dark alley. Without any doubt, they had guns on them, and I was fearful enough to turn my head around and return to my drink.

Not knowing how much time it would take them to discuss all terms of whatever agreement they wanted to sign on, I decided to text Doyoung to pass the time. Unfortunately, before I managed to pull out my phone, my drink got knocked over by a very drunk girl sitting on the barstool next to mine.

“Hey, watch it!” I shouted as I jumped off my stool, not wanting to get all wet. In a matter of a few seconds, the bartender rushed over, helping me wipe off the counter.

“I’m really sawwy,” she said in a drunken haze, and I rolled my eyes, not really wanting to start an argument with an intoxicated person. When drunk, I also tend to be more clumsy than usual, so I simply decided not to hold her accountable for such a minor mistake.

Having apologized for spilling my drink, she excused herself, leaving her date at the bar alone. A good-looking man ordered another round of cocktails for him and his date. I cocked my eyebrows at his behavior. She was already drunk; another drink wouldn’t make her any good.

In a minute, the bartender placed two cranberry vodkas on the counter, putting it on the man’s tab. At first, I wanted to mind my own business and not attract any unnecessary attention. However, when I noticed the man slipping something into the woman’s drink, I knew I needed to intervene. He wanted to hurt her, and I just couldn’t let that happen.

Sighing, I jumped off the barstool and marched to the bathroom, wanting to warn her. Thankfully, she was standing in front of the mirrors, washing her hands when I found her.

Casually, I stopped next to her and pulled out my lipstick to reapply it.

“Are you alright?” I asked her, watching her wobble in her ridiculously high stilettos. She was barely standing on her feet – she was in no condition to have yet another drink, let alone a drink spiked with some type of drug.

“I feel funny. I had one drink, yet I feel like I had five,” the woman commented, placing her purse next to the basin, searching for cosmetics to touch up her make-up. “It must be because I barely ate today, I was so stressed about this date, so I only had breakfast,” she added, but it didn’t calm me. If anything, it made me even more alert.

“Is it your first date with him?” I inquired, trying not to sound intrusive. She seemed a bit naïve, and I wanted to look out for her. If I could prevent her from getting hurt, I had to try.

“Yeah, he asked me out yesterday in a coffee shop next to my building. He’s so romantic,” the woman explained dreamily, and I refrained from groaning in distaste. What kind of dudes did she date in the past to think this guy was romantic?

That was all I needed to know to figure out that he just wanted to get laid and toss her aside. He just wanted to use her body without even earning her consent. No matter how good looking he was – it was unjustifiable. I couldn’t let her go to him and become a victim. I had to try and prevent her from getting hurt.

“Are you sure you want to go back to him in this state? If I were you, I’d reschedule,” I commented, trying to talk her out of continuing this date.

“What is your problem?” asked she, her tone laced with anger and irritation. “I’m on a date, and you keep ruining it. What’s your deal?”

Wow, that was rude.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She couldn’t be for real, right?

“Listen–” I started, trying to defend my case, but she, once again, interjected me.

“No, you listen! I’m on a date with his hot man. You may try your luck somewhere else. I can bet you’ll find someone willing to fuck you but buzz off from me, and my man,” she hissed, and I just blinked a couple times, trying to comprehend what just happened. Though she was annoying the hell out of me, I still had to help her. Perhaps she didn’t fully deserve my saving, but I had to try. Friends or enemies, she didn’t merit to be taken advantage of.

Trying to flee the scene, she grabbed her purse and turned around to storm out of the bathroom. Fortunately, I managed to wrap my hand around her wrist before she made her way to the doors.

“Get a grip, woman!” I shouted at her, hoping she would listen to my loud voice – especially when she didn’t seem to particularly enjoy my calm and worried tone. “He roofied your drink and wants to take advantage of you. You better get yourself a ride home and leave.”

She looked at me, and I looked at her, having an intense stare contest. She must’ve been weighing her options before she tore her arm from my grasp.

“I can take care of myself,” she added before leaving the bathroom.

I tried, I told myself, but it still made me uneasy. She didn’t listen to my warnings, and she was about to get hurt, and it made me feel remorseful. I didn’t do my best. I still could prevent her from getting assaulted.

Heaving a deep sigh, I left the bathroom, determined to stop the man from drugging her even if I had to swallow the poison myself.

They were sitting by the bar as earlier. She was laughing at his joke, and he had his hand on her thigh. They seemed comfortable, but I knew enough to realize it was superficial.

Slowly, I approached them, stumbling over my legs, pretending to be shitfaced drunk. Once the drink was within my reach, I fake-tripped, spilling the alcohol on the man’s laps.

“You bitch,” he yelled in absolute anger. Apparently, he didn’t like it when his plan fell through. “Look what you’ve done!” He jumped to his feet, trying to wipe off his jeans.

Unfortunately, his furious outburst brought lots of attention to us. Instinctively, I turned to look at Taeyong. He was staring at me, mouthing, get out.

It was my much-awaited cue, so I gave this gross man some half-ass apology and left the club without any second thoughts. I had enough of this drama; I’d rather wait for them in the car.

Patiently, I waited for Taeyong and Ten to return. Time flew by quickly as I browsed my social media feed, forwarding the funniest memes to Doyoung.

Maybe thirty minutes later, Taeyong knocked on the window, wanting me to open the trunk. Two huge men with heavy leather jackets and gold chains around their necks threw four enormous black bags into the trunk, shutting it close with a loud thud.

I had no idea what the cargo was, but it didn’t sit right with me. Whatever it was, it must’ve been illegal, and it made me jumpy.

“What’s in the bags?” I asked carelessly, regretting my questing the second it left my mouth.

“Do you really want to know?” Taeyong challenged, and I vigorously shook my head in firm denial. Chuckling, he added, “Just samples.”

“Right,” I answered, dismissing the topic. Quickly, I turned on the engine and drove away, wanting to get back to the mansion as fast as it was lawfully possible.

Unfortunately, not talking about the cargo didn’t make me stop thinking about what’s inside the bags. Taeyong’s business has many branches, varying in dozens of illegal activities. Regardless of what was sitting in the trunk, we would all go to prison if caught.

“What kind of trouble did you cause when I specifically requested you didn’t?” Taeyong asked somewhat throughout the ride. His hands were squeezed in fists, resting on his thighs as he waited for my answer.

“I know, I’m sorry,” I genuinely apologized before I began pleading my case. Hopefully, with proper justification for my actions, Taeyong would understand. He was a human, after all. “I just couldn’t stay idle and watch this nightmare unfold in front of me. I had to help this girl out, even though she didn’t seem to appreciate it."

“Jaehyun was right about you,” Taeyong whispered mysteriously, making me raise an eyebrow in confusion. What kind of prejudice Jaehyun held against me? “You’re way too nice for this job,” he added, and I took a deep sigh, expecting a much worse response.

Though it pained me, it was understandable that being good was a bad thing in this line of business. Typically, I’d be glad to hear such a compliment, but under these circumstances, it made me upset. I wasn’t a saint, but I had some sort of a moral backbone.

“I wouldn’t necessarily put it that way,” I trailed off, thinking of the best way to present my abilities in the most fitting way.

“It was admirable if you want some second-hand opinion,” Ten interjected, pretty amazed with my attitude. “You should’ve punched him in the face, though. I’d love to see that,” he added, and I giggled, picturing my fist colliding against his jaw.

That would be a very nice picture.

“Can you drop me off at the Moonlight club? I’d like to meet with a friend of mine if that’s not a problem?” Ten asked, and I hummed in agreement, punching the club location into a navigation system. It was on our way, so it really wasn’t a nuisance.

“Sure thing,” I added, returning my focus on driving. Unfortunately, as soon as I shifted my attention to the front of our lane, I saw a car overtaking the Hummer. A second later, it flashed red and blue lights right, mentioning for me to stop the vehicle on the side of the road.

The police cruiser.

FUCK.

It was impossible. After doing so much illegal stuff, it was ironic to get caught when properly driving. It was a bad sign, and in a matter of seconds, I turned into an anxious ball of stress.

What a lame way to the end of my career!

OK, you gotta keep calm. Normal women can bullshit their way out of getting a ticket, so you can do it, too! I tried to psych myself up, though it didn’t help much. My mouth was still dry, and my hands were all sweaty. They’re about to discover I’m hiding some illegal stuff in the trunk. I couldn’t go to prison – orange is definitely NOT the new black.

“You can do it, doll. Don’t lose your cool,” Taeyong whispered, giving me an encouraging squeeze on the knee. Admittedly, it didn’t work.

“Yeah, don’t even think of all the drugs we have the trunk stocked up with,” Ten added, and I angrily turned back to yell at him for giving me info that I did not want nor need.

“Why would you say that?!” I shouted, trying to collect my thoughts. Cool, cool, cool, cool. You got this. You’ve survived worse. “If we make out of this alive, I’m gonna kill you,” I warned Ten before I straightened my backs, rolling down the window for the policeman who approached the vehicle.

“Good evening, Mr. Officer,” I beamed innocently, trying to read the policeman’s surname off the uniform, yet in vain. “I didn’t go too fast, did I?” I asked, batting my eyelashes in a poor attempt at flirtation.

Yikes, so much cringe!

“Driving license and vehicle registration certificate,” said the police officer coldly, completely ignoring my pathetic wooing. Unwillingly, I handed him the documents, praying to all the gods for him not to investigate the trunk. “Please, step out of the vehicle,” he added, and I followed his orders, ready to cooperate if he was willing to overlook the car inspection.

Obediently, I entered the backseat of the police cruiser, awaiting the interrogation.

“I’m an experienced driver. Did I make a mistake?” I inquired, waiting for them to give me the reason for pulling me over. My driving skills are mastered to perfection. I was really interested in what lame-ass excuse they were about to conjure to give me a ticket to fund the city’s budget.

“It’s just a routine checkup,” one police officer spoke dismissively, checking my data in their database. “All cops were asked to do routine checkups. Apparently, tonight some gang was doing drug drop-off, yet we stopped dozens of suspicious cars, and nothing came out of it. It must’ve been a false lead.”

What the fuck?

How, on Earth, did the police find out about this? Even I, who was a part of the drop-off, didn’t know what was inside the bags until two minutes ago. Was there a mole in the organization? Or maybe the police sent an undercover agent?

Thoughts were running through my head at a ridiculous speed, my gears were shifting swiftly as I tried to make any connection. Unfortunately, I didn’t connect shit. One thing was sure, though. If, by any chance, they let me go without investigating the car, Taeyong wouldn’t be thrilled to hear the news.

“Really? Drugs? And here I thought I live in the safe neighborhood,” I commented, feigning my cluelessness. Surprise, surprise, it actually sounded natural. Almost as if I was born to be a benighted dumb-dumb. “You better catch those smugglers.”

“We’re doing our best, miss,” the other policeman chimed in, and I tried my best not to roll my eyes at his for this evident negligence. They had culprits right under their nose, and it seemed they did not suspect me.

How could a dumb chick like me be involved in such a shady operation, am I right?

As much as I felt the urge to prove them wrong, I decided not to. As tempting as it was, it was extremely unbeneficial. I just wanted to get the hell out of the cruiser, drop the guys at Taeyong’s mansion, get my paycheck, and go home.

“Where were you going at such a late hour, miss?” The policeman asked, handing me back my documents after not finding anything worth further investigation.

“My friends were at the bachelor party in the club outside the capital, and they got really drunk, so I drove all the way there to pick them up,” I explained, though I got a feeling they weren’t listening to what I was saying.

“Uh-huh,” one of them muttered, quickly writing a messy note of the routine checkup, handing me back my documents. “That would be all, thank you for your cooperation,” the cop added, and I politely smiled, bolting out of the cruiser.

Phew!

Having fastened my seatbelts, I drove away. I just wanted to get the hell away from them, hoping they wouldn’t change their mind and order a thorough vehicle inspection. Taeyong and Ten must’ve had a dozen questions; however, I just turned up the volume of the radio, ignoring their concerned glances.

“Get out,” I barked when I abruptly stopped by the Midnight club. Perhaps it was rude, but I didn’t care. I’ve had a very stressful night, and politeness wasn’t on my mind.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow; good luck with miss grumpy,” Ten spoke before he jumped out of the vehicle, almost as if he was afraid I was going to talk back to him.

“What’s with the attitude?” Taeyong casually asked, and I sighed, trying to calm myself down. “I get you’re stressed, but you shouldn’t take your annoyance on us. Besides, if you’ve forgotten, let me remind you. I’m your boss, and Ten is my close associate.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized before I revealed what exactly happened in the police car. Truth to be told, Taeyong didn’t seem particularly surprised.

“That’s not the worst thing I’ve heard today,” Taeyong whispered, looking at my profile. “Jungwoo from Busan division called me today. Some of Yuta’s men crossed the border. Apparently, he didn’t appreciate our little prank,” he explained, and I grew speechless.

Karma was getting back at me.

Why do actions have consequences?

“That’s not good,” I answered, unable to form a coherent response. I was royally screwed, yet at the time, I was overwhelmed by the revelation.

Why couldn’t I just wait for Taeyong to put an ad on Craigslist, for fuck’s sake?

“Hey, look at me,” Taeyong ordered, and I obediently tore my eyes off the road to gaze into his eyes. “Don’t think too much about it; it’ll be fine,” Taeyong promised, yet his words didn’t make me feel assured. “You’re one of us; we’ll protect you.”

“You better,” I added, clutching my palms around the steering wheel in yet another stress-fuelled episode. There better be a professional health care program for Taeyong’s employees. Otherwise, I may need a therapist. Stress factors don’t stop coming, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to carry on much longer.

“Do you want to hang out?” Taeyong inquired, taking me by surprise. He, the mafia boss, wanted to spend some time with such a peasant like myself. That concept was wild, and it actually made me wonder. I couldn’t really say no. Some people would die to get a chance to wander around his big-ass mansion with Taeyong himself. “We can order some take out and just chill. What do you think?”

“I’d love that.”

***

Since the police knew the registration number, Taeyong ordered me to park the vehicle in a large garage under his majestic mansion. Having turned off the engine, we got out of the car, and I handed him the keys, lifting some heft off my shoulders. It was a nice car, but the memories it held were terrible. I’d rather forget that I even drove that thing.

“Give me a sec,” Taeyong said, taking a handful of samples, stuffing his pocket with them.

“What are these exactly?” Having creased my forehead in contemplation, I asked.

“These? Oh, it’s a new type of drug. It’s called the punch,” Taeyong explained, showing me a single dose of the drag. It was nicely wrapped like candy, and inside it looked like a mint. “It’s like LSD had a baby with shrooms,” he commented casually, winking at me. “And it tastes like bubblegum; you want to try some? The first batch is in the house.”

“Maybe later,” I answered dismissively, not really keen on having my first trip with Taeyong. But on the other hand, who was a better candidate to do drugs with? “I’d rather have some take out first if that’s not a problem,” I added, hoping he wouldn’t press me into doing anything out of my comfort zone. Not that I expected Taeyong to force me to do things against my will. I didn’t. After all, he was a really considerate man.

“Sure, what cuisine are you craving? I’m thinking… maybe something spicy. How about Mexican?” Taeyong proposed, and I vigorously nodded. Either he was my soulmate or really was able to read minds. “I’ll order something delicious.”

This time around, his mansion felt odd.

It was still majestic and glamorous, yet at the same, it was quiet. Back then, it was packed with Taeyong’s minions, but right now, they were in hiding, giving Taeyong his much-needed privacy. Following behind him, roaming around the spacious corridors felt like being guided through a museum during a private tour.

Once settled in the day room, Taeyong walked up to the bar, brought two glasses and a bottle of tequila, and set them on the coffee table.

“You want some? You look like you need a glass or two,” Taeyong offered upon seeing me all tensed up and anxious on the leather couch, nervously scanning the room.

“I’d rather hear some good news, but the alcohol will do,” I answered, reaching for the glass, downing it in one go, only to regret it a second later. “Pour me another one.”

“Take it easy,” Taeyong suggested, yet obediently filled my glass before turning on music, letting me know what type of songs he was into. Apparently, for late night’s chilling EDM hits were his to-go playlist.

With some liquid courage, it was easier to relax at Taeyong’s place. I took off my shoes and stretched on the sofa comfortably, all unpleasant and stressful occurrences slowly fading away. Unfortunately, these feelings were about to come back in the morning.

Twenty minutes later, the food was delivered, and it was absolutely mouthwatering. Fresh corn tortillas, spicy ground beef with a ridiculous amount of cheese made a perfect combination, tasting orgasmic. If I had less self-control, I’d moan at the foodporn laid out on the table for us to devour.

“So… how did the meeting go? Was it a success, or did I fuck it up with my shenanigans at the bar?” I inquired, narrowing my eyes, carefully watching his reaction.

If I could make out an emotion that his eyes were conveying, it was amusement.

“We will see,” Taeyong whispered, reaching into his pocket, playing with a single sample in his hands. “I only distribute the goodies. I gotta check first if this innovation is worth my time,” he added before popping the substance into his mouth like candy. “Is ‘no’ your definite answer?” Taeyong questioned, looking like a cute innocent hamster with the pill dissolving against the inside of his left cheek.

After a few tequila shots and delicious Mexican take out, I was much braver. However, at the same time, I became a way less assertive version of myself. Consenting to his kind proposition was too easy. Besides, what’s the worst thing that could happen? His mansion’s probably the safest place in the country.

“Fine, gimme,” I gave up, reaching out for the pill.

At first, nothing happened. A few minutes later, still nothing, and I even began to think Taeyong gave me a sample from a faulty batch. It was until it hit me good.

The couch melted like milk chocolate swallowing me in its soft waves before I crashed through the floor of nonexistent colors splashes.

#taeyong smut #nct smut #neosmutcollective #nct angst #taeyong angst #taeyong #lee taeyong #nct #get in loser #taeyong fanfic #nct fanfic #taeyong fanfiction #nct fanfiction

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rivetwrites · 4 years ago

Note

I saw requests were open so could I request something like Shuichi, Kokichi, and Rantaro with a s/o who never talks about their issues/vents? And eventually they grow to notice and worry about it. Sorry if this is too much!

Don’t be sorry at all, thank you so much for the ask! I got a LOT more into this than I had expected but I hope it's still good!! - Mod Tsumugi

(Also it's under the cut because of how long it is, again I hardly expected to go this much but I got veeeery into it SOBS)

Shuichi, Kokichi, and Rantaro with a S/O who bottles things up

Shuichi Saihara

Being the ultimate detective, Shuichi was a very naturally observant person. You were no exception to this, especially once you got together- he was always sure to give you the attention and love that you deserved.

But it was because of this that, as the weeks progressed, he started to grow concerned for you.

He may not have been the most experienced with things like relationships, with his timid demeanor having held him back in the past- but despite that he understood that an important part of any relationship was communication and honesty.

While he did his best to uphold that, always sure to talk to and be honest with you- he was worried about you.

He knew that you weren't lying to him about things. More accurately, it felt like you were withholding things, not flat out lying.

The only thing that led him to that conclusion was how you… never seemed sad. Or upset, or anything negative, really. At first, he'd assumed it was just because you were cheerful and didn't have anything to vent to him about, which he was glad about!

But as time progressed, and weeks turned into months where the only thing you ever complained about were small, non-personal things… he began to question whether you feeling cheerful was the truth, or just something that he wanted to believe.

Shuichi wasn't confrontational. He never liked to bring up difficult topics with others, especially not with you. But worry began to consume him; he knew that going this long without anything happening just wasn't realistic.

Not having much else as an option, he (very fearfully) planned to ask you about it.

It was a weekend; you two liked to simply spend time in each other's presence, you cuddled up comfortably in his lap while you scrolled through your phone.

But this wasn't the first time you two have cuddled together like this, and you could tell that he didn't seem as relaxed as he usually would.

"Shuichi?" Your voice broke through the silence of the room, looking up at him. He seemed to be caught off guard, jumping at the sound of your voice.

"Y-Yeah?" He quickly responded, a harsh pang of anxiety hitting him. Having spent the past few minutes overthinking how he'd bring it up, he had almost forgotten that you were there, and how you were able to feel how he was tense as a brick.

"Are you alright? It seems like something is really bugging you," you giggled, not wanting your tone of voice to sound serious, as to not worry him.

"Ah- yeah, of course!" He fretted, speaking quickly as he did. Now was as good a time as ever- you striking up the conversation instead of him doing it was a great opportunity.

"Hey, S/O- uhh…" you figured that you had hit the nail on the head when you assumed something was bugging him. Turning off your phone, you looked up at him with the most reassuring look that you could.

He had spent so much time thinking about this, only to have never thought about how he would bring it up. Mentally punching himself in the face for how worried he was, he took a deep breath, deciding that being blunt was probably the best option if he didn't want an awkward silence.

"Is there anything going on? I've been worried for you ever since I noticed how you… rarely talk about yourself," his words were shaky, but got the message across. You could feel your blood practically go cold- it made sense that he would notice, yet you weren't prepared for when he actually did.

"... Uhhh…" your choices were to lie about it as you had been for a while, but being dismissive about it could hurt him, and that was the last thing you wanted. But that meant your other option was to open up to him, which scared you.

You couldn't let the silence between you last long- deciding to default to what you had been doing this entire time, since it'd be easier, you force a giggle and scratch the side of your head. "I don't think I know what you're talking about!"

Your words held so little conviction that you might as well have told him flat out that you didn't want to be honest with him.

And he knew. A frown quickly grew on his face as he reached a hand to stroke your back- his strokes were slow and comforting, and you felt yourself slowly beginning to crack.

"Sweetheart, you don't have to lie to me. No- please don't. If I didn't want to help you and support you as best as I could, I wouldn't have asked." You couldn't muster a response; whatever you were going to say caught in your throat. Those words were enough to make your vision grow cloudy with tears, tears you'd been holding back for god knows how long now.

Noticing this, he wanted to be sure he told you everything he'd been thinking to you. "I understand how hard it can be to open up. But if you need me to tell you how incredible you are, or how you make my chest flutter with warmth every time I see you, or how lucky I feel every single time that I'm able to hold you like this, I can. I just need to know that you need me to."

That was about the last straw for you. You failed to stifle a sob as you gripped onto his uniform for dear life, burying your face into his chest as you let yourself finally break. Your quick reaction caught him off guard at first for sure, eyes widening and arms instinctively flying up above you. But he quickly melted into it, wrapping his arms around you and holding you closer to him, resting his chin on top of your head.

The first step was done; he promised himself that he would continue to be there for you like this, and make sure to help you heal from whatever had hurt you in the past.

Kokichi Ouma

Kokichi wasn't exactly known for his honesty, but when the two of you got together, that very slowly but surely began to change.

It wasn't a fast process at all. Opening up was a big fear of his. It started with tiny, tiny things, and he gradually worked his way up- and you were by his side the entire time, happy to help him out.

And it was going wonderfully! Seeing him slowly grow more and more comfortable made you feel so glad.

Only, you were burdened with the fact that you could probably never, ever do the same.

And that was fine with you. The last thing that you wanted was to be a burden to someone else, or stress him out with problems that weren't his own. You could deal with them yourself just fine.

And thanks to Kokichi's tendency to make things about himself, you were comfortable knowing that he likely wouldn't notice.

But, you couldn't be farther from the truth.

Kokichi was a very bubbly and mischievous person, which meant that heavier topics of discussion like these were unbelievably difficult for him.

But he'd lie awake nightly, staring blankly at his ceiling, wondering if there was something that he was doing wrong, or if there were things you weren't telling him.

Your conversations tended to naturally drift towards him, and he was painfully aware of it. For months on end you had never said a word about yourself, and the thought that he may not have known you as well as he initially thought terrified him.

The idea of being vulnerable to somebody he knew little about was horrifying to him, and though he would never ever let that fear show, he had to do something about it.

Today was not a good day by any means. Bad things kept happening back, to back, to back, and you just knew this was one of those days where you could stub your toe and completely break.

Because of that, you were extra cautious not to talk to anybody, out of concern that you'd accidentally snap and scare them off.

Kokichi took notice of your quiet almost instantly, and his worries from the night before came back once again. He'd wanted to bring it up for a while now, and the worry he was feeling in that moment was the motivator he needed.

"Hey heeeey, S/O!" He wandered over to you with his usual greeting smile. You forced a smile in return and greeted him back as well, though your words were unintentionally very, very quiet.

Kokichi being Kokichi, he didn't know what other way to go about this other than being painfully blunt. "Huh? Not even a proper greeting back? W-Why is my beloved S/O-chan suddenly being s-so mean to me??" He made sure to make his voice waver and tears well up, knowing how you found it to be pretty funny once you learned to look past his fake tears.

Thankfully for him, you chuckled a little as you ruffled his hair. He was relieved that he was able to make you laugh, even if it was the tiniest bit. "Sorry, Kokichi. I just didn't have the best day today, so I'm gonna go chill in my room for a bit."

He knew exactly where this was going. It had happened a million times before- he noticed you were upset, tried to turn the conversation towards you, but you remained dismissive and left- and him not wanting to be pushy, he let it happen. But letting it happen never worked before.

Moving quickly, he slammed his hand against the wall in front of you, blocking your path. "Well, you're just gonna leave without telling me what happened? C'mooonnnn, I'll let you go once you tell me who to send my secret evil organization after!" Though his words had a playful tone of voice to them, his actions spoke for themselves. You'd gotten so used to him not pushing at this point that you weren't sure what to do.

"It wasn't anyone specifically," you giggled nervously, breaking eye contact to stare blankly at nothing. He narrowed his eyes, not letting up. "Well, what was it?"

He would usually crack a joke or say something smart right about now and you knew that. You knew what was going on as soon as he asked you what had happened, without a snarky remark to go along with it. You suddenly felt those pre-cry jitters in your face, and your goal became to keep yourself from crying no matter what.

"It's just me being a big baby," you insisted with a dismissive tone of voice. Knowing he wouldn't be satisfied with that, you added, "It's one of those things where bad things in a day just keep building and building. I'll forget about it after I take a nap, or something."

"Then a nap it is!" Without giving you an opportunity to protest, he dragged you over to the other room, garnering an abrupt yelp of surprise from you.

"K-Kokichi, it's fine, really-"

"Nope! Sorry, but the timing is just too good. You need a nap, and I happen to need cuddles, so ooobviously we have to go cuddle now!" He snickered, right before practically tackling you onto the couch. You let out a playful cry in protest, though he gave you no room to say no, clinging onto you like a koala. At this point, you understood there was no telling him "no" once he'd gotten this far, so you let out a sigh of defeat and let yourself relax.

"So c'mon, tell me about your day," he insisted. You realized how uncharacteristic this felt of him- since when would he ask about things like this, especially if he knew you weren't happy about them?

"Umm… it sucked," you giggle, and he instantly pouted.

"You are the worst storyteller! Gimme all the juicy details!"

"I don't really want to… today was bad and I just kinda wanna forget about it." Normally, that would be his cue to stop, and it had been in the past. But he had gotten this far, there wasn't any going back now.

"You'll only feel better if you talk about it. If you don't, I'm gonna cling onto you like this forever!" He "threatened", if you could even call it that. You hardly minded, in all honesty, but maybe talking about the day couldn't hurt.

Yeaaa… you were wrong about that. Having to live through all the shitty things that had happened through today wasn't very fun. But he was listening more attentively than you'd ever seen him, and kept insisting that you continued.

Those same pre-cry jitters came back, and it became hard to focus. He took notice as your words began to melt together and you slowly lost your focus.

"...Y/N, are you okay?"

Those four words were the straw that broke the camel's back. Against your own will, you broke completely, burying your face in your hands and sobbing. It wasn't just the stupid events of the day anymore- finally being able to cry made you think of every single thing you'd been holding in, and only made it worse.

You felt horrible. You had just exploded like that right in front of Kokichi, when all he wanted was to know about your day. Just as quickly as you had started crying, you tried to stop, sniffing and wiping your eyes and nose as you apologized profusely.

"Stop apologizing," he insisted, expression serious now. "And stop trying not to cry. Don't bottle everything up until it breaks- just let it out now, okay?" His tone of voice was uncharacteristically soft, but somehow stern at the same time. You felt his hand slowly stroke your hair and he held you close to him with his other arm. That was enough to make you continue to sob, refusing to show your face and burying it into the cushions of the couch. He was fine with that- he held you close to him all the while, not making a sound as you finally let it out.

Once you began to calm down, he stared you straight in the eyes. His usual playful demeanor was gone, dead set on making you talk to him.

And at this point, you believed you were finally brave enough to comply.

Rantaro Amami

Rantaro was, very very very unsurprisingly, a very big-brother type to you. And you had about expected such, with him having an insane amount of little sisters and all.

But that was just the thing- he had so many sisters, so many other people to take care of and pay attention to. You would never understand how he did it, but the last thing you’d wanna do is add to that already massive pile of responsibilities for him.

And it wasn’t anything bad- it’s not like you had horrible things happening to you every single day! It wasn’t any issue at all.

At least, it wasn’t at first.

Over the course of time, things slowly started to build up. You knew it would- it’s what naturally happens if you don’t share, after all.

But you didn’t have to share. In the big picture, it genuinely wasn’t a big deal, was it? You’d forget about it eventually, so it was fine.

Though you noticed Rantaro’s several attempts to get you to talk, you were stubborn, and dismissed it each time. Rantaro was anything but pushy, and you got away with it often.

It was perfectly okay though- he had enough people to worry about, and stressing him out was the last thing you wanted to do, so you were glad that he didn’t question anything about it at first.

But it was just in his nature to be worried about you. And he was smart- it didn’t take him long at all to catch on to what you were doing.

He understood what to do in these kinds of situations. He’d learned a lot from his sisters and he had every intention of using what he learned to help you out, too.

The two of you spent time together frequently. You’d go out often, whether it be small road trips, exploring around the city, or seeing the beauty of the countryside. It fit his ultimate, and though it wasn’t yours, that didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy your small adventures together.

Today wasn’t one of those days though- your plans had been ruined by an incredible thunderstorm that forced both of you to stay in. Which was fine- he was always down to cuddle on the couch with you, no problem.

That was exactly what the two of you were doing today. You were curled up against his side, playing games on a handheld console together with him to pass the time and have some fun.

But you felt so out of it for whatever reason. Maybe it was just because of the weather, stress with responsibilities as of late, or just a random mood drop out of nowhere. But no matter what it was, it frustrated you. It made it infinitely more difficult to properly relax with Rantaro, which you felt guilty about.

It didn’t take him long to notice either, which didn’t exactly surprise you, despite praying that he wouldn’t.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” He tilted his head slightly to get a better look at you- you just hoped to god he didn’t notice you trying to avert eye contact. If he had asked the same question any other day, it would’ve been fine, but for some reason it felt much harder to respond to right then.

You wouldn’t let that get in the way of anything, though. “Yeah, I’m just a little tired is all,” you murmured, staring into your console’s screen but not paying any attention to what was actually on it. All your attention was suddenly focused on making sure he didn’t catch on to anything.

You didn’t know that you had already long failed that. You hadn’t been as subtle as you had thought when it came to trying to hide things. When you heard the sound of him turning off his console, your breath caught in your throat.

“You know that you don’t have to lie to me, right…?” You felt him softly place his hand on your head, stroking it reassuringly. “Maybe you’re just a little tired now, but- am I right in assuming that there’s been a lot going on as of late that you’ve been struggling with?”

It felt like you’d been hit by a truck when he said that, tensing up and balling your hands into fists. You’d been able to rest easy thinking that you’d done well in making sure that he didn’t worry about you, but it didn’t seem like that was the case at all.

What was worse was that, now you realized he’d known, and probably worried about you all this time. Guilt was quick to flood in once you realized that.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to make you worry. I promise it’s not anything, though! I think I’ve just been genuinely really tired as of late, nothing else.” You hated having to lie to him like that. It was out of instinct, and now you felt regret on top of guilt.

Judging by his reaction though, he didn’t buy it. “C’mon, you can talk to me,” he reassured you, still stroking your head with a thumb. “You know that I’m here to listen, and I always will be.”

He said his words so calmly and gently, and yet they had enough power to make you slowly start to tear up. Staying sane was only possible by ignoring everything that was happening, but now that he was asking you to your face to talk to him, that became impossible. And the instant it was impossible was the same instant you broke.

At first a few tears fell from your eyes, which slowly turned into a light sniff, then a hiccup- and before you knew it, you were letting out every single emotion you’d held up the past few weeks, clinging onto him for what felt like dear life as you sobbed.

He was completely okay with it, resting his head on top of yours and softly stroking your back. Though it wasn’t easy to hear over the sound of your own cries, he’d continue to whisper assuring words to you, encouraging you to let it out, that he was there for you, and that he was proud of you for finally letting yourself cry.

You cried until your body had to focus more on properly breathing than crying, the sound of your sobs replaced by furious sniffing and inhaling. He continued to reassure you all the while, planting soft kisses to the top of your head and holding you close to him.

Once you were able to properly breathe again, though your breaths were still shaky, he asked you to please talk to him. Part of you still protested, not wanting to burden him any more. But you’d needed someone to talk to for so long. You took some drinks of water to rehydrate yourself before sitting down with him.

It was scary, but it was the first step into the right direction to heal.

#mod tsumugi #drv3 #danganronpa x reader #kokichi oma #rantaro amami #shuichi saihara #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #help how do i tag things

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onecanonlife · 4 years ago

Text

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

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

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

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

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

Chapter Word Count: 7,295

Chapter Warnings: swearing, injury, blood, aftermath of (temporary) character death, mild disassociation, slight s.uicidal ideation, references to past abuse

Chapter Summary: The emotional fallout is intense, but they don’t have time to stop and deal with it. Wilbur doesn’t particularly like where they decide to hole up, but beggars can’t be choosers.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

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

Chapter Twelve: nowhere to run

The sun is too bright in his eyes. Too bright, and wrong, somehow, that it should be shining like this. Should still be shining, after the loss they’ve just suffered, after watching his brother crumple to dust in front of him. But the sun hardly cares for things like that, so they all stumble out of the hole in the ground that serves as the entrance to the spider spawner and beyond, and the daylight surrounds them, unforgiving.

“Where do we go, what do we do,” Tubbo is chanting, and Ranboo is muttering under his breath, a continuous litany of, “I can’t believe he’s gone, I can’t believe that happened—” His own lips feel glued shut, his throat devoid of sound. His skin buzzes.

(the two images interpose: Techno hanging from the vine, head at an unnatural angle, Techno wavering on his feet, blood pouring from his throat, and there is a flash of light and there is ash all at once, as if the first caused the second, as if instead of healing him, shoving his soul back into a body clinging to life, the totem burned him up from the inside out, and unlike the phoenix there was no rebirth)

“We can’t stay here,” Puffy says. Her eyes are wide, and her hands are shaking, but her voice has the same determined cant to it as it always does. “We need somewhere to hole up.”

“And where is that supposed to be?” Sapnap demands. His breathing is unsteady. “Where the fuck are we supposed to go after that? Where isn’t the thing gonna be able to reach? With, with Dream being, being, what even was that? Why was he—how was he—?” He breaks off, sparks crackling at his fingertips, and his face is a mask of distress, of questions

(was he always like that and did I not see or did something happen to him did something make him like that is that my friend or is there something inside of him something behind his eyes that is not him at all and if that is the case how did I not notice how did I not notice how did I not save him)

that Wilbur feels he recognizes. Or would, if he let himself. If he let himself care.

His eyes drift over to Phil. Phil, who stands silently, blood dripping from his wings, a thousand old injuries reopened by thrashing thorns. Who stands with Tommy in his arms, Tommy, who is curled up as tightly as he can reasonably manage, his face tucked into Phil’s shirt. Trembling. Quiet.

(he will die and I will kill him, the Egg says, and I have already begun, and you cannot protect him, you do not have the strength, except by what I can grant you)

“Church Prime,” Puffy says. “It’s the only place that might be safe.”

“Who’s to say it would be?” Sapnap snaps. “You saw it in there! The vines have never moved like that before, and Prime knows what else it can do now. And maybe the Egg wouldn’t be able to get in, but who’s to say that would stop—” He cuts off again, face contorting.

His leg is beginning to hurt, now. All of him is, actually, now that his adrenaline is wearing thin, now that the horror is sinking in, but it’s concentrated in his leg in particular, and he looks down to see that his left pant leg is all but shredded, blood dripping down in steady streams and splattering on the grass by his feet. The vines got him worse than he thought, then, and he bites his lip against the sting.

He’s had worse, though. He’s had so much worse. This is practically nothing, and Puffy and Sapnap are still arguing, and Tubbo and Ranboo are huddled together, eyeing the vines around them with deep suspicion, unmoving as they are just yet, and Phil is silent, and he’s going to stay silent, because Wilbur recognizes all too well the strain in his eyes, the way he’s holding onto Tommy with a death grip.

(he’s watched two of his sons die, now, and Techno will be back, will still have two lives left, but that does not heal the hurt, does not assuage the pain of seeing your brother, your son, your family die in front of your eyes before you can lift a finger to stop it, and Phil’s eyes shine with a grief almost beyond what Wilbur can understand. except he understands all too well, in the end)

He’s had worse, and someone needs to step up.

(the old mantle settles across his shoulders, and if he closes his eyes it’s like nothing’s changed at all, and the sun sets on the city he is determined to give everything for, still standing, walls still strong)

“Boxed in like a fish,” he croaks, and Puffy and Sapnap turn to him as one. “That’s what we’ll be, if we go to Church Prime. Whether it protects us in the moment of not won’t matter once we run out of supplies. We need somewhere better situated. Somewhere we can defend, that might withstand a siege, if it comes to it.”

Puffy makes a frustrated gesture. “I’m open to suggestions,” she says. “The prison, maybe, if we have to? We could probably keep people out as easily as—ah, shit, Sam.” She pulls her communicator out and taps out a quick message, and then frowns. “It’s telling me it can’t go through. Why isn’t it going through? Sam had all three lives, he should be—”

“Admins can read private messages,” Phil murmurs. “Wouldn’t surprise me if Dream could fuck with the whole system, whatever the fuck he is.”

Wilbur reads between the lines. Techno, for the moment, is unreachable. He processes the information and moves on, refusing to let it get to him, refusing to let himself be overpowered by

(Techno’s unreachable Techno’s unreachable Techno’s respawned and he’s on his own and they can’t talk to him can’t get to him quickly and what if something went wrong what if something happened)

emotions.

“Sam will make his way to us,” he says. “I’m vetoing the prison. Like hell are we staying in there. Other thoughts?”

“What gives you vetoing power?” Sapnap asks.

“Somebody needs to make a decision,” he says, and it is with strength he doesn’t feel, confidence he is only pretending at, a force of command that comes from some unknown place, since he feels as though he is miles away from himself, “and I don’t see you coming up with anything. Either help or stop complaining.”

Sapnap’s face reddens, and he opens his mouth, to argue, no doubt, but then Ranboo breaks in with, “Foolish, maybe?” and hunches his shoulders when attention turns to him. “Sorry, it’s just, I’m pretty sure Foolish isn’t, um, a big fan of the Egg or anything, so maybe he could help?”

Wilbur has no idea who the fuck Foolish is.

“Nah, he’s too far out,” Tubbo says. “It’ll take ages to get to his place. And we need somewhere close, but not too close, so we still have a good place to fight back from, right, Wilbur? If we leave now, the Egg’ll just take over the whole SMP with nothing to stop it.”

“My thoughts exactly, Tubbo,” he says, and again, it is just like the old days, and they are standing atop the L’Manberg walls, and Tubbo has just said something particularly clever, and warmth and pride curl in him before he remembers where they are, what they’re doing. They need to decide, and soon. They’re just hanging around near the entrance, and sooner or later, someone’s going to come after them, whether they let them go at first or not. “Is there anyone else who has a good position, location-wise and resource-wise?”

“Wait,” Puffy says. “Eret’s castle.”

“Eret’s castle doesn’t have doors,” Sapnap says.

“No, but I stopped by earlier to see if they wanted to join us,” Puffy says. “They weren’t there, but the grounds were completely free of vines. And sure, there aren’t any doors, but between all of us, I’m sure we could make some. Eret’s got plenty of supplies, last I checked.”

Eret. The name evokes a wealth of associations, most of them unpleasant. His first instinct is to reject this idea like the last, to avoid placing their lives in the hands of one who has already betrayed him, who led them all into a death trap, who almost ended their revolution in one fell swoop. But Puffy has a point. Eret’s castle ticks all the right boxes: it’s defendable, well-supplied, and if there are no vines to clear, all the better. They’ll have to build doors, but between the lot of them, that’s easily manageable.

(a wealth of associations and many unpleasant but there is Eret offering them supplies offering their fragile rebellion help and they tried so dearly to redeem themself and he could not have seen that then wrapped in his own shadows as he was but perhaps he can see it now perhaps he can better appreciate it, give a little more benefit of the doubt, and if he is given a second chance after everything after committing the worst crime of all then who is he to deny them absolution?)

(another memory, more blurry: he is scared but stalwart as they go through the motions, and he does not want to die, is terrified of that endless void, but he knows that the server needs a leader and his living self must be that leader, and Eret is here, and Eret agrees, and Eret acts out their part, and Eret is trying so hard, and he cannot see their eyes behind their glasses but he imagines that if he could, he would see a fool’s hope in them)

“Eret, then,” he says. “We go to Eret.”

And no one disagrees. It’s strange. They have no reason to listen to him, really. They have far more reasons not to listen to him, more reasons to think that following his lead will end in disaster than otherwise. But Puffy nods, and Sapnap backs down, and Tubbo and Ranboo both look to him for direction like it’s the war and he’s in charge of child soldiers once again. Phil looks to him, too, but his expression is inscrutable, and only a slight tightness around his eyes shows that he’s in any pain at all.

So they go to Eret. Staggering through the grass, tripping over vines that still don’t move, thank Prime, and then along the Prime Path, and his leg hurts worse with every step, pain jolting up into his hip, it seems, and it’s not long before he’s walking with a limp. But they’re all hurt in some way, so he hides it as best he can. He can deal with it when they’re safely behind stone walls.

And then, Tommy says, “Put me down, I can walk.”

Wilbur glances over. Tommy’s face is still buried in Phil’s shirt.

“You sure, mate?” Phil asks softly.

“Yes, I’m fucking sure,” Tommy snaps, louder now, turning his face outward, pushing against Phil’s chest. His cheeks are flushed, his breaths coming short and fast, and he’s trying to pass it off as anger, and maybe part of it is. But Wilbur knows him better than to think that that’s all. Knows him better than to think that he would have let Phil carry him in the first place if he was alright.

“Okay, then,” Phil says, and swings Tommy down. Tommy wavers for a step, but slaps away Phil’s hand when he extends it, muttering a sharp, “Fuck off.”

And then they keep going. Tommy doesn’t say anything else. Wilbur keeps glancing at him, but he’s refusing to meet anyone’s gaze, even Tubbo’s. And—that’s another thing that’s going to have to wait. He wants nothing more than to stop now and make sure that Tommy’s going to be okay, but they don’t have time, and the general in him will not call for a halt until the retreat is over, until he is sure the enemy is not biting at their heels.

(retreating from Dream once again, and it is familiar and not, the same and not, and history runs in a circle, echoes and rhymes)

Eret’s courtyard is indeed free of vines, just as Puffy promised. Wilbur half-expects them to be nowhere in sight, based on what Puffy said, but they are standing right there, next to a skeletal horse they’re frantically saddling, and they’re checking their communicator every now and again, with the jerky motions of someone who doesn’t particularly want to but can’t make themself stop.

Then, suddenly, they look up at the sky. Wilbur follows their gaze to the flock of crows wheeling overhead, a dark mass of beating wings, each bird barely distinguishable from the others. All of them completely, eerily silent.

Eret stands there a moment. Just staring. Wilbur can’t tell what the look on their face is, but their shoulders are tense. And then, they look back down, and realize that the lot of them are there, stumbling in under the gate, and they visibly startle.

“Hey, Eret,” Puffy says, before they can get a word in. “Can we crash? And build some gates?”

“What,” Eret says. “What is—Puffy, what is going on? How did Dream manage to kill Sam and Technoblade? Is he—” They run a hand through their hair, and then start striding forward, their cape flaring out behind them. They haven’t said anything about him yet, haven’t reacted to his presence. “He’s out, isn’t he? I was going to come and see, but he’s out?”

“He’s out,” Puffy agrees. “We were kind of hoping you’d help us out on this one.”

“Of course,” they say quickly. “Of course, anything you—anything you need.” They’re rattled, clearly, more than Wilbur has ever seen them, perhaps. “I just—how did this happen? I thought the prison was secure, I thought—are you all okay?”

“Aside from the obvious?” Puffy says. “Yeah, we’re great. You haven’t been around much lately, I don’t know how much you know about the Egg and all of that, but that’s an issue too, along with Dream. And some other stuff that I’ve got no idea about, that we really just kind of need to all sit down and talk about.”

“The Egg? I’ve—I’ve heard of it, I think. I’ve been elsewhere for a while.” Their lips twist into a smile that isn’t quite a smile. “Doing a bit of soul-searching, you might say. Found more questions than answers, unfortunately. Alright. I can get you all whatever you need, you can absolutely stay here if that’s what you’d like, but what was that about gates?”

Right. This is taking too long.

Wilbur still feels a bit outside of his body as he steps forward, but that’s alright. He’s limping, but the pain is distant, and he can let his brain work on autopilot, let his mouth move on its own without regarding the consequences, without thinking too much about

(this is Eret and you know them and they betrayed you and you hurt them and now you’re back and here is a test here is a true test it shouldn’t matter how they react to you you shouldn’t care for their opinion but you do you know you do though you pretend you don’t pretend they’re nothing but a traitor to you but you are a traitor to yourself and you know that between the two of you you are the worse and here you both are and you only need one more and everyone will be back together again like the old days like the old days those good old days)

what happens next.

“Right, then,” he says, straightening his spine and stepping up to be visible just behind Puffy, to the side and a few feet back. Eret’s head whips toward him. “To summarize: the Egg is bad, Dream is also bad, they’re now working together, also with Bad, Techno is gone, we’re all in rough shape, a mind-controlling potentially demonic entity is likely to try to take over the server, and also, I’m here, despite my best efforts. Does that paint enough of a picture for you, or should I elaborate further?”

Eret stares at him. He stares back, doesn’t let himself fidget. He’s putting the general on display, and it has never felt more like a disguise, like yet another mask,

(and didn’t he tell Tommy he wasn’t going to do this anymore?)

but a familiar one, one that’s almost comfortable. He can force himself into the general’s shoes and worry about tactics and battles and numbers and strategy, and tuck the rest of himself away for when there’s time for it. Can think of this as just another alliance to be made, a debriefing to be held rather than

(Eret traitor friend ally enemy the place in your heart is curdled and sour and you do not know if you are capable of starting anew)

and his losses are statistics and cold facts rather than

(Techno’s eyes golden and glittering and then they go dim and pale red pale and staring the light in your brother’s eyes gone out and it is not the first time you have watched a brother die in front of you but Technoblade never dies is never supposed to die never to go to dust never and you cannot make sense of it cannot make sense of the world turned on its head)

“Wilbur?” Eret asks, after a very long moment, and he doesn’t understand why their voice breaks in the way that it does. “You’re—it’s you? Not Ghostbur?”

He spreads his arms, lifting an eyebrow.

“Do I look like Ghostbur to you?” he asks.

“No,” Eret answers right away. “No, that you do not. Um, has this been a thing, or…?” They trail off, and Wilbur can’t figure out exactly what their feelings are, but it’s too late to back down, even if he wanted to.

“For a bit,” he says. “Not for too long. Can we move on? We’ve got bigger issues to deal with at the moment.”

He means multiple things, with that. He means, there’s bigger things to worry about than why I’m here. He means, there’s bigger things to worry about than our history, and as so long as we’re on the same side for the moment, it can’t matter right now. He doesn’t know if Eret catches all of that, but whether they do or not, they nod, seeming to steady themself.

“Of course,” they say. “I—for the record, it is good to see you, Wilbur.” There is genuine relief in their voice, a tone that says they’re actually glad he’s here, more than glad, even, and he really doesn’t have time to unpack that at the moment. They need a plan, and fast, and they need some goddamn gates. And medical attention, probably. The cut on Puffy’s head looks nasty, and Phil’s wings are still dripping blood, and it’s difficult for Wilbur to look at them for too long,

(grief rises up guilt rises up crushing choking your father is grounded and it is your fault)

but it concerns him, how little Phil appears to care for their current state. So there’s that to handle, and it’s almost too much, almost. Almost too much for someone who has spent the majority of the time since he’s been brought back to life cringing away from meeting people, all the confidence he once displayed gone, shrinking, left in the void or in Pogtopia or on the podium from which he announced his own defeat, perhaps. But even still, he remembers how to be the general. He can hide in the general, present the general on the outside, be useful even while he thinks he might be on the verge of collapse, internally. He has been a general, and so he shall be again.

What comes first, then?

He pulls out his comm, scrolling through the messages. There are quite a few in the general chat from just after Sam’s death message, people from all over the server demanding to know what’s going on. His eyes drift over Techno’s, then, and he winces, but keeps reading. There are even more messages after that, capitalization usage increasing dramatically, and his eyes trace over familiar names, a pang in his heart. Niki. Fundy. Quackity. Several from Eret as well. Some from names he doesn’t recognize, like this Foolish person, and someone named Hannah.

But then, they all cut off. There have been none in the past half hour. Since they escaped from the Egg.

Out of curiosity, he taps out a few words: dream and egg have teamed, regrouping at eret’s. Upon hitting send, the screen goes fuzzy, giving him an error message he’s never seen before. So comms truly are down, then, and it’s probably just as well; Dream likely knows where they are, but if he doesn’t, there’s no reason to give him the information.

(and do these old allies old friends deserve to learn of your return from cold words on a screen do you not have the courage to face them yourself face your son your son you have not seen your son)

(the last time he spoke to Fundy, he disowned him. he doesn’t know if he still has a son)

(if he does not, he has no one to blame for himself, and perhaps that is why he is too cowardly to check)

“Right, then,” he says, looking back up. “Gates are the first priority. They might not do much against whatever the fuck that thing is, but it’s better than nothing. Eret, I assume you’d know the best way to go about it?”

Eret’s lips quirk into a slight smile, one that is, perhaps, slightly sardonic.

“It is my castle,” they agree. “The more hands I have, the quicker it will go, but I can get it done.”

“Anyone who’s not bleeding profusely, help them with that, then,” he says. “Anyone who is bleeding profusely—I assume you’ve got pots somewhere, Eret?” Eret nods, gesturing toward the inside. “Anyone who is bleeding profusely gets a pot. Once we’ve got that all covered, we’ll reconvene, come up with a plan for where to go from here. Everyone got that?”

He gets a few nods, and no one dissents, so he’ll take that as a yes. His gaze travels to the kids then, standing clumped together, and Tommy’s eyes are still shadowed, and Tubbo is shifting his weight between his feet, and Ranboo looks lost, awkward, and he wishes he didn’t have to ask anything more of them. But that’s not how wars work, and this has certainly turned into a war.

(child soldiers once again, and how history echoes)

“Tubbo, Ranboo, I want you on the gates as well,” he says, and tries to soften his tone at least a little bit, even if that’s all he can do. “And then afterward—Tubbo, I need you to go through with all of us exactly what you know about—what did you call them? Dreamons?”

Tubbo looks slightly miserable, but he nods. “Right,” he says. “I can try to ward the gates if you want. With, um, anti-demon stuff. I don’t know if it’ll work. I guess last time we didn’t manage to do much of anything at all.”

“Anti-what,” Eret says, but Wilbur shakes his head.

“We don’t have time for that. Tubbo will explain later. We—”

“The fuck am I supposed to do, then?” Tommy breaks in, crossing his arms. “You haven’t given me a job.” He glares, but it is so very obvious that it’s all a front, all a show, and Tommy’s expression dares him to challenge him, but Wilbur thinks that if he does, he just might break something in him. Tommy has always been so much more fragile than he presents himself as, so much more fragile than he likes to believe he is.

(despite it all, despite it all, he is only sixteen, only a child, a child grown old before his time but a child nonetheless, and now a child who watched his brother die for him, an estranged brother perhaps but still a brother, and Tommy has always cared so much and so deeply, no matter how much he pretends otherwise)

He hasn’t given Tommy a job, and he doesn’t really intend to, because Tommy, of all people, needs to sit the fuck down and rest for a moment. They all deserve a break, but in this moment, Tommy is the one who needs it most, and also the one least likely to accept as much.

If the general gives the order, Tommy will follow it, he knows that much,

(because he made his brother into a soldier he made his brother into a soldier and soldiers follow orders)

even if he’ll be angry at him for it, but Tommy angry with him is a sacrifice he’s willing to make. And perhaps directing his anger at him will help. Perhaps it would be better for Tommy to be angry with someone within reach rather than someone out of it.

(because Tommy is hurting, and the cause of that hurt is not here, and so perhaps if Wilbur offers himself he’ll feel better, will feel more in control, because Tommy needs control, because his abuser is out, is wandering free, and his abuser has killed their brother and told him that it is his fault)

But then, Phil breaks his silence.

“I’d like him to stick with me,” he says, with a smile that is obviously strained. “I’m not going to be able to reach everything myself.” He makes a vague gesture toward his wings, still dripping blood, and there is so much of it already drying on his feathers, sticky, tacky, almost blending in with the darkness of the feathers

(but stark against the grey-white of exposed bone)

“Why the actual shit—” Tommy starts.

“Good idea, Phil,” he cuts him off. “Tommy, help him with the wings, would you?”

“Why do I have to—”

“You too, Wil,” Phil says, and his mood sours immediately. “You think I don’t see that leg? C’mon, Eret, show us to the pots.”

When faced with that, he has no choice but to agree, really.

(he wouldn’t have ignored it. he wouldn’t have. He knows better than to leave a wound untreated in wartime. Even if something whispers at him that he deserves the pain, even if the bite of it brings him closer to reality. But his better sense knows: pain is not the penance that is asked of him, not a recompense that will do anyone any good)

**********

They meet again half an hour later in Eret’s throne room. Half an hour later, and his leg is bandaged and tender and no longer an open wound, and Tommy is frowning and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, and the state of Phil’s wings is still bothersome, because he didn’t let either of them touch them beyond what was necessary,

(and he recollects countless nights spent running his fingers through soft, silken feathers as his father told him how to preen them, told him that it was a sign of trust, an activity that only family, only flock is allowed, and now Phil will no longer let them near him, will no longer even take care of them himself and it makes him sick to his stomach to think of what has been lost)

but they are no longer bleeding, and that has to be what matters.

The throne room is not the best location for this, he thinks. It feels awkward. But it’s a room big enough to fit everyone, which is the point, big enough to fit Puffy, presence looming and forehead now bandaged, to fit Sapnap, fidgety as he is, like a caged, snarling animal, all restless energy. Big enough for Tubbo, for Tommy, for Ranboo, for Phil, for Eret and for himself, and big enough that there is an obvious gap at Phil’s right side where someone else should be standing.

Eret eyes her throne, glances at everyone else in the room, and then seats herself at its base. It’s a pithy gesture, meaningless, but Wilbur has more important things to do than to call her out on it, even though the existence of the throne itself grates against him.

“Let’s call this meeting to order, then,” he says, and Eret frowns. Perhaps she doesn’t like that he’s calling the shots in her own

(ill-gotten, dearly kept)

castle, but tough. He’s brought out the general for all of their sakes, so the general is what they’re all going to get.

(it’s a mask again and masks crack but he can keep it up for long enough he can he can they need a leader so he will lead he will lead them)

(you were so good at compartmentalizing, once, go good at shoving it all away in boxes in dark shadowy corners never to be opened to gather dust and cobwebs and faded recollections but the boxes cracked and the demon’s escaped and Pandora was too weak to stop them and it all ended in a bang and he cannot tell if hope remains but that isn’t the point because the box is opened and once opened it is not so easily closed and you are putting on a show a lie and lies come back around again they always do and you should know better than to pretend at strength you do not have you will lead them to ruin again ruin and gunpowder smoke and what gives you the right)

“Yeah, alright,” Puffy says. “Can we start by talking about—whatever that was? What were you talking about, dreamons? What’s a dreamon?”

“That sounds like a made up word,” Tommy mutters.

“I wish it were made up,” Tubbo says, and he winces when all eyes turn to him. But a moment later, he straightens, setting his shoulders squarely, holding his head up high. “I’ll tell you all what I know. Even if that turns out to be not as much as I thought.” He pauses, clearly struggling for words.

“Start from the beginning,” he suggests, and Tubbo nods at him gratefully.

“Okay, right, the beginning,” he says. “In the very beginning, me and Fundy were messing around, and we found some old books. We went through them for a laugh, and we learned about these things called dreamons.”

“Wait, that’s what they’re actually called?” Tommy interjects. “Like, properly?”

Tubbo shrugs. “It’s what the books said,” he says. “We weren’t about to argue over names. Even if it did seem like a weird coincidence. But yeah, that’s what they’re called.” His voice falls into an odd cadence here, recitative, like he’s telling a story, and Wilbur crosses his arms, gripping at his elbows. “They come from the darkness of the void, lurking around the edges of a server’s code. Once they get in, their only goal is to cause chaos and destruction. They corrupt everything they touch, and they can possess people and turn them into their puppets. They have unknowable powers, because they’re a sickness, a rot, like an infection in the code of the server itself. It’s really, really difficult to get rid of them, but it can be done if you have the right tools. Or—” He blinks, stuttering a bit, his voice landing more naturally. “We thought so, anyway.”

“What does this have to do with Dream?” Sapnap asks, stopping his pacing, looking to Tubbo with an expression in his eyes that hurts to look at, a bit, wobbly and desperate and pinched, like he already knows the answer but hopes that he’s wrong, hopes as much as he is able, even though he knows it will be fruitless.

Wilbur has put the pieces together. As best he can, anyway. And Sapnap’s not a stupid man. He can see where this is leading.

“Dream got possessed.” Tubbo sighs, gaze drifting toward the floor. “It was a whole thing. Honestly, we were surprised nobody else noticed. But we—we performed an exorcism. And it was really scary, to be honest. But it worked. We could see it leave, all oozy and black and gross, and Dream was better afterward! He was! So we thought we got it out.”

“But it tricked you?” he asks.

“I don’t understand how it could have,” Tubbo replies. “It’s not—it’s not like the kind of possession that you see in a TV show, where the demon can pretend to be the person or something like that. It’s obvious. It’s too—it’s too wrong to blend in, if that makes sense. It made his voice go all funny and deep, and the way it moved—” He shudders, and then continues, miserably, “The way it moved, there’s no way you could mistake something like that for a human. That’s why we were so sure it worked. Because afterward, he seemed back to normal.”

Something about this doesn’t make sense.

“Tubbo,” he says, wheels spinning in his mind, “when was this?”

Tubbo blinks. “Manberg days,” he says. “Um, that’s why we never told you about it, I suppose.”

He barely bats an eye at the reference. It doesn’t make sense. Because he has sensed that wrongness, as Tubbo puts it, has been sensing it from the moment he set foot in that prison cell for the first time. On some level, he knew that something was deeply wrong, even if a demonic presence was the last thing he would have guessed. But if the whole thing happened during—during that time, and the signs of possession were as obvious as Tubbo says, he would have noticed, wouldn’t he? He had plenty of interactions with Dream during that time.

(unless his own shadows stretched long, stretched far enough to cover Dream’s, to cover the thing piloting him)

But no—his shadows were of his own making, not supernatural. If anything, his mindset should have made him more receptive to suspicious wrongness, not less. So what—

(Dream smiles, and you know what it’s like, to have something whispering in your head, he says, once you let something in, there’s no going back)

“Maybe the first bit was a fakeout,” Phil suggests, arms folded, head tilted. He’s perplexed, which is worrying; it’s rare to come across a being that Phil knows nothing about. “It made itself obvious to lure you in so it could slip under the radar. Faked leaving to put your guard down, maybe.”

It’s plausible. But somehow

(and Dream stands atop the Egg and he says, he says, I tried to fight at first, but it turns out it was right all along, and he says it he says it like it’s separate from him like there is not something else something other speaking from his mouth after all and he tried to fight it he tried to fight it and what does that mean)

“They’re the same,” he breathes, and doesn’t know what he means, not quite yet, “they’re the same, and the Egg controls people, and he was talking about fighting something, about giving in—”

He runs a hand through his hair. Shakes his head.

“Wil?” Phil asks.

“Oi, Wilbur,” Tommy says, almost at the same time. But he needs to—he needs to focus as the pieces click into place, faster than he can process, and he has a conclusion but not the words yet—

He holds up a hand.

“Tubbo,” he says, “you said it can corrupt things. What did you mean by that?”

“I dunno, really,” he says. “It talked about it in the books some, but it was all weird metaphorical language. Couldn’t really makes sense of it. We were more focused on the bits that told us how to get rid of them.”

(he says, you know what the void is like, and Tubbo says that they come from the void, and)

That’s alright. He’s not sure he needs a hard answer to that, because he thinks that if one were to describe the feeling of the corruption, it would be

(it is dark and it is peaceful and there is static at the edges eating away at what makes him himself eating at his soul at his sense of self and it is what he wants, to be nothing, and he does not imagine what it would feel like if it were not what he desired, if he tried to resist it, resist the void all-consuming, all-devouring, resist the void that takes all things into itself and is never satiated)

something familiar.

“Alright,” he says, and steeples his fingers together. “Let me paint a picture for you. Someone gets possessed. You exorcise the thing. But these things can corrupt, you say. So maybe you get rid of the thing itself. Maybe Dream’s pretty much back to normal. But maybe it leaves little bits of itself behind. Maybe he’s not possessed, but maybe that doesn’t matter so much anymore. Maybe it changed him regardless. Maybe it’s still changing him, even though it’s no longer there. Maybe a corruption took root, and there wasn’t any going back from it.” He tilts his head, closes his eyes. “Suppose that the Egg is the same type of thing. Something that forced its way through the cracks of the server, something that’s been smart about it, biding its time. The things that Dream was saying reminded me a lot of what the Egg was doing, you know? Manipulating people, making them into things they aren’t, or into their worst selves.”

He strings the words together as he goes. He’s not sure he’s getting his point across. He used to be so much better at this.

“Wait, so you’re saying you think he isn’t possessed?” Sapnap asks.

“I’m saying we don’t really know,” he answers. “Not unless we get it from him. But Tubbo’s the expert here, and if he says Dream’s not acting like he’s possessed, I believe him. But even if he’s not possessed outright, that doesn’t mean there’s no—influence, perhaps.” He keeps his eyes shut; the darkness on the back of his eyelids is a natural one, but he can almost pretend that it isn’t. That it is darker, deeper.

(void)

“He was right that I know what it’s like,” he says. “I’ve felt the Egg in my head. And I was in the void for—a long time. It felt like forever. I know what it feels like, and there’s some of it in him, I think. Him and the Egg both. They’re the same kind of wrong, the same kind of unbelonging. I’ve never been possessed by a demon before, but if it’s made up of void stuff, that’s the sort of thing that stays with you. Whispering.”

He opens his eyes. Everyone is staring at him, varying expressions of horror on their faces.

He goes back over his words. In retrospect, he can see how they probably came off sounding.

“Wil,” Phil says softly.

“I’m fine,” he says, not at all convincingly, he’s sure.

(once he starts thinking of the void of the peace and of the rest it’s hard to stop even though his desires are now tinged with red and he knows better than to listen but he cannot help himself)

“This is all speculation, anyway,” he continues. “Might not matter at all, in the end, what the particulars are. We just need a way to stop them. Can dreamons be killed, Tubbo?”

Tubbo takes a moment before replying. “I don’t think so,” he says. “Fundy might remember better. But I think the only thing in what we read was the exorcism.”

“Which doesn’t help us much if Dream’s not actually possessed,” Puffy says. “Unless it might work on the Egg? If the Egg’s a—a dreamon too?”

“Worth a shot if we can get to it again,” he says, “but I don’t like risking so much on a maybe.”

“The less we mess with forces beyond our understanding, the better,” Eret says suddenly. She frowns, pushing her sunglasses further up her face. “As I said earlier, I’ve been away a good bit recently, so I haven’t been tracking the Egg’s progress as much as perhaps I should have. But I did notice an increase in activity—well. It was shortly after we tried to resurrect you, Wilbur.” She inclines her head toward him. “I fear that in our efforts, we might have interfered with something we shouldn’t have interfered with. Weakened a barrier of some kind, between our existence and—something else.”

She speaks with a strange kind of gravity. But her words make an unfortunate kind of sense.

He doesn’t look at Phil.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tommy states. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I’m with Tommy on this one. What are you talking about?” Sapnap adds.

“We’re getting off track,” he says, snapping his fingers. “We’re going about this wrong. We don’t have enough information, and we don’t have enough power. Those are our problems. How do we solve them?”

“The obvious would be to get the word out,” Puffy says. “Comms are down, but we can go by word of mouth if we have to. Kinda risky, with the amount of vines on this server, but the nether portal’s right across the way. No vines in the nether, I think.”

“I have lots of old books myself,” Phil chimes in, eyes skyward. “Might be something in there to help that I’ve read and forgotten about. And I’ve got another source of info I’ve barely begun to go through. Old shit I found. It might be worth a shot.” He looks back down. “We need to go get Techno anyway.” He says the last in a tone that brooks no argument, and Wilbur doesn’t try, even if it’s perhaps not the most tactically sound option.

(he wants Techno back too, wants to lay eyes on him, hold his wrist in his hand and count his heartbeats, each one a reassurance, because he knows what it is for a brother to die and come back but that has never made it easier)

“It’s better than nothing,” he says. “Alright, I’ve got a plan, then. Some of us go to the tundra, get Technoblade, and go through whatever books Phil has. Some stay here and fortify the defenses as best we can using what Tubbo can remember that he thinks might work, and a couple of us go around through the nether and tell as many people as possible what’s going on. Gather allies, resources anything else we might need.”

It’s not much of a plan. But based on just how outclassed they are, just how little they know, just how much exhaustion shows in their faces, it might be the best plan they’re going to get for now. To throw themselves back into a battle so soon would be folly.

It never sits well with him to bank so much on a hope, though, a mere possibility that things will go their way.

(but certainties were ripped out from under him the moment Dream killed the unkillable, the moment he saw his brother crumple to ash before his eyes)

“Great,” Puffy says, grimacing. “What could possibly go wrong with that?”

The silence that greets that statement serves perfectly well as a response.

He closes his eyes again. The darkness is no comfort.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #philza #tubbo #eret #ranboo #captain puffy #sapnap #alivebur #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #c!wilbur angst tag

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goldenwitherphoenix13 · 4 years ago

Text

Its time for a probrably wrong union X theory!

Welcome to my first ever attempt at a theory.yall are here to watch ne be wrong. Lmoa.

Union X is coming to an end and its time share with you my big end game theories connecting the dots of kingdom hearts 3 and Re:Mind to Union X. And that is by using some solid evidence from the games and from the light novels. Yes. I'm going there.

This first bit is to do with the idea that Vanitas is the Darkness that possessed Ven in Union X. Now, this could easily be disproven right? Well I think I can actually bring validity to it.

Fist there's the obvious evidence that Vanitas claims that "what I am is Darkness" in Kingdom Hearts 3 and hes been a part of Ven longer than he thinks, he was only extracted is something he mentioned in Re:Mind. This can be written off by him being all the pure darkness in Vens heart, but could be taken as him being the entity darkness.

Ok. So, remember how I said I would talk about the light novels? Well, in said light novels, Vanitas is said to originally have no face/true corporeal form, having the form more like dark Rikus outfit thing, but thanks to Sora touching Vens heart, he gained a more humanish form.

Well.... darkness in Union X...

uhhhh....They have... no form. Just a cloud of purple and black with a figure resemblent of a human form in the center, if you look closely.

And if it were extracted from Vens heart by Xehanort to make Vanitas, that means darkness returns to lay within Ven dormant after the Union leaders defeat it, even when he travels to the time of Birth by Sleep! That or it has left remnents of itself within him to ensure darkness will follow into the future. Either way, it or part of it was in Ven until Xehanort took it away along with the natural darkness of his heart.

But if that's the case, then that would mean Vanitas wasn't technically a part of Ventus, but had resided there so long that that's what he believed. Because memories are stripped when they time travel. Does that effect darkness? Making it thinks its always been Vens darkness and Vens Darkness alone all this time.

Now for things to get a bit wonkey

There's still a big question lurking. What the hell is up with Dark inferno X? (chi pronounced key) its picture is below.

The bio from Re:Mind states "The darkness that erupted out of Ventus's heart and turned into an aggressive heartless. But the voice that was heard at the time intimated that it was "darkness" itself. What did that mean..."

INDEED WHAT!

Well, let's not forget the basic rule of the Kingdom hearts universe. If your heart is lost or Overcome by darkness it becomes a heartless.

Xehanorts heartless, Ansem, possessed Riku in Kingdom hearts 1 when it became a weak heart like spirit... who's to say other heartless who are strong enough can't do the same thing? And the design... who is one person with similar attributes like... a scarf, that Ventus at least encountered or knew?

Ephemer.

Quick point I'll refer to later, but remember, we see Ephemer help Sora with the light of the past later on in kingdom hearts 3. The keyblades all come to life with the hearts of the fallen weilders and stuff and Sora surfs them because video game. Now, this bit is a little confusing. What was Ephemer doing in the white void? Was that a ghostly form of his nobody or something? An appiration? Just his ghost? The moment he arrived in the future?

Well, the moment of him arriving can be crossed of I think. Where did he go if that were the case? Ephemer appearing in that moment does throw a spaner in the world, but I might be able to pull it out and fix the theory prediction.

My theory for this part is that the Ephemer we see in KH3... is Ephemers nobody in a ghost like form waiting for his heartless, Dark Inferno X.

His heartless must of found a way to hide or travel through time and went to hide within Ven's heart like Ansem did to Riku, but it has to be after Vanitas was removed. Otherwise, Dark inferno X would of been extracted by Xehanort too. The entity of darkness or its remnents, however, was with Ven when he travelled through time.

I think the best answer is Ephemers nobody died in the travel or after, is now a spirit, and helped the heroes of light. He's just waiting for his heartless to be destroyed so he can return as his somebody. And now that Sora has defeated it... who's to say we won't see him soon.

Oh and I think the secret Dark Inferno X boss in 3 was just a test for the remind one and went through a minor design change. Image comparison below, pictures from Google.

Kh3 Re:Mind

The unversed floods did the same thing between birth by sleep, bbs final mix and 3 after all going blue to purple and back to blue (I like them purple).

I really don't want to believe that it was Strelitzias heartless and that she might be able to return. I'd rather her remain a permanent death like the keyblade wilders of Union X, Master Eraqus and Master Xehanort. Its nice having a concept of death in Kingdom Hearts.

Where was I? Oh yes. I think Dark inferno X is Ephemers Heartless.

Now for one more problem. How Dark inferno X got to Ventus.

From what I see, it has 2 routes.

1: use the Ark and escape into the future. This leaves only a broken pod in the Union X time so Blain can not join the other leaders. Ephemer just has to wait. The only problem here is how Dark inferno X located Ven and got into castle oblivion without a hitch. Though I guess it did have 10 years to look.

2: hide in someone's keyblade. We've seen hearts contained by keyblades so I don't see why it can't happen again. A curse to the masters defender. I think it atratches its heart to the keyblade and thats how it escaped into Ven. When Aqua left him in Castle oblivion, the heartless snook away and hid within him, waiting for Vens heart to arrive so it could hide better and we could get the scene in Remind.

Either way, thats where Ephemers heartless would reside until it was reawakened.

So, to summarise what we've discussed into a timeline.

The Union leaders battle and defeat Darkness. Maybe temporarily, maybe for good. We don't know until its too late. It probably starts talking about some cryptic stuff, quoting things yet to be heard, who knows. This is where I believe Darkness overtakes Ephemer and turns his heart into dark inferno X (hence why it introduced itself to Sora as Darkness in Re:Mind. In a panic, Skuld and Blaine probably carry their unconscious friends out and flee to the ark, the time travel pods, darknesses remnants inside Ventus's heart and stays dormant until they are brought out. After waking the other 2 up and healing them Skuld, Lauriam and Ven go though the Ark pods, possibly joined by Elrena, and Blaine then stays behind and searches for Ephemers nobody. Hoping to reunite and reconnect the dark inferno X to Ephemer.

Dark inferno X then hides away or travels to the future. I mean, I don't expect it to fit in the ark pods, but it might hide away in there or something. If it does then heres the first scenario.

There is one broken pod left. Blaine does his best to fix it, but its not safe enough so Ephemers nobody dies going through and it ends up as a spirit thing, waiting and searching for its heartless. Oh! And Blaine doesn't figure out how to properly build the things so he decides to remain in this time.

Dark inferno X then searches attaches to Ven to hide away.

The other scenario is it hides away in masters defender and slips by then. Blain sends Ephemer through, but since he's a nobody, things don't go smoothly and Ephemers Nobody probably dies in travel.

The generations pass and everything happens.

Dark inferno X is defeated by Sora.

The end game is coning.

And that's it. That's the whole theory. Here's to hope the Union leaders come out on top in the Union X finale, Sora is saved in the next game and Ven finally gets therapy once he recovers these memories. Actually let's order therapy for everyone!

Also speaking of Ven, Nomura, if you hurt my boy again, I'm gonna punch you.

Theres a reason I made this cringy meme! (art of Ventus by me its one of my older arts of him)

Phoenix out!

(Ps: reply or reblog with inaccuracies)

#kingdom hearts #ventus #Ephemer #vanitas #dark inferno x #kh ux #kh #union x #theory #kh ventus #kh ephemer #look

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omg-someone-actually · 4 years ago

Text

Remus feels miserable. He's also hiding under the covers. He knows it's childish and probably useless because the one person he's trying to hide from shares the flat with him, but the uselessness of his solutions has never stopped him from executing them before so why start now.

He can hear Sirius shuffling in the kitchen, the kettle whistling and the mugs tinkling. The strong, sweet spicy aroma of bergamot is slowly wafting through the open door to their bedroom.

Remus exhales. Earl Grey then. That means Sirius is making tea for Remus as well as for himself. Remus doesn't drink any other but Sirius prefers green tea and yet he always makes Earl Grey for both of them whenever they're home together. He says he doesn't mind having the same as Remus but Remus knows he does it just because the water for Earl Grey needs to be heated just slightly under the boiling point whereas the water for green tea should be around 80°C. He told Sirius multiple times that he can make his green tea first and Remus can boil the kettle for his Earl Grey later but Sirius just looked at him while walking to the couch with their mugs and answered, "But then we would never get to drink the tea together," like it's the most obvious thing on the planet. Just like that, casually hitting Remus' feelings in all the right places. How dare he.

He secures the blanket over his face tighter and burrows deeper into the pillows.

Footsteps. Sirius is walking over and placing something on his nightstand.

"Love, I made us some sandwiches and tea. Marlene is coming to pick me up for the Order mission later. I thought we could eat together in bed before she arrives so you don't have to get up?"

Remus groans. He doesn't deserve this man.

Yesterday's full moon was terrible. He hasn't had a bad one like that in years. The deep exhaustion is still lingering in his bones, his joints ache and muscles feel strained, stretched on a body that looks way too old to be this young. He's normally somewhat functioning the evening after. Not today.

He fell asleep right after Sirius healed the worst wounds on his ribs and thighs and apparated them back to their flat. In times like this, he's beyond grateful Sirius chose being a healer as his career. It makes the post full moon mornings so much easier.

He slept like the dead through most of the day and if that wasn't any indication of how bad the night was, the dull pain in his entire body should have been enough. But none of that prepared him for the shock he found himself in when he stumbled to the bathroom to use the loo and saw his face in the mirror.

There, still red and not fully healed yet, was a new scar across his face.

Now, scars weren't anything new. He's used to having them all over his entire body and finding new ones after almost every full moon. But never before has a scar appeared on his face. It's strange really, that he has managed to avoid his entire head for so long. He probably didn't have this big area of smooth unblemished skin anywhere else on his body. Well, not anymore. Run out of luck, I suppose, he ponders.

Remus never thought of his own face as something exceptionally beautiful or desirable. But the fresh scar, raised and big and ugly, spanning from his right temple, going under his eye, across his nose and ending on the left side of his jaw, makes him look absolutely horrendous.

He's already self conscious and standing next to his gorgeous boyfriend makes him feel unsure at the best of times and inadequate and undeserving at worst. How much worse is it going to be now?

The bed dips under Sirius' weight as he climbs on the mattress next him. "Come on, Rem. Come out of the blanket cocoon and have some food. You haven't eaten all day," he says softly.

Remus doesn't move. Instead, he asks something he's meant to ask Sirius for a while now. Hidden from view, he allows some of the worry and fear to seep into his voice. "Why are you staying with me?"

"What do you mean?" Sirius confusedly inquires.

"Why are you dating me?"

Suddenly, hands are caressing his curls back softly and trying to take the blanket off his face. Remus just holds it tighter.

"Because I love you. What kind of question is that? What's going on?" Sirius is starting to sound worried.

Remus only grumbles in response.

"Love, take the blanket off your face and talk to me. I'm not having this conversation with you hidden under the covers."

"Well then get used to it because I'm not coming out from under them any time soon," he retorts.

"What? Why?"

"Because my face is disgusting and no one needs to see it, least of all my very attractive boyfriend."

Sirius doesn't answer. Then he shifts his body so he's laying behind Remus and hugs him completely within his cocoon to his chest.

"If this is about your new scar I already know about it. Not only because I saw you make it yourself in the forest but also because I healed the wound and carried you to bed, all the while with your face pretty much visible and I haven't combusted or turned to stone from the sight so I think I'm good. Now, as your official healer I would like to inspect my patient, please."

Hot burning shame runs through Remus' body. Sirius does so much for him - turns into a dog to run around all night every month, has to watch his lover turn into a bloodthirsty beast, he looks after him, heals his wounds and makes him tea and he even reads to him sometimes, when the full moon isn't that bad. Remus really doesn't deserve him.

What does he have to offer in return? Cynicism, snarky comments, empty bank account, and petulance. He could have at least told himself he's a good enough shag but will Sirius even be able to look at him like that when the most prominent feature of his face is forever going to remind him (and everyone else) what a monster he really is?

Tears prickle in the corners of his eyes and he sniffles.

Sirius, alarmed, takes the blanket Remus has hidden himself under and tugs at it again. It comes off easily, Remus is not clutching at it anymore, and finally uncovers his face.

Sirius puts his palm on Remus' left cheek and smiles at him tenderly.

"Here you are, love."

He starts studying the scar with a wrinkle on his forehead that appears every time he's focusing on something. "It's healing very well. The scar shouldn't be too prominent but it will probably stay. I'm sorry about that. I tried to spell it as soon as you transformed back but you know how it is with werewolf injuries. They rarely heal completely."

Remus frowns. "You take such good care of me already, Sirius. Don't you dare apologize for something you can't control."

Sirius grins. "Then there's no need to hide something YOU can't control either, is there?

Remus' frown deepens. "That's hardly the same thing."

Sirius kisses his nose. "It makes no difference to me, Remus. You're still you. I still love you. And I will continue to do so," he traces one of his fingers along the scar, "whether you have ten of these or none".

Remus gazes into Sirius' eyes and when he finds nothing but truth and honest devotion, he lets himself be gently kissed into the pillows.

When he wakes up later, he finds the bed empty but he can hear Sirius chatting with somebody behind the closed bedroom door. Marlene must be here then.

Remus gets up to greet her and groans when his limbs crackle in protest. He's almost at the door when he hears what they're talking about.

"....it was a rough night," Sirius explains.

"I hope Remus is okay." Marlene's voice sounds tired, like everyone's in the Order these days.

"He has some new scars but otherwise he'll be okay."

"Marlene," Sirius growls. She must have made a face.

"Oh no, I didn't mean it like that. Actually I think it fits him. He has this...roguish vibe and the scars just make him look edgy. Not that I would be into it even if I swung that way but I always wondered if you…"

"What are you on about?" Sirius demands, his voices still a little angry.

Marlene takes a deep breath. "So many pretty people chasing you, but it was only ever Remus for you. Why?"

Sirius sighs and stays quiet for a minute. Remus almost thinks he's not going to answer. Why should he, anyway? Maybe Marlene just made him see the truth, maybe he realized he would like to date someone else after all, maybe he finally sees the stark absurdity of someone as gorgeous as Sirius dating someone as hideous as Rem-

"You know, sometimes you meet someone so beautiful, and then you actually get to talk to them and five minutes later, they're as dull as a brick. Then there's other people and you meet them and you think, "Not bad, they're okay." And then you get to know them and… And their face just sort of… Becomes them, like their personality is written all over it. And they just… They turn into something so beautiful."

He pauses and then exhales, "Remus is the most beautiful man I've ever met."

Remus doesn't come into the living room to say hi to Marlene for another ten minutes. And if it's because he had to sit for a moment and dry some tears, who's to say?

A/N: The last thing Sirius says in this is inspired by this scene in Doctor Who

Big thank you to @kattlupin for her quick betaread! <3

#wolfstar #my writing #my fic #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #remus lupin #remus lupin x sirius black #sirius black #post full moon #marlene mckinnon #doctor who quotes #wolfstar with doctor who quote

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bluescluelessly · 4 years ago

Text

Tossing the Script out the Airlock (and Good Riddance to it)

[Rating: Teen] || hurt/comfort, suspected infidelity, polyamorous relationships, made up Stewjoni biology because George Lucas didn’t say Obi-Wan wasn’t a little weird and if he’s gonna give his birth planet a stupid name then I’m gonna give him stupid biology tweaks, and use of Dai Bendu, the language of the Jedi (translations at the bottom of the post)

tw: mentions of grooming (because Palpatine)

Ships: Bail Organa/Obi-Wan, Bail/Breya, Anakin/Padmé

Palpatine tries to convince Anakin that Padmé is cheating on him with Obi-Wan. Anakin confronts his friend about it, finds out a bit more than he bargained for, and not at all what he was expecting to.

°|●.*•

From the Revenge of the Sith Novelization:

“That’s why I put you on the Council. If the rumors are true, you may be democracy's last hope.”

Anakin let his chin sink once more to his chest and his eyelids scraped shut. It seemed like he was always somebody’s last hope.

Why did everyone always have to make their problems into his problems? Why can’t people just let him be?

How is he supposed to deal with all this one Padmé could die?

He said slowly, eyes still closed, “you still haven’t told me what this has to do with Obi-Wan.”

“Ah, that – well, that is the difficult part. The disturbing part. It seems that Master Kenobi has been in contact with a certain Senator who is known to be among the leaders of this cabal. Apparently, very close contact. The rumor is that he was seen leaving the Senator’s residence this very morning, at an… unseemly hour.”

“Who?” Anakin opened his eyes and sat forward. “Who is this Senator? Let’s go question him.”

“I’m sorry, Anakin. But the Senator in question is, in fact, a *her*. A woman you know quite well, in fact.”

“You–” He wasn’t hearing this. He couldn’t be. “You mean–”

Anakin choked on her name.

Palpatine gave him a look of melancholy sympathy. “I’m afraid so.”

Anakin coughed his voice back to life. “That’s *impossible!* I would *know*– she doesn’t… she couldn’t–”

“Sometimes the closest,” Palpatine said sadly, “are those who cannot see.”

Revenge of the Sith, Matthew Stover, p. 250

°|●.*•

This is it. Anakin is going to just… ask him. He’s not sure what he’ll do if he finds out Obi-Wan has been sleeping with his wife, but…

Well, he’ll figure that out if it’s true.

He went to Padmé’s apartment, felt for himself the evidence that Obi-Wan had been there.

Now, he needs the truth. He needs to be wrong.

“So… I heard you spent a late night with a senator,” he asks, trying not to sound overly accusing. Obi-Wan always gives him the benefit of the doubt.

Several emotions flicker across Obi-Wan’s face then. He eventually fixes his gaze on Anakin, a modicum of panic in his eyes. Anakin’s heart sinks.

The next words out of his old Master’s mouth, however, catch him by surprise.

“You… know about Bail?”

Anakin’s eyes go wide. No, he didn’t–

– but he can’t help thinking he knew it, it was a male senator –

– “Bail?” He blurts out, confusion showing. “No, Palpatine said–”

“– Palpatine saw me with Bail?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice rising an octave.

“No–” Anakin insists, hands going up in a placating gesture. “Not– I didn’t know about Bail. I uh. Palpatine told me he heard you were seen leaving Padmé Amidala’s Apartment.” He explains, and some of the worry drains from Obi-Wan.

“Oh,” he says, sounding infinitely relieved. “No, I, er. Well, I definitely haven’t been making ‘late visits’ to Senator Amidala.” He gives Anakin a curious sort of look. “I hear she’s spoken for, not that I would pursue her, in any case. It would be… awkward.”

“Awkward?” Anakin asks, feeling as if he’s missing something.

Obi-Wan gives a tired sort of smile. “Besides the fact that my preference is not for the fairer sex; she once made an advance, and I turned her down.” Seeing Anakin’s flaring temper, he is quick to clarify, “long before your knighting, Anakin. But, as I said, awkward.”

Anakin nods, appeased. Then, he remembers there’s a more important topic to focus on here. “So… Bail?”

The reaction is immediate; Obi-Wan’s face blushing a dark red as he looks away. “Yes, I– if you could keep that to yourself, I’d appreciate it.”

To hell with it, Anakin thinks. “Sure Master, I’ll keep your senator a secret if you keep mine.”

“The fact that you think your relationship with Senator Amidala is a secret is adorable,” Obi-Wan responds, a glint of amusement in his eye. “Half the council is still asking me why they weren’t invited to the wedding; I can’t give them an answer, as I wasn’t invited either.”

Anakin looks shocked by that information, which is truly endearing. “Wait, they aren’t mad?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “You proved to me that you could put responsibility over your wife on Geonosis. Relationships aren’t forbidden so long as there’s not an unhealthy attachment involved. Anyways, we’ve always bent the rules a bit for you.”

Anakin feels as if a weight has been removed from his shoulders. A weight that Palpatine put there, he thinks.

The old man has been wrong about the Jedi on two accounts now… why does Anakin hold what he says about the Jedi in such regard?

Perhaps he should fact-check more of the Chancellor’s absurd claims.

“Ah.” Anakin responds intelligently. “… so why does your, um, thing with Bail need to stay a secret?”

Obi-Wan’s red cheeks return once more. “Well. A… few reasons. Not that I think I’d be in trouble for it, but… I’d like to respect Bail’s privacy. He is, after all, Married.”

“Does Breha not know?”

“She knows,” Obi-Wan assures his former Padawan. “I wouldn’t agree otherwise. But that doesn’t mean they want the whole senate knowing about their … arrangement with me; or others.”

Again, Anakin nods to show his understanding. “The less people who know, the better. Right…”

“Exactly.”

“Still,” Anakin starts, bemused, “I didn’t take you for the 'mistress’ type.”

A complicated flurry of emotions cross his friend’s face. “… neither do I,” he responds, a little clipped. “I think of myself more as Bail’s type.”

Anakin realizes how insensitive that came off a bit too late. “I’m sorry–”

Obi-Wan waves him off. “It’s difficult to understand when I haven’t explained. Bail is Bi; he generally prefers men, but his heart belongs fully to Breha. I prefer men as well, and I have… a condition… so we came to a mutually beneficial arrangement, in which Bail and I enjoy one another while on Coruscant, as he and Breha cannot be together as often as they’d like to be.”

Anakin gets all that, he does. But one thing sticks out to him that he feels needs to be clarified. “You have a condition?” Is Obi-Wan sick?

If its possible, Obi-Wan grows more embarrassed. “Well, I’m from Stewjon.”

That clears nothing up.

At Anakin’s clueless expression, Obi-Wan sighs and explains. “Right, quick biology lesson. Somewhere down the evolutionary line, it was decided that Stewjonians need more incentive to reproduce. So, while it isn’t necessary in order to live out a full, average life span, our bodies naturally produce more beneficial hormones during sexual intercouse. This means, the more I…” he pauses, looking displeased by the verbal corner he’s painted himself into. “… get laid, the slower I age, the faster I heal, and the less sleep I need. All beneficial to fighting a war, yes?”

That’s all news to Anakin. Fascinating. “So do you have… other arrangements too?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “As of now, just Bail. I could, of course, visit the lower levels to the same effect, but I find it safer and more preferable to have intercourse with someone I like and trust.” Less likely to catch something that way, too.

Anakin nods, strange mixtures of relief and utter confusion swirling in his mind. At least he knows Obi-Wan has no interest in Padmé… but that doesn’t explain the way he felt his presence in the force, in her apartment.

“Okay. Uh.” He hesitates, knowing there’s no real, good way to word this. “Just… to be 100% clear, you’re not having secret meetings with Padmé in an attempt to overthrow Palpatine and the Senate?”

The look Obi-Wan gives Anakin would make someone think he had just grown a second head.

“… no, wherever did you hear such nonsense?”

Anakin rubs the back of his neck, feeling the last bit of worry ebb away. “Just rumors.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Truly, the Senate gossip gets wildly out of hand. I’ll admit, I do on occasion have tea with Padmé, but there’s nothing treasonous about friends visiting one another and trading stories and doing each other’s makeup from time to time.” He pauses. “And while neither of us have very high opinions on Chancellor Palpatine’s term, there’s no plot against him, as far as I am aware. We are both just eager for this war to end, and for him to release his emergency powers so the Republic can return to democracy.”

“You think his rule is undemocratic?” Anakin asks, looking appalled by the idea.

“He’s been in power long past his elected term,” Obi-Wan points out. “A new Chancellor should have been elected already. Over this time, he has used the war to gain far more emergency powers than any one person should hold.”

Sensing Anakin’s impending argument, he continues. “… Of course, this makes it far simpler to fight a war; I simply worry that when the war has ended… he won’t give up his power so easily. He has resisted peace talks, and every other attempt to bring this war to an end sooner. So I… have concerns.” He gives Anakin a tired sort of smile. “But last I checked, he hasn’t yet made it treasonous for Padmé and I to exercise our right to free speech.”

“Of course not,” Anakin responds, sounding distracted. He’s always thought having one person to make decisions was a good thing… or, does he just think that because Palpatine has told him it’s a better idea so many times?

He has many things to question. But, more importantly right now, Obi-Wan mentioned make-up?

Anakin shakes himself from his thoughts, giving his friend a curious look. “Uh. Rewind a second. Did you say Padmé did your make-up?”

“And I did hers,” Obi-Wan answers easily. “We both had dates.”

That would explain why they were, in some cases, sitting closer than friends would; as far as he could tell in the force.

“Bail takes you on dates?” Anakin asks, curious but trying his best not to be pushy about it. This is something new, which he never anticipated learning about his Master… he wants to know more, but as a Jedi with his own secret significant Senator, he understands the secrecy.

“Not all of them are Bail,” Obi-Wan answers after a moment, as if weighing how much he should admit to. “But yes, he does. He’s quite a gentleman really; I do look for other potential partners, but I fear he’s spoiled me for most.”

Anakin can imagine; having a Senator as a partner is pretty nice. “The tea is that good?”

“And the company,” Obi-Wan agree, a crinkle at the corner of his eyes. “I’ll admit… I’m glad you know now. I don’t like keeping secrets from you.”

That warms Anakin’s heart, so much that he doesn’t quite know how to express it, so he deflects. “If you have pictures of yourself in that makeup, you better not keep them secret anymore,” he teases with a grin.

the teasing pulls a laugh from Obi-Wan, who shakes his head. “I don’t; but I’m certain Padmé has plenty. I think she even took a few of us the one time Bail stopped by her apartment to pick me up.”

Oh, he is definitely getting those from his wife later. “So Padmé knows about you two?”

“She introduced us,” Obi-Wan admits fondly. “I don’t share details with her, but she’s a smart woman.”

That she is. “Why am I the last to find out?” He protests, trying his best not to let it come out sounding whiny.

“Because, my dear padawan,” Obi-Wan starts, gently ribbing him. “You are a dear friend, and an unparalleled partner in combat, but you can’t keep a secret to save your life.”

“I can keep a secret!” he argues! “I swear, Master, no one else will ever know. I only talk to you and Padmé, anyways.” He pauses, “Well, and Palpatine.”

“And he mustn’t know,” Obi-Wan insists, more serious now. “Bail is one of the leading senators advocating for clone rights and peace talks, Anakin. He is a good man. And, he disagrees with Palpatine quite often. I shudder to think what the Chancellor would do with this information, should he find out. I wouldn’t put it past him to use it in an attempt to not only discredit Bail, but to berate the Jedi as well.”

“But neither of you are doing anything wrong,” Anakin states, frowning.

Obi-Wan’s eyes close for a moment. “And it’s not wrong for a system to want to remain neutral and out of the war, yes? And yet, Palpatine did everything in his power to try to strongarm Republic forces onto Mandalore, even rushing a vote 3 days ahead of time, without Satine present, based on a doctored holorecording.”

Anakin doesn’t look at it that way… but he’s not going to argue with Obi-Wan where Satine is involved. Though he now questions how romantic their relationship really was, he knows they were, at the very least, close.

“Just please, don’t tell him, Anakin.” Obi-Wan persists, looking up at his friend beseechingly. “If for no other reason than Bail values his privacy.”

“Of course,” Anakin agrees easily. “Like I said, I won’t tell anyone. I just… nobody really talks to me about Palpatine like you are now. I guess most people know he’s my friend and are too afraid to say anything less than flattering… You’re giving me things to think about.”

“I try to be honest with you whenever I can,” Obi-Wan responds cautiously. “You aren’t a child anymore, and though old habits are hard to break, I don’t want to keep sheltering you as if you aren’t a capable adult.”

“I sense you have more to say,” Anakin prompts when Obi-Wan doesn’t immediately continue.

His friend nods, looking troubled. “I know he is a close friend of yours, Anakin, and one of the few people you knew and liked here, after leaving your home. Which is why I–mistakenly, I think–didn’t object to his interest in you. Initially, I had hoped another friend would make your transition from Tatooine to Coruscant easier… but… well. I find the way he treats you… inappropriate. In some cases, predatory.”

And with those words, Anakin suddenly feels on the defensive. No, Palpatine is his friend, like a grandfather to him. He isn’t… predatory, or–

Obi-Wan’s hands are up even before Anakin can think of a rebuttal. “I don’t claim to know all the details… but the fact that when you were younger, you didn’t feel comfortable telling me anything of your activities on your outings with him says quite a lot, Anakin. And more than that, when I started to suspect something was amiss, and attempted to join you on visits with him, or simply ensure you weren’t left alone with him, he used his position as the Chancellor to strongarm me into backing down. It was… is, concerning.”

And, that’s news to Anakin. He understands why Obi-Wan hadn’t told him sooner, too. He was a headstrong kid; any attempt to protect him, especially from someone he saw as a friend, Anakin would have just taken as Obi-Wan ‘controlling’ him. He knows better now; after years of being Obi-Wan’s equal. But then, it may have just pushed him away, and further from where Obi-Wan could attempt to protect him.

Still, he feels the need to explain himself. “It’s not– He didn’t do anything… like that…” He starts, floundering a little. “It’s just, I didn’t want to tell you, because he took me places I shouldn’t really be going, and I had fun, so…” might as well come clean now, it’s not like he can get in trouble for it anymore. “He used to take me on trips to the lower levels, like, clubs. And he taught me how to make a chance cube land on the side I wanted, so we would find corrupt senators, and cheat them out of their credits. And, Palpatine said he gave the money to charities, so we were doing good things, you know?”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes, and Anakin is reminded of when he tested his patience early on as a padawan, and his Master would silently count to keep himself calm.

He hasn’t needed to in a long time, not since well before Anakin was knighted.

And despite what the action reminds him of, Anakin knows his Master’s temper isn’t directed at him.

“… Anakin,” he starts, tone gentle but tight. “Please, just. For a moment, put Ahsoka in your place. If she was telling you what you are telling me now… what would you think?”

And Anakin’s gut does a flip, because deep down, he already knows.

He… he knows that Palpatine uses him, says one thing and does another, feeds him constant doubt about his friends, about the Jedi…

He knows this, and yet, no one before has had the nerve to say anything even slightly negative about Palpatine to his face. No one has ever dared do anything but say how great his close friend, the Chancellor, is.

Because like Anakin, people are afraid of him.

He feels a tremble start in his fingers, finally faced to acknowledge how afraid he is. How much it terrifies him to know that Palpatine holds all his secrets, that should Anakin ever be less than his enthusiastic friend, he could be ruined.

He, the hero with no fear… is afraid; a frightened boy in the face of a decrepit old man.

And only now can he show it, in the presence of the only person he’s ever known to have the courage to speak up about someone so untouchable.

As if sensing Anakin’s oncoming panic, Obi-Wan interrupts his thoughts, voice kind and sad. “Anakin, dear one, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He moves closer, and any restraint Anakin had breaks.

He feels 9 years old again, lost and seeking comfort in Obi-Wan’s arms. “I can’t say no,” he whispers brokenly. “Master– Jaieh, I’m terrified of him.”

Hearing Anakin call him Jaieh, like he hasn’t since he was young, since it was too hard for him to call anyone ‘Master’ without dredging up bad memories, Obi-Wan accepts Anakin into his arms, no hesitation or holding back.

Anakin needs support right now, needs to know that he isn’t alone in this, that if he asks, Obi-Wan would walk right into Hell with him. “Enoah foh bika, Anakin.” he promises him, reassures him. “Enoah foh mikeelal.”

“Paienoah kodaih bika,” Anakin says, but it comes out unsure, like he’s asking. Like he doesn’t know if he’s accepted, if he’s really not alone in this.

Obi-Wan’s heart aches, and he holds Anakin closer, pressing a reassuring kiss to his temple. “Haj Dai, Anakin. Paienoah kodaih bika.”

Anakin shatters then– or it feels like he does. So many doubts, so many fears, and Obi-Wan bats them all aside with a few words. Words said so easily, words Anakin feared shouldn’t apply to him.

He cries, his earlier suspicions and anger forgotten, absolved now, as he is faced with the truth that Obi-Wan cares for him; that his best friend is his truest ally, that Obi-Wan accepts him and will always accept him.

As he allows himself to acknowledge that Palpatine is a liar and a manipulator, and he is (and always has been) coming up with vile falsities in his attempts to drive a wedge between Anakin and Obi-Wan; the one person he can rely on absolutely.

And through it all, through his tears and his shattered sense of self, Obi-Wan holds onto him; not judgement or disgust, nothing but kindness and acceptance as he carefully picks up the pieces and helps Anakin piece himself back together.

How he could ever doubt Obi-Wan’s character… he would say he doesn’t know, but he remembers. He knows all the little things Palpatine said, all the betrayals he implied, the way he twisted Anakin’s thoughts to see himself pitted against Obi-Wan instead of regarded with him, as he should. They are a team, The Team.

He should have recognized long ago that their accomplishments aren’t a competition, they are an accumulation of the good they can both do, together and apart.

Anakin may be late, but late is better than never, and he recognizes it now, at his lowest and most vulnerable moment. A competitor wouldn’t hold him and build him back up, stronger than before. A friend does that, a friend and mentor and good person.

When he can speak, albeit in a watery way, Anakin wipes his eyes, face still hidden in his Master’s shoulder. “What am I going to do?”

The answer doesn’t come immediately, and that in itself is a reassurance. Anakin doesn’t want unthought-out platitudes, he wants honesty, and preferably, a plan.

“I don’t know what we can do right this moment, Anakin.” Obi-Wan admits. “He is still the Chancellor… and that won’t change until we end this war. But I can promise you this, my dear padawan, you will never have to go see him alone. You need only ask, and I will be by your side. And as soon as circumstances change, I will do all there is in my power to make sure he never comes near you again, Anakin.”

He sniffles, more reassured by the realistic response than he could ever be by promises that can’t be fulfilled.

“Then we’ll just have to try harder to end this war, huh?” Anakin goes for an optimistic tone, hugging Obi-Wan more snugly.

Another comforting kiss goes to his temple. Obi-Wan is frugal with his shows of affection, so it means all the more now that he is giving them so openly. “We will, Anakin.” He promises, and his voice is so steady, so sure, the rock that Anakin can always lean against. “Together, I doubt there’s anything you and I can’t do.”

“Together,” Anakin agrees, a knot in his very soul coming loose.

Obi-Wan is right. They are The Team, and that isn’t just a title. Together, they can do anything they set their minds to.

They can defeat Sith Lords, they can end a war, and maybe, just maybe, they can even save Anakin Skywalker’s soul from the Devil.

°|●.*•

Dai Bendu Translations

“Jaieh” || ● Simplified Meaning: Master

Literal Meaning

roots: ‘je’- mystic, ‘ai’- mastery, non ownership. so ‘one who is a Master in the ways of the Force’, implying more like a teacher than an owner.

“Enoah foh bika, Anakin. Enoah foh mikeelal” || ● Simplified Meaning: I am here, Anakin. I am with you.

Literal Meaning

Enoah fo - I am (in a permanent state, not transitive)

bika- here

[Anakin]

Enoah foh- I am (in a permanent state)

mikeelal - comitative ‘you’/with you.

“Paienoah kodaih bika.” || ● Simplified Meaning: We are here together, now and forever.

Literal Meaning

Paienoah - We are (in a permanent state, and this has implications for the future)

kodaih - Exclusionary ‘We’ - all of us jedi (exclusionary, implying the inclusion of Anakin in the Jedi and alluding to the exclusion of Palpatine as not a Jedi)

bika - here.

so essentially, “We are jedi, and we are together, and Palpatine is not, and this matters for the future.”

“Haj Dai, Anakin. Paienoah kodaih bika.” || ● Simplified Meaning: Yes, Anakin. We are here together, now and forever.

Literal Meaning

Haj Dai - literally ‘Force Wills’, a reassuring ‘yes’.

[Anakin]

Paienoah - We are (in a permanent state, and this has implications for the future) [italics stress is on ‘are’]

kodaih - Exclusionary ‘We’ - all of us jedi (exclusionary, implying the inclusion of Anakin in the Jedi and alluding to the exclusion of Palpatine as not a Jedi)

bika - here.

so essentially, “Of course, Anakin. We are jedi, and we are together, and Palpatine is not, and this matters for the future.”

Thanks to @jasontoddiefor @ghostwriterofthemachine for the translations to Dai Bendu, their fancrafted Jedi Language!

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kirkwallgremlin · 4 years ago

Note

“Having their hair washed by the other” for the prompts?

@pinkfadespirit thank you both 💕 this has taken me a month (literally to the day, I found the original post!) and it ended up much longer than I originally planned 😅 it also probably needs some work and some more editing but my brain is determined to move on, so fingers crossed there’s no glaring errors <3 but ANYWAY here’s some more Carvistair 💙 it’s also connected to this fic!

Carver was in pain.

He tried to hide it but it was clear from the way he moved, not quite as fast as usual, favouring one side a little more. Alistair didn’t blame him. The injury had been nasty, nasty enough that he had worried that maybe, just maybe, this might be the time he lost Carver.

But he hadn’t.

Carver was alive, he was ok, and he was finally able to leave the infirmary.

“Careful,” Alistair warned as Carver stumbled slightly on the uneven floor. “You don’t want to hurt yourself more.”

“I’m fine,” Carver said and although Alistair couldn’t see his face, he knew Carver would be rolling his eyes. “I’m not going to fall and break my neck in my own bedroom.”

Alistair chuckled, the laugh a little hollow, the idea of Carver being hurt yet again holding it back.

“Imagine that,” he said. “The great Carver Hawke, defeated in battle, bested by a floor tile.”

Carver waved a hand at him, dismissive.

“I’m not the great anything,” he said, but although the light in the room wasn’t the best, Alistair thought he might be blushing.

“You’re one of the greatest things that’s happened to me,” Alistair said softly.

“You’re an idiot,” Carver said, but he was definitely blushing now.

“And you kind of stink,” Alistair pointed out. “I know you couldn’t exactly wash while you’re trying not to die but phew. Those sponge baths only do so much.”

“Are you just trying to get me naked?” Carver laughed, trying to hide the involuntary wince as he moved too suddenly. The wound was no longer life threatening but the healers had warned them both it would still take time to fully heal.

“Well, it’s not like that’s hard. Usually something along the lines of ‘Carver Hawke, take off your clothes please’ works. Or ‘has anyone seen some very impressive arms lately?’. Or just taking off my own clothes usually does the trick too.”

“I wouldn’t complain about that,” Carver said but Alistair just swatted him on the arm, as gently as he could, still a little worried he would hurt him. He knew Carver would hate that, the idea of him fussing, worrying, but…

“Shut up and get in the bath,” Alistair said, interrupting his own thoughts before they could begin to spiral again, nudging him towards the water he’d already had prepared. “You haven’t had a proper wash since you were hurt and I am not kidding about the smell.”

Carver pulled uselessly with one hand at the bottom of his shirt, unable to properly lift it without the use of both arms. The healer had insisted that the movement in one remained limited, however, worried it would further exacerbate the wound.

“Let me,” Alistair said, pushing Carver’s hand aside with his own as he pulled the loose cloth over Carver’s head. He couldn’t resist stepping in to give him a quick kiss as the fabric came clear, Carver’s mouth trailing after his as Alistair pulled back. He tossed the shirt to the side, returning to help Carver remove the rest of his clothing. He could feel Carver’s eyes watching him, burning into his skin as he moved.

There was something strangely intimate about standing there next to Carver, fully clothed in contrast to Carver’s nakedness. As his eyes met Carver’s, Alistair felt like he felt it too. The mood had shifted from the earlier joking tone, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Should we undo these?” he asked, one finger trailing over the bandages, around Carver’s shoulder, held in place around his chest.

The ugly marks where the creature’s claws had gouged through skin, muscle, almost into the bone, were dark against Carver’s skin as the bandages fell free. The healers had done what they could but anything else had to heal naturally, they’d explained. Otherwise they risked Carver losing full mobility in the limb.

Alistair traced them silently with a finger, brushing as lightly as he could along the skin beside each mark, watching as his hand traced the shape of injury, following the curves of Carver’s muscles. One cut through the tattoo on his chest, splitting the bold inked lines in half.

He glanced up to see Carver’s eyes on his face, watching wordlessly.

“Does it hurt?” Alistair asked softly.

“A little bit,” admitted Carver. “Not as much as it could.”

The water in the bath had lost some heat in the time it had taken to get them there but it was still more than hot enough to be comfortable. No doubt Carver would have been fine climbing in by himself but Alistair helped him anyway. No point letting him slip in such an easily avoidable situation, not when he was already hurt.

As Carver sank into the warm water, he let out a sigh, his eyes fluttering closed in a way that Alistair wasn’t sure was completely intentional.

“Are you ok?” Alistair checked as he perched on the side of the bath, concerned the reaction was pain and not contentment.

“Yeah,” Carver sighed, sinking further down into the water. His eyes closed again, properly this time, as Alistair ran his fingers through Carver’s thick hair, hoping to help him relax into the warmth.

He reached for the clay jug that stayed near the bath, reaching around Carver to fill it. A thought crossed his mind as he looked at Carver’s closed eyes, taking only a moment of hesitation before he acted.

The water cascaded over Carver’s head with a splash and Alistair jumped back out of reach, clutching the now empty jug as Carver spluttered.

“You ass,” Carver said with a rude gesture, brushing wet hair out of his eyes. Alistair tried, unsuccessfully, not to laugh at his indignant look as Carver muttered something about revenge and Alistair being lucky he couldn’t move properly.

“Here, I’ll help properly this time,” he said, stepping closer again, Carver watching his every move warily. This time though, he emptied the refilled jug carefully, slowly tipping the water over Carver’s hair until it was wet without him having to bend to submerge his head.

“I’m not complaining about your sponge baths but I’m already feeling less grimy and gross,” Carver said, pushing back the wet hair that had slipped back down, sticking to his face. “Can you pass the soap?”

Alistair grabbed the soap but as Carver reached for it, he brushed his hand away.

“Let me,” he said, setting the soap to the side as he refilled the jug. Carver looked at him dubiously as he emptied it once again, just as carefully as the previous one.

“I can take care of myself,” he objected.

“I know,” Alistair said, running his fingers through the wet strands, the tips of his fingers separating strands. HIs fingers scratched over Carver’s scalp, trying to make sure every part of his hair was wet. Hair was something hard to clean when somebody was lying in a bed, and as clean as it looked, Carver’s was probably still full of the dirt and sweat and blood that had marked the rest of that day.

At first Carver tensed, but as Alistair’s fingers worked, tracing circles, starting small and growing larger, he relaxed into the touch, his eyes drifting closed again.

“You awake?” Alistair asked softly, checking. He didn’t want to send Carver to sleep in a bath and have him accidentally drown there, not on his watch, even if he was right beside him. Carver made a soft affirmative noise, not quite actual words, as Alistair’s hands continued their slow and steady movements.

Normally water alone would be enough but he knew how long it’d been since Carver’s hair had been cleaned, the condition he’d been in when he was first injured, sweaty, tired, covered in Darkspawn blood, his own blood. The soap lathered quickly, the white foam disappearing beneath his hands. Carver’s eyes stayed closed as the warm water washed away the remnants, taking the dirt, the blood, the stress with it.

“You’re spoiling me,” Carver said. He opened his eyes, a cheeky smirk on his face. “Join me?”

Alistair laughed and Carver raised an eyebrow at him.

“I could try,” Alistair said, “but in case you haven’t noticed, they make baths for people… smaller than us and usually only one of them. If I tried to get in, we’d probably get stuck. Imagine that, the Warden Commander needing to find us. They’d have to run a rescue operation. Although I’m sure there would be a lot of people willing to come and help us out of that ridiculous situation.”

“Idiot,” Carver muttered, but the affectionate smile on his face betrayed the words.

“Maybe so but I’m your idiot,” Alistair said. He emptied the final jug over Carver’s hair, making sure all traces of the soap were gone. “You’re stuck with me now. And hopefully not stuck in a bath.”

“Yeah.” Carver’s smile lingered. “I’m stuck with you.”

Alistair pushed Carver’s hair, dark and wet, back off his forehead, planting a on his damp skin.

Are you going to give me the soap now?” Carver asked, still sounding half asleep.

“Nope. You need to rest your arm. Healer’s orders.”

Carver grumbled something barely audible, something that seemed to be about how Alistair wasn’t a healer, but he didn’t object any further as Alistair reached for the soap.

#carvistair #carver x alistair #alistair theirin #carver hawke #i think i like it overall even if it does need some more work but idk #this established dynamic was fun to think about but also haaard damn #i dont love the ending but hey what can you do #also? turns out writing intimacy rather than just tenderness is super hard too #much much harder than i expected it to be #abinchofsalt #pinkfadespirit #gremfic

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spookyboywhump · 5 years ago

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Okay so maybe you could add this in a piece Idk but I just wanted to say this: How about, Zander gets beaten (a lot) he tries to hold in his screams and cries. He refuses to break in front of Cain (bonus points if Clement is there too with his annoying grin on his face) so then after, when Zander is in the bathroom, cleaning himself up, he just breaks, he cries, he can’t handle it. That was kinda deep but anywho ....... Oki byeeeeeeeeee

This has been in my inbox for so long and I am so sorry but something finally happened here.

I ended up focusing less on the beating and more on the Zander Crying though since that is my SHIT, as well as a little bit Wren and Zander confert because honestly it’s what he deserves. Anyway here’s This.

Content warnings: Aftermath of a beating, lots of self hate and self deprecation

***

Cain’s foot came down hard on his head, knocking his skull down against the hard floor and ruining his attempt to get to his feet. He gritted his teeth, only a whine of pain escaping as he collapsed, lying still as he waited for the next attack. He wasn’t sure how long this had gone on now, it was rare for Cain to straight up beat him, no whips or belts, just his fists and his feet slamming into him, and he had no choice but to take it. His only solace was making sure that Cain didn’t get the satisfaction he wanted, making sure he didn’t see him cry, even if he was in near agony from the beating.

“Get the fuck out of here.” Cain finally said, jabbing him hard in the ribs with the tip of his shoe, apparently bored of this game if Zander wasn’t going to give in. He could tell by the tone of his voice he was fed up, tired from the exertion of the beating. If you’re fucking tired, imagine how I feel, He thought bitterly, struggling to get to his feet. He wouldn’t look at Cain as he slowly, unsteadily made his way out of the room, just praying he could make it back to his room where he could collapse safely.

Wren looked up when he entered the room, eyes immediately widening as he got to his feet, starting to approach him. He’d been left behind, ordered to stay behind, and honestly Zander preferred that, preferred he didn’t have to watch that mess. Right now though, he wished Wren wasn’t there at all.

“A-are you okay? What did he-”

“I’m fine!” He snapped at him, and Wren froze, falling silent. He instantly felt guilty, and angry at himself for lashing out, knowing Wren was just concerned. “I’m fine.” He repeated, more calmly, and Wren nodded slowly, though he clearly didn’t believe him. He turned his attention away from him, going into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him, locking it even though only Wren was on the other side. It was one small sense of security, one thing he could do to trick himself into feeling “safe”.

He didn’t even know what that felt like anymore. He hadn’t been “safe” in six years, every moment he wasn’t being hurt he was just waiting for it, knowing it would inevitably happen. He groaned as he collapsed against the door, legs finally giving out. He was sore all over, and he knew the beating had reopened a few healing wounds, which was just one more thing to take care of. He didn’t want to deal with it right now though, he didn’t want to deal with anything right now.

It was rare for him to feel this overwhelmed by everything, by the beating, by the unfairness of the situation, by his anger and frustration and guilt over snapping at Wren. It was as if all the tears he’d held back through the beating hit him at once, and he quickly blinked them back, biting down hard on his lip as he tried to focus on something else, anything else. He forced himself away from the door, trying to gather the necessary things to take care of himself, but his hands were shaking, and after the second time he dropped something he got frustrated, slamming the cabinet door shut and sitting back again, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes in an attempt to force back the tears.

“Fuck… fuck!*” He yelled, no concern for Wren hearing him, all pent up anger and frustration finally coming out. Realistically he knew that somebody couldn’t handle bottling up their emotions for so long, but he wasn’t somebody, he wasn’t even a person, he was just… he didn’t know. A dog? An object? That’s all he was to Cain anyway, he didn’t matter, not like other people did, not like someone like Wren did. His feelings didn’t matter, he learned that a long time ago, learned that he should just stop feeling all together, but of course it wasn’t that easy.

His chest ached, a deeper pain than the beating, a pain that wouldn’t be fixed with rest or painkillers or anything like that. His breath hitched as a sob caught in his throat, though he knew he couldn’t hold it back much longer, tears already spilling down his face, stinging as they ran into open scrapes, irritating the wounds. He didn’t even care to wipe them away, it wouldn’t do anything, now that he’d started he couldn’t stop.

It isn’t fucking fair, He thought, he wanted to scream it, he wanted it to be known that he didn’t deserve this. He had long since become accustomed to the anxiety and pain that came with being alive, but sometimes he wished it would all just stop. He couldn’t even remember what it was like to live normally, without a constant threat hanging over his shoulders, always having to anticipate the next time he’d be hurt, or have to hurt somebody. He vaguely knew that he used to be okay, he used to be happy to wake up, to just exist, but he couldn’t remember that feeling anymore, so much time had passed he couldn’t remember what it felt like to be human.

It had been a long time since he’d broken like this, unable to hold back his sobs. His hands fell limply at his sides, no point in trying to hold back tears anymore. He was shaking from how hard he was crying, struggling to catch his breath, each quick inhale resulting in a broken sob. He wished he could be quieter, he knew that Wren could hear him, but he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Honestly, this had been a long time coming.

He didn’t know how he put up with it all this time, how he forced it down every single day. It had been eating away at him for long enough, as strong as he tried to be, especially with Wren around, he just couldn’t. Once this had passed, no more heaving breaths and broken cries, he would realize he needed this, but he couldn’t think that far ahead, right now all he was aware of was the absolute despair rising in his chest and tears flowing freely down his face.

He jumped at the sound of a knock on the door, startling him into silence for just a moment. He should’ve known this would happen, he hadn’t even tried to keep himself quiet, and realizing how stupid and pathetic he’d been made him tear up all over again, though this time he tried to wipe them away with the back of his hand.

“Zander…?” Wren asked softly, concern evident in his voice.

“Y-yeah?” He grimaced at the sound of his voice, broken and hoarse from sobbing.

“Open the door. Please?”

He hesitated, thinking it over. On one hand, Wren already knew he’d been crying, he couldn’t exactly hide that. On the other hand, he wished he could, wished he could ignore that fact just a moment longer. He knew he’d have to leave eventually though, as much as he wished he could just curl up on the bathroom floor and cry until he fell asleep, he couldn’t do that. He had to face him, sooner or later.

He got up and moved to the side enough to open the door, still not trusting himself to stand. He felt weak and dizzy, his head pounding. He couldn’t tell if it was from the beating or from the crying, but he figured it could’ve been both. He tiredly looked up at Wren, who appeared just as concerned as he sounded. He lowered himself to his knees when he saw Zander was still on the floor, and as Zander opened the door further, all he did was hold his arms out to him.

Normally Zander would’ve refused. He was used to doing this for other people, he was used to doing it for Wren, but for him to receive this kind of comfort… it had been a long time, and honestly, it sounded so good right now. He found himself almost falling forward in his rush to latch on to the smaller man, almost knocking Wren back as he wrapped his arms around him, face buried in his shoulder. He finally allowed himself to relax as Wren hugged him tightly, one hand gently rubbing his back.

“You don’t… you don’t have to be alone, you know that?” Wren said softly, the words bringing tears to his eyes all over again. He bit his lip as he nodded, hoping the movement would be enough for Wren. “Zander… you’re so strong, all the time, and that… it must be exhausting… it’s okay to let yourself cry…” He told him. Zander pulled back just slightly so he could look at him, letting go of his tight grip on him only to rub at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I don’t… I don’t need to, I’m fine, I don’t… I don’t know what happened…” He scowled. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with me…”

“Why not?” Wren asked, eyebrows raised. “You deal with me all the time, I think I can return the favor.” Since Zander had pulled away he got to his feet, holding his hand out to help Zander up. He seemed hesitant to take it but did so anyway, slowly standing up, even as his legs threatened to give out again, finally able to focus on the dull, aching pain from Cain stomping down on his shin. Wren helped him limp over to the bed, sitting down and motioning for Zander to lay down, even allowing him to rest his head in his lap.

The position was already enough to help him relax, but when Wren started to gently run his fingers through his hair he swore he would break down again, the touch almost unnervingly soft and gentle. It was one that was more familiar to him, but usually came from Vanessa, and only once he’d given in to her. This was Wren though, and Wren would never hurt him, never use him, he knew that. Wren was kind, and caring and he was safe.

He was the closest thing to safety he’d had in a long time, and that was enough for Zander to allow himself to break all over again, knowing it was safe to do so. He could cry, scream and wail as much as he wanted, but he didn’t have to do it alone, Wren gently rubbing his arm with one hand, the other carding through his hair, simple touches that were so, so comforting to him, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d received comfort like this.

He almost forgot that he even needed comfort like this.

#ooh boy #whump #my writing #my oc's #Zander #Wren #Cain #lots of crying #aftermath of a beating #this is more emotional whump i think #zander cries a lot and i love it okay #some comfort even #wren and zander are bros and i love them #i turned on achilles come down on repeat and this happened #whump-story-prompts

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eve6262 · 4 years ago

Text

seizure | epic battle fantasy 5 fic

Despite appearances, it was obvious that Lance cared. So Nat thought, anyway- she saw the quiet concern whenever she got siphoned or fell in battle, emotions clearly running a bit deeper than a mere concern that the healer was down. She never said much about it; surely Matt and Anna saw it too, and Lance would never admit to liking anyone but Nolegs, but she was sure of it.

Today she found out she was wrong.

“Ass...I’ll bet he’s just trying to ambush us in his tank or something.”

“He wouldn’t, I’m telling you. Something’s wrong.”

Lance had been missing that morning. That was already disconcerting, but not implausible. Lance occasionally left to obscure, inhabited areas in the dead of night, gunblade and usually Gungnir in tow, and simply existed for a few hours. She knew because she’d once panicked when his thin form wasn’t visible on the couch after a nightmare, only for him to return not 20 minutes later almost looking at peace.

It was possible that he’d fallen asleep wherever he was going (no, never, not a man who would wake at the sound of an out of place breath) but that possibility had come and gone when it was halfway through breakfast and he still hadn’t shown up.

At the moment, though, only Nat seemed concerned. Anna simply didn’t care, almost seeming happy he wasn’t there to dampen the mood. Matt probably thought the same, but kept quiet for fear of angering the mage.

Nolegs was also being quiet impatient, though that could mean anything. The cat had always been quiet excitable over nothing, usually calming down once they set out for the day.

“He’s pretty capable. I’m sure he’s okay. He could’ve just gotten caught up with something.”

“For this long?”

“Maybe he’s smoking- you did say you didn’t want him smoking inside.”

“Then he’d be just outside, and he isn’t.”

Matt, having finally finished his meal, patted her on the shoulder. “He’ll be okay! Even if he did get in trouble, he’s got his own healing skills and stuff. Maybe he can’t beat everything, but he can certainly run from whatever’s threatening him.”

That got her to calm down, if only a bit. “That’s true...” For a moment, she allowed herself to calm, if only a bit.

Then Nolegs jumped at her again, meowing quite loudly. She started petting the cat’s head, hoping for some comfort. Instead, it he promptly jumped off her lap and nudged at the door.

“You want to head out?”

“Well, breakfast is over. Let’s go look for this ambush, yeah?”

“He’s not going to ambush us. He’s probably...Something.”

“Fixing that tank after a fight, maybe?”

“Sure. Hopefully.”

Nat was prepared to take the lead, the other two clearly not (she knew, of course, that’s not true, from the way Matt would use the familiar dark colors on Lance’s coat to calm himself after going berserk or the way Anna would go out of her way to use the more industrial bows just to see the almost pleased look on his face) invested in this quest.

But Nolegs, for once, had other plans. The moment the door opened the cat was bounding across the rickety wooden bridges holding so many Greenwood keepsakes and something in the back of Nat’s mind told her this was a bad sign.

“Guess the cat’s leading.”

And so they followed him, letting him leap at the small non-threats. Yet absent from his combat were the usual flourishes and twists in the air; only just enough to get them out of the way and nothing more. Not even a regard for himself- Nat and Anna both focused on healing at some point, just to keep the cat alive and well.

Finally, Nolegs hopped just out of sight and started loudly meowing in place.

“What is it?”

A quiet, almost inaudible groan from behind that rock. But she recognized it- oh how she recognized it.

“Lance?”

No response.

She peeked to the other side. There he was, sitting against it, side stained in blood, coat abandoned next to him and hat hanging loosely on his head. His gunblade, as always, in his right hand; his left was clutched tight.

“Lance!”

Immediately she rushed over to help him, healing magic bursting from her fingertips. Before she even surveyed the damage, a quick spell to keep him alive. It seemed to work, though she couldn’t tell what was currently bleeding and what was already stained red.

God, she could remember the days she’d wake up in the earliest morning, padding downstairs or into the kitchen dependent on their stay that night, and see him loosely using his coat as a blanket, white undershirt almost faded to a cream. Now it was soaked and red, like the medal on his coat or the glow of his favorite gun.

“Hey. Hey, I need you to stay awake, okay?”

His eyes were fluttering, unfocused, straying from her to the cat to the ground and back again. He barely nodded.

The other two were worrying behind her, but that wasn’t a part of the picture anymore. She immediately undid his shirt, knowing he’d lament its loss, and looked at the damage properly.

There was still a deep gash in his side, and burn marks (they looked like vampire bites, two little dots, made probably with some dual- pronged electric rod or perhaps they really were fangs) on his neck. His arm jolted every now and again. His entire body was practically limp- impossible. Something was much more wrong than the crimson pool beneath him; Lance was as stiff as a board even when asleep.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

His arm jolted again, his leg joining this time. He shook his head a little, eyes struggling. When he opened his mouth to speak it was raspy and started a fit of coughing before he could get a word out.

“Alright. Alright. Here, hold on.”

Her dress, a favorite, red that’s just a bit risque without being ridiculous and quite classy, swam in his vision. Red, more red- more blood? Or satin fabric that felt nice against his electrified skin? Both, he surmised; blood must feel like satin (no, that’s wrong, blood feels like oil mixed with honey and a splash of hate, what’s happening).

Anna’s green hair stood out in his vision. So did the yellow of the sunset- no, wait, it’s much later in the day than that. Matt’s hair? None of his swords were that dark and thick, a black square in his hands. How long had he bled out for? How long was were his limbs shaking with no control, his mind fading and coming back just to leave once more to a realm of nothing but shadow?

Nat could carry him. This had always been true- but usually he was a bit heftier than the lightest of Matt’s swords. The Celtic Cross was a bit heavier than him, actually, provided he wasn’t wearing his coat and guns. It was sometimes worrying.

Now he felt lighter than the Slime Staff, maybe even a feather; if she wasn’t already running she’d be moving faster at the mere thought. Anna and Matt rushed to keep up, and the cat, finally satisfied, lagged behind to snag a snack here or there.

She felt his leg jolt against her, and a tiny piece of her brain said some kind of mana affliction? But Lance couldn’t catch that so easily- he casted through guns and amplifiers and machinery, not as purely as her or Anna or even Matt at times (though she suspected he could fell an entire village if he’d simply use his magic to the fullest extent, but no one else ever seemed to notice and something always seemed off about asking him to do so even in difficult fights).

The majority of her mind was occupied with getting him to safety and patching up his wounds, of course, but another part of her brain said remember the electric burns? And she was convinced it was right by the time she’d burst through the door and set him down on the couch.

He seemed able to keep his eyes open for more than a moment, at least, but still in terrible shape. She patted his shoulder twice and stood up.

“Stay here, no fighting, healer’s orders. I’m getting you some water.”

The glass was already half full (half empty, said the optimistic part of her) when the others made it in the house. From her spot she could see him; his limbs were twitching still, occasionally, but he made no move to fight her orders. He made no move to do much of anything, really; the command was a bit overboard, considering he probably couldn’t.

Almost immediately she was back at his side.

“Here. Drink.”

He drank, but barely more than a few sips. His face was pained, eyes still fluttering closed, and what were those burn marks on his neck?

“Just a little more, please. Then you can sleep, okay? I’m here. You’ll be okay.”

He obliged, though it looked difficult. Finally, she laid him down, telling him to rest. The cat, seeing a new purpose, leapt to the couch armrest where he stayed whenever he wanted to stay with the gunner, curled up as if he was just as tired.

She looked to the others. Anna looked almost guilty, probably remembering breakfast. Matt kept stealing glances behind her, looking at the gunner’s limp form, his coat in the swordsman’s hands.

“I can look after him, if you guys need to go get supplies.”

The offer was surprising, but Anna jumped on it.

“Yeah, come on. I don’t know what we need for...what, twitching?”

“Neither do I.”

A silence and awkward looks followed.

“Maybe he’ll know when he wakes up. Either way, somebody’s gotta deal with the cat when he wakes up.”

“But-”

“Nat, you’re gonna worry yourself to death.”

“It’s justified!”

“And gonna kill you. Come on, if you let Matt come with me we’re gonna end up with way too much beer.”

“Hey!”

“It’s the truth.”

“Alright.”

And she begrudgingly let Matt stay with Lance, heading off to get supplies with the other girl.

The moment the door closed, he put down the coat on the back of the couch and moved to get a better look. He’d been farthest at all times, grabbing the coat and Nolegs while using Anna to keep track of Nat’s position, and barely even knew what was wrong.

Now he saw. At the very least, the gash in his midsection seemed fine- healed already via magic and a little bit of time, he knew. There was a tiny trace of blood still there, when it was closing up; he wiped that away with a tissue from the kitchen and threw it in the garbage.

His gunblade, even in his sleep, was still tightly clutched in his right hand. Unsurprising, considering the man.

His left hand was open, and something glinted from its spot between the two planes of the couch. Kleptomaniac that he was, he swiped it up without thinking (he felt a little bad, because he knew Lance hated that sort of thing, but nobody had to know if it was unimportant and hey maybe it could help calm Nat’s nerves).

It was a small metal plate of some sort, though it seemed quite thick, with two little nubs that reminded him of a baby’s fangs just starting to grow in.

Important, probably. He pocketed it for when Nat came back, and sat down, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

there will be a part two, probably hopefully

and man I’m glad I wrote this instead of working (half kidding. half I haven’t written anything in a while because of stuff and god it feels good to write again, half man I should really be doing that thing)

~Eve6262

#epic battle fantasy #epic battle fantasy 5 #fanfic #lance #natalie #matt #writing

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7-wonders · 5 years ago

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Hey so i gotta plant this seed: Xavier actually lives and Y/N dies. Kinda like a trevor situation whwre he dosnt one abiut ghosts but comes back years later and is like "oh shit my girlfriend is still here". Fluffy, sad you decide. Just gotta give lots of love for a character I thought we'd see a lot more of x

Quick warning for mentions of suicide, as well as somebody dying and blood (y’know, the usual).

He has to do this.

Everybody, from his family to his friends (these people aren’t actually your friends, a voice in Xavier’s head reminds himself, your real friends are all dead), reminds him that this is not something he has to do. Xavier wants to argue with them, telling them about the “healing power of revisiting the site of trauma,” or whatever other accurate bullshit his shrink says, but he chooses instead to say that he wants to do this. And he does.

Xavier wants to do this, he needs to do it, but he’s fucking terrified nonetheless.

The closer that he gets to Camp Redwood, the more Xavier’s hands shake on the steering wheel. It’s two years to the day since the second massacre on those grounds, yet he still misses his trusty Vanta-C, which had been trashed that fateful night upon a failed escape attempt that was thwarted by one of the three serial killers roaming the grounds. He starts to think that he should have taken up one of the numerous offers to join him on his journey, but there’s no going back now.

He has to do this.

Refusing to acknowledge what had happened two years ago had done Xavier no good. He was irreversibly altered from what he had seen and experienced that summer evening, and ignoring what he had gone through only made the nightmares and flashbacks worse. Attending Brooke’s trial had been the first step towards healing, he had realized as he walked out of the courthouse feeling like a small weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He knew what needed to be done in order to achieve true closure, and so, Xavier Plympton vowed that he would return on the anniversary of the day that he was nearly murdered.

The day that you were murdered.

Xavier drums his fingers against the dashboard, staring at the carved ‘Camp Redwood’ sign that hangs above the entrance to the camp. His chest tightens with panic, and he nearly puts the car into reverse before reminding himself that he’s safe. Ramirez and Brooke were on Death Row, and Mr. Jingles was dead. There was nothing to harm him except for his own memories.

Two years. 730 days. 17,520 hours. He’s kept track of the hours and days, although he hasn’t wanted to. No matter how the time is counted, Xavier steps into Camp Redwood for the first time in 729 days, 14 hours, 54 minutes, and 12 seconds.

The eerie quiet of the campground reminds Xavier of a cemetery, before he comes to the sobering realization that it basically is a cemetery. Although the bodies of his friends (of his love) may not be buried here, their last moments were spent here. The fear that they felt must linger on some level. Xavier’s not sure what he believes in, but emotions that powerful must leave a mark on physical places.

Xavier’s heart jumps into his throat when he sees certain landmarks that stand out in his short residence at the summer camp. The campfire, long-since put out, where he entranced his fellow counselors with the ghost tale of Mr. Jingles, all of them blissfully unaware that he truly was lurking in the nearby woods. The boys’ cabin, where he had shared a joint with you while listening to Chet complain about the Olympic games. The pit where Chet had been impaled. The clearing near the lake where Xavier held you as you took your last breaths.

The air forcibly leaves his lungs upon seeing the place you were last alive, the force of his emotion forcing him to his knees in the dirt. His mind begins to show him your final moments, and he squeezes his eyes shut while muttering that it was just a memory in the hopes that he wouldn’t fall into a flashback. The pull is too strong, and soon, he feels the chill of that night once more.

Xavier jumps out from the tree that he and Chet are hidden behind, Trevor staring triumphantly into the spiked pit where he had just pushed Mr. Jingles to his death.

“Holy shit dude, that was awesome!” Xavier exclaims, slapping Trevor’s outstretched hand. Trevor’s grin begins to slip, but before Xavier can question him, an ear-piercing scream sends his heart plunging into his stomach.

“(Y/N)!” He’s running as fast as his weary legs allow, following the heart-wrenching sound of your terror as he dodges tree branches and jumps over roots. He shouldn’t have left your side in the first place, but you had encouraged him to go when you heard Chet calling for help, assuring him with a smile that you would stay put and hidden. He had left you there, by the shores of the supposedly bottomless lake, and now he could only hope that you weren’t in danger.

When he reaches the clearing where he had last seen you, Xavier’s shoulders sag in relief. There’s no serial killers around, and he’s hopeful that you managed to scare them off and are still hiding. Those hopes are dashed when he hears a weak cough and sees you slumped against a tree.

“(Y/N).” Xavier can’t feel his legs as he falls beside you, your half-lidded eyes struggling to stay focused as you look at him. “No, no, no!” Blood shines on your hand in the moonlight, and he gingerly lifts your arm away from your abdomen to reveal a deep stab wound.

“Xav,” you rasp, bloody hand reaching up to stroke his cheek, “you came back.”

“Shh,” he soothes, ripping off his jacket and placing pressure on your wound. “You don’t need to talk, babe. Save your energy, okay? I’m going to get you out of here.”

Your glassy eyes stare widely at him. “It’s too late.”

“No, what are you talking about? I’m here, it’s not too late.” When you cough again, blood dribbling past your lips, Xavier realizes that you’re right.

“I’m cold,” you whimper, tears streaking down your face, “and I’m scared. I--I don’t want to die.”

He wants to reassure you that you’re not going to die, but he can already see the light in your eyes dimming. The only thing he can do now is comfort you, so he gathers you in his arms as if he’s going to carry you and holds you to him. “Here sweetheart, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“You need to get out of here, okay? Tell everyone what happened here tonight.”

“I will.” Your eyelashes flutter as water hits them, Xavier realizing that he’s crying.

“I’m sorry that we didn’t have more time, I--” more coughing cuts you off, a gurgling sound emanating from your chest.

“I know.” His eyes flicker up, and he laughs softly. “Look at the stars, (Y/N). Remember how you always complained about not being able to see the stars in the city, and that you would show me the constellations when we got here?”

You nod as your breathing becomes more shallow, yet you somehow manage to clutch Xavier closer to you.

“I did research on constellations, because I love you and I wanted to impress you.” He points up at a cluster of stars. “That one’s Orion. I only know that because you told me about his belt--”

You shudder against him, and Xavier looks down in horror as you take one last breath before the light fully leaves your eyes. The hand that was touching his cheek falls, landing in your lap. “(Y/N),” Xavier says hoarsely, shaking your body. “(Y/N)!”

“It’s not fair,” Xavier mutters, remembering your death in vivid detail. You were supposed to have so much time together. You’re the first relationship that’s ever made him consider settling down, and he was going to give it all up, the drugs and the partying and the casual sex, for you. Now, he has nothing. “It’s not fair!” Xavier yells up at the sky, pounding his fists against the ground.

“Stop, Xav. You’re going to hurt yourself.” The crooning of a soft voice that he hasn’t heard for two years stops him cold.

“You’re not real, this is just a figment of my imagination.”

A hand, warm and real, gently lifts his chin up, until Xavier’s staring into your eyes that are once again full of life. “That would probably be better than what this really is.”

“(Y/N),” he gasps, looking you over as if you’re going to disappear in front of him. Really, you don’t blame him. You look exactly the same as you did that horrible night, minus the stab wound and the blood.

You laugh in delight as Xavier lunges forward, standing up with you wrapped tightly in his arms while he spins you around. After a year of wandering aimlessly and another year of deep, unending anger, this is a welcome change.

“I’ve missed you,” Xavier cries into your hair, hands roaming up and down your body to confirm that you’re real.

“I’ve missed you too, baby.” Although he looks a little different, more worn-down, he still smells the exact same. Irish Spring Soap, cinnamon gum, and a hint of marijuana.

Xavier pulls away to look at you once more, still keeping a tight grip on you. “How are you--I saw you die! How are you alive?”

“Baby,” you smile sadly, “I’m not.”

“But you’re here.”

“We’re ghosts. Everybody who died here is trapped here. I don’t know why, or how, but we’re still here.”

“If you’re a ghost, why didn’t you come find me?”

You start crying now, and Xavier holds you to his chest once more. “I tried, Xav, I promise. I spent a month trying to figure a way out of this fucking place, but we can’t leave. We’re physically tied to these grounds.”

“It’s okay, I don’t blame you.” As Xavier sits there, finally feeling complete once more, he realizes what must be done. He hasn’t felt this happy for two years, and he’ll never feel whole if he’s missing half of his heart.

He has to do this.

“I want to stay here, with you,” Xavier says.

“You can’t. I won’t let you stay, this place has a way of affecting the living.” Xavier remains silent, instead pulling a knife out of his backpack to show you what he means. “Xavier, no!”

“(Y/N), I can’t live without you. These past two years have left me a shell of a man. I finally have you back, and I won’t be able to go on if I know you’re here.”

“I won’t let you k--” you cut yourself off with a sob, slapping your hand over your mouth. “I won’t let you do this to yourself.”

“Don’t you want to be together?”

“Of course I do! But you have a life to live.”

Xavier shakes his head. “Life’s not worth living if you’re not in it.”

Closing your eyes, you remain silent for a minute before finally nodding. “I can’t stop you from what you want to do. If this is what you want...”

“I have to do this.” Your eyes glisten with tears, and you kiss his forehead. “Does...does dying hurt?”

“Only for a moment. Then, you’re just cold. There’s nothing, and suddenly, there’s something. It’s like falling to sleep.”

He nods, turning the knife around so the blade is facing his abdomen. As he looks down, he realizes that his hands have stopped shaking for the first time since the massacre.

“I’ll see you on the other side, (Y/N).” Xavier’s lips meet yours as he pushes the knife into his stomach, ending his life while simultaneously starting an eternity together with you.

#xavier plympton #xavier plympton imagine #xavier plympton x reader #ahs #ahs imagine #ahs imagines #ahs: 1984 #american horror story #american horror story imagine #american horror story imagines #american horror story: 1984

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mytardisisparked · 5 years ago

Text

When Sunrise Comes Early: Chapter 4

A/N: Hi. So, this is super delayed, and I am very sorry about that. You see, I kind of wrote myself into a bit of a corner and I was struggling to figure my way out of it. SOMEBODY *glares at Satine* hijacked my story and SOMEBODY ELSE *glares at Mace Windu* did some unexpected things in the narrative that presented a greater challenge in making the story flow than I was prepared for when I began. Now that I have worked my way past that roadblock, I am hoping to provide more regular updates. I can’t guarantee it because I am an easily distracted housecat, but I will do my best and I WILL NOT abandon this story! Thank you once again to everyone who has stuck with this fic, commented, and given me encouragement. I love yall so much.

TL;DR- I’m sorry I suck at updating and I’m going to do better.

Now, on with the story.

-----------

It didn’t take long for Obi-Wan to tell the story of how Palpatine had been captured and explain why they needed the Force-suppressing prison. Throughout his short speech, the Mandalorian council, seated in a semicircle around him, remained silent and unexpressive.

“This is a matter of galactic security,” Obi-Wan said as he wrapped up, “not just an internal Republic, or even Jedi, affair.”

After a moment of silence, Satine rose from her throne. “Thank you, Master Kenobi. We will take some time to discuss what you have told us.”

Obi-Wan tried not to allow himself to become annoyed at the lack of an immediate reaction from the council. Instead, he bowed to the room and took a step back from its focus, looking to Satine for direction.

“Isatol.” She said, summoning the straight-backed guard from just behind her. “Please escort Master Kenobi and his foundling to their quarters.” The duchess’s eyes met Obi-Wan’s with a kind but firm look. “I will summon you when we have reached a decision.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan bowed again and watched in approval out of the corner of his eye as Anakin did the same thing.

The guard lead them down a series of hallways that Obi-Wan frantically attempted to memorize as he matched the quick pace of their tall escort. Eventually, they reached a door that the towering woman opened with a graceful sidestep, allowing the Jedi and his apprentice to enter.

Obi-Wan struggled to keep his jaw from dropping as he took in the loveliness of their quarters. The ceilings were gracefully sloped and creme-colored, which assisted the floor-to-ceiling windows along the far wall in making it feel as if they were outside rather than in. The furniture was simplistic, but elegant; perfect for a Jedi and padawan to meditate. There was a small kitchen where they could make caf or tea, and two bedrooms off of the main room, each with its own bath. The layout and decorations were clearly designed to keep the mind of the resident clear - it was evident that Satine had chosen this room specifically with the needs of a Jedi in mind.

The corners of Obi-Wan’s mouth turned up, unbidden.

Anakin’s reaction was a bit more explosive. The boy gasped dramatically and stepped into the room, spinning around to take it all in.

“It’s huge!” He gaped up at the tall ceiling as Obi-Wan shook his head fondly.

“Yes, Anakin, thank you for stating the obvious,” he teased with no venom. “Why don’t you go unpack?” He gestured to where their rucksacks were already sitting on the floor.

The boy scampered off and Obi-Wan turned back to the door, starting a bit when he realized that the guard was still standing there, studying him with an impassive face.

“Ah, thank you, Isatol.” He gave an awkward bow.

The woman inclined her head in return. “Of course, Master Kenobi.” She straightened quickly and looked him over again, still revealing none of what she was thinking through her face. “You are the Jedi Duchess Satine traveled with during the war.”

That had not been a question, but Obi-Wan still blinked and responded: “Yes. I was a padawan at the time - an apprentice to Master Qui-Gon Jinn.”

Isatol looked him hard in the eyes. “Then you know, as her former guardian, the kind of danger she faces daily from those who oppose her rule. They way people try to manipulate her.”

“I do.”

“Then also know that, as captain of her guardsmen, I will do whatever I must to protect her from any matter of harm.”

Puzzled, Obi-Wan simply nodded. “I understand.”

To his surprise, the woman cracked a half-grin, though it was not entirely friendly. “There is much you don’t understand, Master Jedi. Very much indeed.” Her face returned to it’s neutral starting point. “You have been away from her side for longer than you may realize.”

Confusion growing, Obi-Wan watched as Isatol turned away with a bow and headed back down the hall, her short, dark hair swishing as she went.

Well, that was... threatening?

With a shake of his head, he closed the door and focused back on Anakin, who had just emerged from one of the bedrooms.

“This place is amazing, Master! I love Mandalore!” He grinned and flopped down on the couch.

Obi-Wan smiled gently and kicked the boy’s boots off of the couch, sitting in their place. “It is a lovely city, to be sure.” He paused. “I’m glad to see that you and Korkie got along well.”

Another enthusiastic grin. “Yeah, Korkie’s pretty cool! He’s a little stuffy, but he has a really nice tooka and knows some cool trees to climb in the gardens.”

“I’m glad you two had fun.”

“How about you and the duchess?” Anakin sat up to look his master in the face. “Did you two have a nice talk?”

Obi-Wan gave Anakin a side-eye, gauging his intentions. “Yes, it was nice to catch up with an old friend.”

Thankfully, Anakin didn’t seem to have any underlying suspicions about the nature of his relationship with Satine, as he simply nodded at Obi-Wan’s response and began to talk about the afternoon in fast-paced, intensive detail that made Obi-Wan’s head spin.

The longer the day drew on, the more nervous Obi-Wan became. If this was not an immediate decision, then there had to be conflict. Conflict amongst Satine’s council might not spell good news for the Jedi.

Finally, several hours after they had left the council to debate, Isatol and another tall, redheaded guard came to fetch them back to the throne room.

The occupants of the throne room greeted them with neutral faces as, once again, Obi-Wan was lead to stand in the center of their half-circle.

“We have come to a decision.” Satine spoke from her throne, her tone even. “We will allow the Jedi Council to use our Force-suppressing prison to hold the Sith Lord, Darth Sidious.”

Obi-Wan felt some degree of relief, but it was far overshadowed by the impending “but” he could sense was approaching.”

“However,” ah, there it is, “we feel that, as a neutral system and the owners of this device, the captured Sith Lord should be kept on Mandalore.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach twisted. “I’m afraid the Jedi Council will not be too keen on that idea; Sith fall under Jedi jurisdiction, so we should be the ones to watch over him. That is why we would prefer to keep Sidious on Coruscant.”

One of the light-haired advisors leaned forward. “Be that as it may, this revelation and unmasking of the chancellor has proven that the Republic has some degree of higher-level corruption. We do not trust that the powers of the Sith Lord will not be exploited for nefarious uses.”

Obi-Wan tried not to bristle; he knew that there was some degree of truth to the statement but he didn’t particularly feel that Mandalore had anything to say about corruption when their own civil war was not all that long ago.

“Perhaps,” Satine said before Obi-Wan could disturb the civility with some dry retort, “if the Jedi Council feels that the Jedi should watch over the Sith, a knight could be stationed here on Mandalore to help guard their prisoner.”

The council murmured fervently.

“I don’t believe the people would like the idea of a Jedi on Mandalore, Your Grace,” a dark-haired woman to Obi-Wan’s left sniffed.

“Perhaps not at first,” Satine tilted her head, “but, in time, I believe that this will help heal the broken relationship between our people and forge a more peaceful alliance.”

Although the advisors did not look happy, none of them contested the duchess, who had pinned them all with a hard stare.

“I will have to discuss this matter with the Council, but I feel that arrangement might be something they are willing to consider.” Obi-Wan gave the room a terse smile.

“Excellent. Before you consult your superiors, Master Kenobi, would you be willing to join me for dinner?” She stood and extended a hand towards a hall off of the throne room.

Obi-Wan swallowed. “Of course, Your Grace.”

She simply nodded and walked towards the hallway. “Good. My chef makes an excellent carbonara that I believe you will enjoy.”

As Obi-Wan began to follow her, he caught Isatol’s eye from just behind the duchess, fixing him with a meaningful glare. Before he could react, however, the stern woman followed the duchess out of the room, leaving him to ponder what the Captain of the Mandalorian Guard had against him.

#Obitine #WCSE #Star Wars #The Clone Wars #Obi-Wan #Satine #Anakin #Korkie #OC #Mandalore

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sarcastically-defensive17 · 5 years ago

Text

Red Desert - A. Irwin

original story by sarcastically-defensive17. Requested by the lovely @twinkyjohnson. Hope you enjoy, love! I finished this at 3AM so the ending sucks!

It had been a long time since Ashton was back home. Australia seemed like a whole world away from his life in L.A, but he was more than glad to be spending some time with the people he loves the most.

His mum met him at the airport and captured him in her vice-like grip the minute he walked away from baggage claim. He hadn't noticed the blonde woman bounding towards him until he was clasped against her shoulder and his phone was nearly knocked to the ground.

"My baby boy!" Anne Marie squealed, tightening her grip on her son, "I've missed you so much!"

He couldn't help but laugh and wrap his arms around the woman. His heart almost physically swelled at the feeling of his mother holding him, and he didn't even try to fight the smile that took over his face.

"Hey mama! How are you? How's Lauren and Harry?" His mother's blue eyes hold such a warmth that he had missed.

Calum had left L.A almost a week before Ashton to return home, and Luke and Michael were taking their respective significant others' on vacations to celebrate the well-earned break they had.

When Ashton learned of their time off, he knew exactly where he wanted to spend the next few months. His childhood home, with his siblings and mother. So, fresh off the stage after the last concert of their world tour, he booked a flight with no return trip in sights.

"You will see them at home!" she shushed him, before grabbing his wrist and adjusting her bag on her shoulder, "Come on, Mini's driving the car around because I refuse to pay for the price of parking."

His heart stalled at the name.

"Wait, why did you bring her?" He asked, but could barely hear the reply over the sound of the crowd. Anne Marie pulled him along behind her, much like she would when he was a small child and he chuckled at the nostalgia.

A blue jeep pulled up in front of the entrance, and Anne rushed him to get in before they were driving off.

The woman behind the wheel was possibly the scariest driver that Ashton had ever encountered and he kept a death grip on the handle above his seat.

"Whats up, Rockstar?" He heard her ask, and his eyes reluctantly darted to the front of the car.

Her own eyes were hidden by dark aviators, and he noticed the septum piercing that decorated her button nose.

"Hey, Y/N, how are you doing?" He could barely find his voice. He had always been nervous around her, his childhood crush getting the better of him even after years of being away.

He had never truly forgotten about his Mini-me.

Red, red desert, heal our blues, I'd dive deeper for you.

"Looking good, feeling good, Irwin."

He had never once been nervous around a girl. Not unless you count Y/N. They were best friends for so many years, until his career took off and she headed off to Uni. They lost contact. Now, the sight of her, matured into a woman when he left her as a girl, lips curled into a smile as she spoke to his mother.

It all came crashing back to him.

What a blessing to feel your love, Twilight moments with you.

They pulled up to the familiar house and Ashton scrambled out of the car as fast as he could.

Does that woman even know what a speed limit is?

A scoff sounded by the boot of the car and he turned to see the woman holing his bag out to him.

Rather than taking it, he took the moment to soak in the details of the person he had missed for many years. Despite the numerous times they had toured in Australia, their paths never crossed.

She hadn't gotten any taller, but the doc martens on her feet made her stand a few inches taller than her usual 5 feet. Hence the name 'mini'.

Her face had lost the baby fat, and it was if he were staring at a completely different woman.

She whistled sharply, snapping his attention from her half-covered face, "You gonna take your bags? Or am I your pack-mule as well as your chauffeur?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah. Sorry," he could have sworn he felt a spark when their skin touched, but it could have been his nervous state reacting to her warm hand.

He didn't know, but what he did know, is that he wanted nothing more than to hug his former best friend.

I've been asleep so long, I'm so far away. Visions I see are strong, I hear what they say

"I don't know about you, Irwin, but I think we have a lot of catching up to do," she smiled. The dazzling gesture that makes his knees tremble.

He unconsciously ran a hand through his red hair, pushing it out of his face.

"What do you say? Pizza, beer and trashy movies at my place tomorrow night?"

His eyes widened, "Of course! I'd love to!"

He sounded more enthusiastic than one normally would, but the idea of spending time with somebody who holds such a dear place in his heart was thrilling to his mind.

She chuckled softly as he bounced between his feet, a sign, she knew too well, that meant he was embarrassed.

"Cool beans. Catch ya' later, Rockstar."

She called out a quick farewell to Anne, before climbing up into her car and speeding away.

He watched her turn off of his street with a small smile on his face.

"You coming in, kiddo? Harry's waiting for you," Anne called. She could tell from the sight of her son that he was revisiting the memories with the woman. The woman he thought he kept his feelings for a secret.

He turned back to his house, wrapping his arm around his Mum's shoulder and bursting through the door.

He missed the Red Desert he called home.

Won't you leave all your fears at the edge of the world?

He missed his hometown so much, but he also found himself missing L.A while he was gone.

He planned six months in Australia, and he was sure as hell going to spend every moment he could with his family.

And with her.

He knocked on her door five times, in a rhythmic pattern that they used as kids. She was living in her childhood home, having been left the place after her mother had passed a few years back so his mother told him.

"Come on in," he hard her call from beyond the wood.

Her back was turned to him as he walked in. She had no jacket on, and he could clearly see a crescent moon tattoo inked onto the back of her shoulder.

"It's been a while, Rockstar. I'm surprised you still remember our knock," She had a smile on her face as she turned.

"How could I forget?" He laughed softly, eyes locking on the dimples that sunk in her skin. "When did you get the tattoo?"

"After mum passed. Wanted something more permanent to remember her by, y'know?"

He nodded softly. He hadn't known about her mother passing. Not until a few months after when he was on the phone to his own mum, and she shared the news.

From what she said, Y/N wasn't coping too well since.

"I missed this place," he accepted a beer she handed him, his eyes moving to the walls that lacked photos.

She had removed so much from the home. He noticed boxes piled up in the corner of the lounge room.

She didn't reply to his comment.

"What made you decide to spend the next couple of months here?" She didn't meet his eyes, instead she kept focus on the rings on his fingers.

A little item of wardrobe that he adopted along with his band mates.

He was hoping she wouldn't ask him that question, as he didn't want to admit it to himself more than he had.

She noticed his silence.

I've been asleep so long, wasting away.

She remembers seeing that look in his eyes when they were teenagers. He wasn't okay.

She put her beer down on the counter, and closed her arms around her best friend. He slowly wrapped his around her much smaller frame.

He always loved how short she was.

"You can tell me anything, Ash. Always," She finally met his eyes, and he could see the hidden pain just as she could in his.

"I, um, I just needed some time back home. Some time to heal and find myself again." He cleared his throat, "It's getting a bit bad at the moment. Too much drinking, too much partying. Just scared of it going too far."

She pulled him to the lounge, and curled into his side like they would do many years ago.

"I've got you, Irwin. Take as much time as you need to heal. You've always got me," she promised, grabbing his large hand softly.

"I know, Mini."

The pizza arrived a few minutes ago, and she managed to get Ashton raving about his last tour, only for her to raise her hand and silence him half way through.

"Hold on, I need to call the police," she hid her smirk well.

"What? What for?" His eyes widened in alarm, and he dropped his plate to the table.

"I need to file a missing persons report," She went so far as to pull her phone from her pocket and unlock it. The man simply cocked a brow and waited for an explanation.

A giggle fell from her lips before she halted dramatically.

"I need to report that your accent is missing. You're sounding like a real yank," she winked at him, and before she knew it she had a piece of pizza slung at her face.

Ashton's loud laugh echoed through the room.

Red, red desert, heal our blues I'd dive deeper for you.

Being home worked wonders for his mood.

Unfortunately, the months went by faster than he would have liked.

He still found himself pining over the same woman he had for many, many years. At this point, he was adamant that he was in love with her.

He loves the random tattoos she had over her body, the way her eyes shine in the daylight. The way she took pride in the country she calls home, going as far to support the aussie cricket team despite disliking almost every person on the team.

The passion she has for music, the kind heart that has her offering assistance to the Irwin family, whom she treated as her own blood. Even the way she answers the door is amazing to him.

He simply adores every fiber of her being.

His nerves around Y/N has lessened dramatically in the time, and it is simply a nostalgia trip of their childhood life. One that is coming to an abrupt end in a few weeks.

He knew he needed to make his move.

What a blessing to feel your love, Twilight moments with you.

He knocked on her door - five knocks - and it swung open a few seconds after.

She saluted him as she had since they were younger and he beamed at the sight.

"What brings you here, Mr. All-American?" She winked and he threw his head back, a sigh leaving his lips.

"You did not just mock me with my own song title."

"You can bet your firm ass I did."

He blushed at the comment but stalked to the lounge in an effort to hide it.

"Uh, I have something to ask you, Y/N, and I'm kinda nervous about it," he twisted one of the many rings in his finger. A thick silver band with a large 'A' decorating it.

She entered the room with two glasses of water in hand, not wanting to bother Ashton too much after his confession about his fear of alcohol addiction.

"What's up?" Her eyes were wide and curious. She held the innocent look of a doe, and he smiled at her before sipping his drink.

"I'm heading home in a few days..."

Tell me, would you pack up all your bags, stay true to North? You're the only one I'd do this for.

"Oh," her voice was quiet, her eyes dropping to her hands.

"But, I was hoping you would come to L.A with me. If you want to, that is. There's no pressure! But I would love it if you did!" He began to ramble, but halted when he felt her smaller fingers thread with his.

"Ash, why do you want me to come with you?" She laughs slightly, almost in disbelief. "Why not take your mum? Or one of your siblings? I know Harry would love it."

"Mum needs to take care of the kiddos and Harry goes back to school soon. But that's beside the point - I don't want you to come for a visit, Y/N."

"Then what are you -"

"I want you to come and live with me."

The room goes quiet, and the only expression he can read on her face is confusion.

"I know you're not happy here, in this house," he pulls her hands in his lap, holding them both in his as his eyes connect with hers, "and I can't stand the thought of not having you with me."

Her heart races at the thought of Ashton wanting her around permanently. She can't deny the influx of feelings that had overwhelmed her since he returned.

Hell, she distances herself from him all of those years ago because she started to fall for him, but she knew a confession would affect his career. She wanted him to follow his dreams, rather than chase after a girl they both knew he had been in love with for years.

"Ash, our friendship can handle the distance," a quiet laugh leaves her lips, "We can keep in contact better this time round."

"Don't you see, Y/N? I can't handle the friendship anymore!" His voice was raised, causing her to jump.

He grew frustrated at himself. If he had told her how he felt all that time ago, maybe things would be different. Maybe he wouldn't have needed the break from the famous life.

"What?" Her eyes were glassy, and his hands went to her face.

"I don't want friendship, because I'm in love with you," he all but whispers, and her mouth drops open.

Red, red desert, heal our blues. I'd dive deeper for you.

"You- what? You are?" She gapes, mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find the words.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that-"

She pushes her lips against his, wrapping her arms round his neck and holding him close.

They melt into the kiss, both of them longing for the simple gesture for so many years.

What a blessing to feel your love. Twilight moments with you.

She pulls away slowly, resting her nose against his.

"I can't for sure tell you that it is love at the moment, but I have been in the process of falling for you since you got back. I liked you all those years ago but I was terrified of holding you back, because we both know you would have done whatever you could to make me happy."

"Y/N, I don't mind if you don't feel exactly the same way as I do, I just don't want to be without you. As long as you're willing, I want to be yours," his eyes were pleading, and she could see where his natural hair colour is growing through the red.

She brushed a hand through his soft locks, and kissed him once more.

"It would be a blessing to feel your love, Ashton," she smiled against his lips, and he wrapped his arms around her waist tighter than they were before.

Pack up all your bags, stay true to North. You're the only one I'd do this for.

He broke the kiss this time, searching her eyes for the answer he was looking for.

"Does this mean-"

"Yes, I'll go up north with you!"

He let out a hoot sound, standing and spinning the smaller girl around in his arms.

He set her on the ground when she squealed.

"So, did your 'red desert' heal your blues?" She gestured the quotation marks with a teasing smirk on her lips.

"Oh I am so stealing those as lyrics."

Red, red desert, heal our blues. I'd dive deeper for you.

#ashton irwin #ashton irwin x reader #5sos #luke hemmings #michael clifford #calum hood #C A L M #songfic

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