#I just think poetry deserves the time and effort you’re able to put into it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-bau-quinjet · 4 years ago

Text

Always

Summary: You overhear Steve talking to Bucky about going back to be with Peggy. Rather than confronting the situation, you write him a letter.

Warnings: I cried just thinking about writing this, so much angst, some swearing

Word Count: 3305

a/n: here it is folks: the sad fic I mentioned a few posts ago. Inspired by a multitude of songs from the album Ashlyn by Ashe. I high key recommend listening to that album while you read or just in general. I'm pretending like nobody died in Endgame because that shit is sad and I know this is sad aside from that, but I still have a heart ya know?

Per usual, any song lyrics (or song lyrics that I changed a bit) are in bold! I think used lyrics from Me Without You, Save Myself, I'm Fine, Love is Not Enough, and Always.

Masterlist

"You'd really want to go back?" You overheard Bucky right before you walked into Steve's room.

"I don't know." He let out a deep sigh. "I mean, I do know, but what do you think?" Steve's answer left you wondering what they were discussing.

"All for Peggy?" Your heart stopped waiting for Steve to reply.

Another sigh escaped his lips. You could easily picture him running his hands down his face, a signal he was deep in thought. "I mean, I never got a chance to see what would happen with her. Don't you think she deserves this much?"

You felt frozen. You couldn't hear the rest of Steve's answer or Bucky's reply over the sound of blood rushing through your ears.

It was all too much to handle. Rather than confront the grab bag of emotions swimming inside of you, you turned around and went back to your room in a zombie like haze.

"Friday, don't let anyone in my room."

You know the AI replied, but you were still too caught up in thought to understand it. Your mind was full of questions you knew you couldn't figure out the answers to alone.

Why would Steve want to go back for Peggy when he had you? Why would he even consider it if he loved you like he said he does? Is he still in love with Peggy? Has he been in love with her the whole time? Why would he choose her when he's spent so much more time with you?

"Y/N?" The sound of Steve's voice outside your door startled you. "Y/N, honey, are you in there?"

You could hear the doorknob rattling in his attempt to open it, but Friday was doing as you asked.

"I thought you were going to meet me downstairs?"

His words only broke your heart more, a small sniffle escaping despite your efforts to remain quiet.

"Are you not feeling well? What's wrong?"

His questions were left unanswered, much like the questions swimming around your head.

Steve kept talking to you through the door for a while, but you never replied. You weren't ready to face him, not until you knew you wouldn't say something you'd later regret.

The next few days carried on much the same. You refused to leave your room, relying on various snacks and protein bars you had for food. Every few hours, you would try to write down what you were feeling, but it didn't help calm you down the same way it typically did.

Everyone tried talking to you, but nothing worked. Steve spent hours outside your door every day in an effort to get you to talk to him, but you just couldn't figure out your emotions. It was all still too much to handle.

Late one night, Steve said something that forced you into action.

"Y/N, I don't know what happened, but if I did something I'm truly sorry. I'm returning the stones tomorrow. We've never not said goodbye before a mission... I just hope this one is the same."

You listened as he quietly walked back down the hallway, steps slowly receding until you were left in the same absolute silence you've spent the last few days.

You knew you had to talk to him, but hearing him say to your face that he's staying with Peggy would kill you.

You couldn't survive a permanent goodbye, not in your current state of mind.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, you decided to write Steve a letter. Maybe you'd give it to him or maybe it would just help you organize your thoughts. Either way, it would be helpful to write to someone for a change.

Hi Steve,

I, well, I guess I'll start with this. You deserve an apology. I'm truly sorry for ignoring you for the past few days. I just... I heard what you said to Bucky and I didn't know how to deal with it.

You know I've never been the best at controlling my emotions, so I just holed myself up in here. I avoided you so I could figure out my own feelings first.

I know I should talk to you. You deserve that too, but I don't think I could survive the heartbreak. I guess I'll try to explain everything I've been thinking and feeling since that night.

Honestly, I'm not sure where to start. It feels kind of stupid to say, but I obviously experienced a range of emotions when I first heard you and Bucky talking about going back.

You know I've always found solace in writing, so that's what I'm doing. I needed a way to clear my thoughts, and it turned into this concoction of thoughts and some poems - you know how I feel about poems. (Look at that! A sarcastic comment! I didn't think I was capable of humor anymore.)

This might not surprise you, but the first emotion I clung to was anger. I'm not angry anymore, well at least not as angry. Anyway, I wrote this next part when I was absolutely pissed at you.

What the fuck?

You want to go back in time and stay there?

You want to leave me behind?

Steve, what the fuck is wrong with you?

I could keep you here. If I really wanted to, I could figure out a way to do it. I could cut the brakes just to keep you from leaving. I'll do it too. My hands on the wheel would drive us into a wall.

You must think I'm being petty. Hiding in my room like a child to avoid you. All the while, here I am writing all the things I could do to keep you. Well, news flash: I don't need you. You made me think the only world I could exist in, was one you lived in, almost had me fooled.

Here's something you probably never considered, because I sure as shit never thought I'd even need to. I can be me without you. I don't have to rely on you for my own happiness. I thought you loved me, but if you want to go back and be with Peggy, do it. Go find yourself, let me down.

It's easy to sit here now and look back on how everything we had would always be second string to your relationship with her. God damn hindsight's 2020.

I want you to know, you did this to me. You broke my heart. When I heard you say you wanted a chance to be with Peggy, it's like my whole world crumbled down around me.

Everything I thought I knew was ripped out from under me. You poured rain all over my sunny. Yeah, someday, this could all be funny, but right now it's absolute shit.

And maybe everything will work out the way it's meant to be, but honestly I couldn't give less of a shit about that right now.

If I had the chance, I would take it back. Everything. Meeting you. Becoming friends. Dating you. Falling in love. I'd be jumping off your sinking ship, instead of going down with it.

It'd be so much easier that way. If I never fucking knew you.

One day I'll be good. I'll be over all of this bullshit. Right now I'm just mad. And you know what, it's justifiable. I think I'm allowed to be mad at you.

I'm over being so mature. If only I was never yours. Maybe I'll go back in time and undo it all. Then at least I could save myself from you.

Like I said, I wrote that in the heat of the moment. Once my brain caught up to my ears, all I saw was red. Anger didn't last as long as you might think though.

All that was how I felt in the moment, but I want you to know it's not true. I don't really believe any of it. I was hurt and angry and avoiding the pain I knew was just around the corner.

I've always told you anger would be my downfall because I just can't control what I say.

Let me be completely clear, I would never want to undo meeting you. You've been the best part of my life for years. I need you to know that I don't regret any of it and I never will.

Anyway, the anger shifted to tears pretty quickly. It wasn't hard to feel the pain that comes with someone you love leaving you. I can't honestly picture a world where I don't love you.

This is the first poem I wrote. With tear blurring my vision, I put pen to paper and this is what came out.

Complicated. Understated. On the way to, Devastated. I'm just holding on for dear life.

Short and sweet, right? Well, not so much sweet, but you get the point. I feel broken. Here's another bit of poetry for ya.

Right now I'm sorry, Burns through me darling, But I can't help hope In thirty years it won't.

Maybe I just need time. That's what everyone always says. "Time can heal all wounds."

It's hard to even think about moving on though when everything reminds me of you. I've got emotional souvenirs from fleeting moments we spent together. If this is the end, I'll always know you were my golden years. I know in the future I could close my eyes and go back there.

Maybe that's the hardest part. Knowing I'll always have these memories.

All I've been thinking about for the past three days is if this will ever feel better. And maybe it will, when time has passed.

Maybe when I'm older, I'll run out of stories about you. Maybe when I'm older, I'll know what it's like not to love you, Anymore.

Despite my best efforts, it's still only a maybe. Maybe when I'm older I'll be able to stop thinking about you every second of the day. Maybe when I'm older I won't feel like crying everytime I see your face.

But maybe not. Maybe I'll always feel this way.

Maybe when I'm six feet, underneath the concrete, I'll know what it's like not to want you, anymore.

I'm not saying all this to make you feel guilty. You don't need to tell me you're sorry. I know you are. I know you would never hurt me like this without a reason.

I should just talk to you, but I don't think I can. Not yet. We don't need to talk til we're ready. Both of us.

I guess I do have one question. Do you really love me?

I don't think I want to know the answer right now. Because even if you do... it takes a lot more than a rose, more than a kiss, more than a heart to truly love someone and spend forever with them.

It takes a lot more than a ring, more than a vow, more than a promise to build and maintain a relationship.

Love is not enough. I know that now. Even if you love me to the best of your abilities, you could still love Peggy more. Love may not be enough for us, but at least we got that much.

If you leave, I'll live the rest of my life grateful that at least I got your touch for as long as I did.

I used to think we could take our sweet time, that everything would be just fine. But now I know maybe not.

I cried for days. Like I said, I'm not writing this to make you feel guilty though. I just want to be completely honest. I cried a lot, probably more than I ever have before.

I kept replaying memories of time I spent with you. Not even dates, just the small moments that made me know I love you.

Like that day I woke up too early, almost put salt in my coffee. Oh I thank God that you stopped me before that.

I've never been a morning person, but ever since I met you you've always been there to keep my head on straight.

I think the thing I love most about you is how you can read me better than anyone I've ever known. I can hide from everyone else and they won't bat an eye. They never can tell when I'm falling apart on the inside.

No matter how hard I try to hide it though, you don't believe me when I say I'm alright. You can always, always tell.

It's like you've got a sixth sense that tells you I need you when I try to say I'm fine.

Before I met you, I would get so lonely everyday. Now I'm only lonely until you ask if I'm okay and then I remember that I have people who are there for me. I have you.

All this to say, I love you, Steve. I love you more than I've ever loved another human being.

Forever yours,

Y/N

It took you nearly all night to write a coherent letter and come up with a plan to talk to Steve. A quick glance at the clock let you know Steve would be up any minute, so you had to act fast.

You opened your door for the first time in days, running in a full sprint to the stairs and down the hall to Steve's door.

With one final burst of courage, you shoved the letter under the door and ran away before anyone could find you out of your room.

"Y/N?" A familiar knock on your door woke you from a restless sleep. "I read your letter, Y/N please let me explain."

It felt like time slowed down as you stared at the door.

"Y/N, I have to bring the stones back, but I really want to talk to you first."

"Come in." You steadied yourself with a deep breath, but one look at Steve ruined your flimsy resolve.

"Y/N... I tried to wait for you to come to me, but..."

He stopped talking when you shook your head, a painful sob forming in your chest.

"I've been thinking a lot." You started slowly, voice scratchy from days of not being used except to cry. "What if staying with me isn't the best thing to keep you happy?"

"Y/N, I-"

"Please let me finish." You waited for him to acknowledge your words before you spoke again.

"If letting you go is the best way to show that I love you, I will." Tears poured down your cheeks, breaths coming to you shakily.

"Captain Rogers, your presence is requested in the backyard." Friday's voice echoed through the room.

Steve looked more torn than you've ever seen him.

"Let's go." You nodded toward the door. "I've got more to say, but you've got somewhere to be."

Slowly, the two of you walked down the hall and entered the elevator.

"I don't know if you'll ever come back-"

"Y/N, really just let me-"

"Steve, please." You begged him to let you get it all out. "I won't ask 'cause that's selfish."

"It's not." He cut in again.

"It is. You deserve to be as happy as possible." With a slow, shaky breath you continued your speech. "I've come to terms I might never feel whole again."

The elevator doors slid open. You followed Steve to the yard where they set up the time machine.

"I'll be broken when you're gone, but I won't hold you back if it's wrong."

"Steve, there you are! Let's go-"

"In a minute, Sam." Steve's eyes never left you, remaining soft and caring. "We can go back inside if you want." He ran his thumbs over your cheeks, ridding them of tears only to be instantly replaced. You've always hated crying in front of people.

"I don't care what people say." You shook your head, ignoring the potential pitying looks you could receive for crying in front of others. Another deep breath, and you continued. "You know I won't force you to stay."

It was your turn to wipe tears from Steve's face.

"If you leave, I'll be okay. Just promise that you won't forget me babe."

"I could never-" He cut in again only to stop when you gave him a pleading look.

"I understand if leaving is what you have to do. I don't want you to go, but I'll be okay, eventually." You let out a watery chuckle, wiping your eyes again.

"Y/N, I never meant for-"

"Steve, you ready?" Sam interrupted again.

"It's fine. You can go." You did your best to hold back any lingering tears. You had to physically turn Steve around yourself and push him towards the machine.

"Y/N, please, I can't-"

"Steve, they're waiting for you. It's okay, I promise." He finally started to walk away only to pause when you called out one more thing. "Oh, Steve?"

"Yeah?" He wore a solemn smile.

"I'll love you always."

You watched as he listened to Banner's instructions and bid farewell to Sam and Bucky. The bitter part of you wondered if Sam knew.

A strangled sob left your mouth as soon as Steve disappeared. All three men standing around the machine looked your way, Sam and Bucky running toward you to help.

"He should be back any second. It's fine!" Sam desperately tried to console you, but you knew it wouldn't work.

"Y/N. Y/N! Listen to me. Did Steve talk to you?" Bucky asked, ignoring Sam's bewildered expression.

You nodded pitifully.

"Did he explain-" You cut him off.

"He- he didn't ha-have time.: You stuttered as you tried desperately to gulp in air through the tears. "I did most of the talking. I needed him to know it was okay."

"To know what was okay?" Sam asked, still clearly confused.

The thought of explaining it only broke you down more. You would have fallen to the ground if not for Bucky catching you. Your body leaned into his.

"Doll..." Bucky shook his head. "You should have let him explain."

You choked on another sob just thinking about it.

"Shh, it's okay. You'll be okay." Bucky whispered in your ear, ignoring Sam's confused glares.

"Y/N..." The sound of Steve's voice echoed in your ears causing another painful sob to jolt through your body.

"Baby, please look at me."

You genuinely thought you were hallucinating when you opened your eyes to see Steve towering over you.

"Steve?" Your voice was barely a whisper.

"It's me, I'm here." He gently took you from Bucky's arms, cradling you close to him but leaning his head far enough away for you to look into your eyes.

"You came back..." Your tears slowed, gently falling down your cheeks as you stared at him wide-eyed.

"I was never planning to leave." He spoke while gently stroking your hair.

"B-but, you were talking to Bucky about going back?" Your tears gave way to confusion as you glanced between him and Bucky.

"Just to say goodbye." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, breathing in your scent. "I just thought she deserved a real goodbye."

New tears pooled in your eyes as you took in his words. "So, you never wanted to leave me?"

"I could never, and would never, leave you. I love you so much. I just wish I knew why you were holed up in your room sooner." He smiled at you, the same adoring smile he gave you the first time you met.

"I love you too. Always." You leaned into his embrace, relishing in the touch you thought you'd lost forever. He whispered his reply, clinging to you just as much as you were to him.

"Always."

a/n: today I discovered I am truly incapable of writing a sad ending. I just like the idea of escaping to a reality where Steve would never abandon me.

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@strawberryspence

@sebastnstn

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers angst #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff

463 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Kinktober - Day Twenty

Prompt: Animal Ears + Birthday Sex

Pairing: Satan/Reader (Obey Me)

TW: Blood, Graphic Violence, Biting, Scratching, Jealousy, Unhealthy Mindsets, and Mentions of Alcohol.

You should’ve known sneaking out of Satan’s party wouldn’t be so easy.

Or, you should’ve known it wouldn’t be so guiltless, at least. He’d never been one for crowds, and you wanted to do whatever you could to make his birthday as fun as it could be, but his brothers put so much effort into the event, and while you doubted any of them were genuinely mad that you’d slipped away, you should’ve known they wouldn’t be happy to find you both unconscious and sprawled across the library, a book of angelic, romantic poetry in his hands and an empty bottle of something bitter and wonderful in yours. You should’ve known they wouldn’t be happy, you should’ve known they’d do something to get back at you, but…

You hadn’t expected it to be so cute.

And soft. Cute, and soft, and adorable, a pair of cat-like ears covered in blonde fur that seemed to grow more irresistible every time they twitched and flicked and did something that made you want to pull him into your chest and pet him like you’d never be able to again. It must’ve been Belphegor’s work, no one else would bother to be so thorough. There was a tail, too, lean and overly alert as it tried to decide between curling around his leg or smacking against your side, and when you woke him up, tugging on his shirt to let him know what’d happened, there was a faint, almost inaudible ‘mrrr’ that had your heart clenching your chest as he blearily tried to open his eyes.

“You alright, birthday boy” You asked, your voice as sympathetic as you could manage. Beelzebub or Lucifer must’ve moved you, because when you bothered to glance past his new additions, you were no longer lying on the stiff floor of Satan’s second-favorite sanctuary. Instead, you were in his room, his mattress dipping under your weight as you leaned over him, one of your hands idly brushing his hair away from his face as you spoke. “I think Belphie’s a little mad at us, but it’s alright. I’m sure we can find a spell to turn you back.” You paused, watching as he reflexively arched his back, inadvertently pushing himself into palm. “Eventually.”

“(Y/n)?” His voice was heavy, interrupted by a light yawn. He spent a moment stretching, barely bothering to stifle an incoherent mummer before his attention came to rest on you, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. You didn’t try to resist as a strong arm draped itself around your neck, pulling you down just far enough for Satan to bury his face in the crook of your neck, an unabashed purr reverberating against your chest as soon as he made contact. “You…” Another tug, this one to your waist, urging you to collapse on top of him. “You smell really nice.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. The tip of his ear brushed against your cheek, and without thinking, you reached up, scratching at its base while Satan melted into your chest. “And you smell like cheap booze,” You chuckled, making a half-hearted attempt to push him away. “C’mon, we need to get you fixed. You’re not gonna like it if you’re still a walking, talking fetish when you sober up.”

Despite your complaints, he didn’t let go. If anything, he clung to you tighter, his fingertips digging into your hip and the tired smile he wore soon replaced with a small, acute frown, a pout. It was something Satan never would’ve done if he was in his right mind, it was something he never would’ve done if he knew what he was doing, and that was enough to make your blood run cold, every trace of hope you had for prolonging his affliction disappearing in a matter of seconds.

This time, you didn’t try to nudge him away, you shoved, but Satan only nuzzled into you, his hold stead-fast and every movement so uncoordinated, so instinctive, you were beginning to think dealing with his wrath would be the least of your problems, tomorrow. “You smell really, really nice,” He mumbled, his lips barely moving against your skin. “You’re… you’re going to ask the others for help if I let you go, right? You’re going to leave me all alone, if I let you, and you’ll go running to them.”

Somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to be charmed when his tail straightened, his fur bristling a little more aggressively every time you squirmed in his grip. “It’ll only be for a few minutes,” You tried, taking him by the shoulders. “You can come with me, if you want to. I just have to find something that’ll change you back.”

He went quiet, and for a moment, you almost thought he’d come to his senses. You almost thought this wouldn’t have to go any further than it already had, that it wouldn’t get worse than it already was. Unlike everything else the brothers put you through, unlike everything else he put you through, this could stop now, and you’d be able to brush it off and scold Belphegor until he undid whatever misleading curse he’d casted and offered you an apology he didn’t really mean, and Satan could blush and excuse his actions and you could forget he was ever so clingy.

You almost thought he might, but then, his teeth sunk into your neck, and you wondered why you’d ever had so much faith in him.

His canines were sharp, shaper than they should’ve been, pointed and keen and just curved enough to get caught in your flesh as he tried to pull away, something ripping until you could feel blood dripping down your neck, pooling at your collarbone only to be licked away by a tongue that was just a little too rough, a little too eager. You pursed your lips, muffling a would-be scream into little more than a hum of discomfort, but Satan didn’t seem to care for your repressed reaction. In the blink of an eye, he was on top of you, straddling your waist and forcing your chest flush against the bed as his hands found your shoulder-blades, his touch no longer gentle, no longer affectionate. Instead, you were met with hot, searing pain as rows of hooked claws tore through your shirt, embedding themselves in your back and shredding through skin and muscle and everything. It wasn’t a choice, this time - you could’ve screamed until your lungs burnt, but Satan took you by the back of the head, forcing your face into the sheets before anyone else could hear you, before anyone could help.

That was, if anyone would help. You’d been so wrapped up in Satan’s punishment, you’d managed to forget about your own. The others must’ve thought this was fitting.

They must’ve thought you deserved to suffer by the hand of the brother you’d so heartlessly picked over the rest.

“You said you’d spend the rest of the day with me. I’m not sharing on my own fucking birthday.” He was growling, now, the noise throaty, threatening. It was all impulse, all dark, twisted feelings he should know better than to let boil to the surface, but there was something else underneath it. Not joy, but close to it. Delight. Satisfaction.

The contentment that came with knowing he was going get everything he wanted, tonight.

“I’m not letting you leave this room until I decide you’ve had enough.”

377 notes · View notes

alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 4 years ago

Text

the ghost of unbroken love pt 1

Summary: Thomas pays the Carstairs home a visit once the dust has settled (COI spoilers!)

Read it on AO3 | Fanfiction Masterlist

CW: PTSD, implied child abuse, bullying

thanks to @littlx-songbxrd for the title :) (it’s a line from “silhouettes” by sleeping at last)

Alastair’s eyes widened in surprise when he opened the front door to see Thomas Lightwood standing before him. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you, too,” he replied, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Alastair’s hands. “Why do you have a hedgehog?”

He turned away slightly, gently stroking the hedgehog in his palm. “Excuse you, don’t be rude to Alfred.”

Thomas gave a slight smile. “My apologies, Alfred. Wait- Isn’t that Christopher’s hedgehog?”

Alastair’s eyes flared, clearly offended. “He is not! He was merely watching him for a few days.”

“Ah, I do think he mentioned that. My mistake.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Since when do you have a pet hedgehog, though?”

He tried to focus on the feeling of Alfred squirming in his palms and not on the tall, handsome masterpiece of a man standing before him, or on the memory of what his lips and skin tasted like. “If you’re here to try to change my mind-”

“I’m not, don’t worry. I just… I thought that perhaps we could talk, now that some of the excitement has passed.”

Alastair sighed. “Fine, come in, then, before you freeze.”

Thomas followed him in, shaking some of the melting ice and snow from his hair and hanging up his coat. His nose and ears were red from the cold.

“It truly would not kill you to wear a hat, you know,” Alastair commented.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’ve a reputation to uphold, don’t I? What would my friends and I be known for if not our aversion to hats?”

“Besides being a nuisance, you mean?”

Thomas smirked. “Kit did look after Alfred for you.”

“Believe me, any time I mention you and your Merry boys, I never mean Christopher.”

He chuckled. “That’s fair.” Thomas’ eyes drifted to the piano. Alastair cursed silently to himself, realizing that he’d left the fallboard open earlier. “You play?”

“I…” Alastair hesitated. He certainly used to. He wanted to, again. He could play music from a sheet without much effort, though he was still rusty, but playing written music was never what Alastair had enjoyed about playing. He’d always found his joy in creating, in taking written words and crafting it into a beautiful melody. That had been what he was attempting earlier, before he’d gotten overwhelmed and abandoned the project to fetch Alfred to calm him down, before Thomas had arrived at his doorstep. But it was a lost cause, for the part of Alastair that created, the part that dreamed, had died long ago. “Sometimes. Sometimes I do.”

Thomas pulled something out of his coat. “I, uh, I brought you something. I thought… Well, I’m not sure what I thought. I’m certainly not an expert in dealing with grief. But this is one of the books I read after Barbara died, and I thought it was a helpful distraction, and I figured at the very least you could amuse yourself with my trying to make sense of it all in the margins.”

Alastair gave him a small smile while placing Alfred down on the sofa and accepted the book. It was a volume of Sufi poetry, written in Farsi and Arabic. “Thank you, this… it means a lot.”

The conversation stumbled awkwardly for the next few minutes until finally Thomas made a pensive noise. “May I… May I ask you something?”

Alastair paused. “You may.”

“Why are you still friends with them?”

Alastair cast a dark gaze away from him. “I already told you, I-”

“You have no friends, I know. But you certainly pretend to be friendly with them, at the very least. You certainly don’t treat them anything like the way we’ve treated you.”

You don’t treat them anything like the way you’ve treated me, he wanted to say, but he knew that he would be deflecting to bring it up now. The truth was that Alastair asked himself the same questions. Why was he civil with them, friendly even? Why did he placate his father knowing how he would still treat him? He was sure he could see the wheels turning in Thomas’ brain, though his face betrayed none of it, wondering how badly they could have truly treated him if he was able to stay so amicable with them. Alastair, too, often worried if his own memories were lying to him, tricking him. “I can hardly blame them, can I? When I myself have done horrible things?”

Thomas hesitated. “That- That’s not really fair, is it?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, it sounded like, at the time, you hadn’t done anything yet. At least, not to them.”

“What’s it matter? What goes around comes around.”

“More like what comes around goes around. Life isn’t just some twisted justice system, paying for crimes you hadn’t yet committed. What reasons did they have for treating you the way they did? Have they apologized?” Alastair’s brain stalled as Thomas added, “Do you think they owe you one?”

Alastair could feel his heart beating, blood rushing to his head, his chest constricting. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded a little too forcefully. “I told you to leave me alone!”

Thomas took a daring step towards him. “I think you think you deserved it. You think that you’re a monster, that you’re dangerous, a terrible person. You think that means they were justified in hurting you. That’s bullshit, Alastair. No one deserves to go through what you did, even someone who is terrible, and you are not. You’ve done bad things, certainly, but you’ve had reasons for doing each of them, and not one was that you are a terrible person. You are none of the things that you call yourself. You are strong and resilient and compassionate, and you love with your whole heart even those who do not deserve it.”

Alastair took a step back. “You’re wrong.” He wasn’t. Alastair hated feeling so seen, so vulnerable. He wanted to scream. Why wasn’t it enough, then? His love was never enough to make his father want to change, to get better. It was not even enough to get him to stop throwing things at him whenever the night quit going his way. His love was not enough to make Charles love him back. Even the boys at the Academy, Augustus and the rest, he’d spent so much time and energy trying desperately for them to genuinely like him, but it was never enough. He was fairly certain that it never would be. Thomas was wrong, Alastair was none of the things Thomas believed him to be, he was weak and pathetic and whatever love he held inside of him was broken at its core. “You ask me why I treat the boys from school better than you treated me, but why do you? You and your friends have never given them a fraction of the grief you’ve given me, even Augustus after he hurt your sister so terribly. Why?”

Alastair could see the defenses light behind Thomas’ eyes. “Don’t talk about Eugenia as if you know what happened!”

Alastair looked him in the eyes without a hint of expression on his face. “I do, and I know because she told me.”

Thomas stumbled on his words, unsure of how to respond.

“I told you why I was cruel to you lot at school, but I did not tell you why I spread that rumor. The truth is that I was hurting and I was scared and all I wanted was for you to leave me alone, but you wouldn’t. And then Matthew came, running his mouth with his endless nonsense, poking fun at the way I looked and reminding me yet again that there is not a single person on this Earth who sees me as anything more than an afterthought. And so I repeated that rumor to him. And I repeated it again, and again, because I was angry, because when Matthew blew up my belongings, my father decided that the cost to replace them was more than simply the coinage at the shops.” Alastair inhaled, pushing away the memory of the fury in his father’s eyes when he came home that semester.

Releasing a shaky breath, Alastair continued, “And I know. I know that wasn’t fair to him, or to you, or to your parents. But I have been trying to apologize for five months, only you decided without even hearing my apology that I did not deserve forgiveness. What now, Thomas? Now that you know my secrets, you’ve seen my scars? Do I deserve forgiveness? Do I deserve to be hated? Because truly I cannot keep track.” He gestured to the door, his voice now angry. “Who are you to decide what is deserved and undeserved? You do not get to come here and pretend like you understand me or my life. You and your friends think that you’re better than everyone else, but I have a secret for you: you are not morally superior simply because you are less broken than the rest of us. Get out of my house.”

“Alastair-” Thomas tried, but he was cut off.

“Leave, Thomas. And put me out of your mind. I left Charles because I did not wish to be his secret, and I will not be yours, either.”

Thomas looked like he was about to speak, but stopped himself. He looked hurt and confused, something like a wounded puppy. Alastair would not flinch. Finally, he obliged, though he turned at the last moment. “I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice, though not ingenuine. Alastair shut and bolted the door without responding.

Once the door was secure, Alastair sank to his knees, a million thoughts and feelings flooding his brain, from relief to anger to utter despair. Shaky breath after shaky breath, he attempted to piece the world back together again.

taglist (lmk if you want to be added and, if so, whether for every TLH fic I write or just for this series or something else): @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @doitforthecarstairs

#alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #thomastair #chain of iron #coi spoilers #chain of iron spoilers #coi #the last hours #tlh #fanfiction #fanfic #cw ptsd #cw child abuse #cw bullying

99 notes · View notes

summerofspock · 4 years ago

Text

My patreon alternate POV request for August was an additional chapter of Under Construction from Aziraphale’s POV. I chose to write the night they came back from the beach and found Spider.

After a long day on the road, Aziraphale is looking forward to relaxing by the fire. Maybe having a beer and talking about nothing in particular with Crowley. He finds he likes doing that. Talking to Crowley. He knows how to have a meandering conversation. He knows that Aziraphale doesn't mean anything by his playful teasing, that sometimes it's fun to ask questions without any sort of answer.

Crowley offers to get wood for the fire which is a bit cute really since Aziraphale doubts he could carry more than two logs at a time. But it is the thought that counts.

His nice plans are interrupted when Crowley rockets back into the house stammering about a kitten stuck in the woodpile. It's not the first time Aziraphale has found a stray cat on his property but the woodpile will be a first.

He can hear it crying as soon. as they approach the stack of wood and he does his best not to worry. He can retrieve a kitten. With care, he begins to remove the logs from the stack.

"You poor thing," he says in an effort to calm the crying kitten. It sounds so pathetic. "You'll be alright."

Crowley vibrates behind him, anxiety practically radiating off of him. He does that often. A stack of batteries has less energy than a Crowley in the throes of anxiety.

Finally, Aziraphale removed the perfect log, revealing the cowering black kitten. It blinks bright yellow eyes up at him as he reaches down carefully, ignoring the scurrying spiders, and lifts it into the cradle of his arms.

"There you go. You're safe now," he says softly. He swipes cobwebs from the kitten’s black fur and feels a surge of gratitude for Crowley for finding the poor dear.

Crowley dips closer, skinny torso weaving around Aziraphale like he was trying to get a better look. "What do we do with him?"

Aziraphale strokes two fingers down the cat's forehead and replies calmly, "I suppose feed him and house him for a night and figure it out tomorrow?"

The cat chirps almost in response. Aziraphale will need to go into town and pick up supplies. Shadwell should have a few things at the general store that will do fine for one night. Aziraphale hands Crowley the cat.

Looking lost, Crowley takes it gingerly. His eyebrows furrow as he pulls the creature close to his chest and tries to pet it, albeit a bit clumsily, shifting it from hand to hand as he tries to adjust. His palms are wide enough that they can fit the kitten almost entirely. It’s strange that Aziraphale notices. He sees the tendons flex in Crowley’s fingers as he cups his hand. Aziraphale’s vision narrows to the contrast of Crowley’s pale skin against the dark fur of the cat. It begins to purr, a low satisfied hum.

Aziraphale tears his eyes from Crowley’s hands—good hands, gorgeous hands—and looks at his face. Crowley is staring at the cat in his arms, mouth slightly ajar. He glances up at Aziraphale and his expression does something amazing. His sharp features transform into a disbelieving joyful grin that reveals that one crooked incisor Aziraphale had noticed early on. Unabashed, unashamed, this smile shouldn't have been any different than sitting under the stars and talking about dolphin conspiracies, falling asleep in the truck bed after a night on the town, but it is. It breaks apart the everpresent harsh lines around Crowley’s mouth. Gone is the frown that chases every laugh. Crowley looks happy. Crowley has dimples.

Aziraphale’s heart dips into his stomach.

"Oh my God, it’s purring,'' Crowley says in disbelief, beautiful heartstopping expression shifting miraculously into something that shatters the delicate shell of Aziraphale’s chest. "Do you hear that?"

Crowley glances at him again and frowns. Aziraphale realizes he is staring with his mouth open and closes it quickly. He is supposed to say something. Crowley had asked a question. What had the question been? Aziraphale needs time to think. His heart is racing and he needs to think.

"Right. Yes. I—I can go to the general store and get litter. I'm sure Shadwell has some. I should just...I'll do that. Right now."

Somehow Aziraphale ends up in his truck, driving down the back roads to Pine Grove, his mind lighting up with every moment he has shared with Crowley over the last 6 weeks. Has he been a fool?

He remembers, with clarity, meeting Crowley that first night. Thinking him flash and a bit rude. Clocking Crowley’s attraction to him on sight and thinking nothing of it. People like Crowley are a dime a dozen. Except they aren't. Crowley is kind under all his bluster. He's funny and good at giving as good as he gets despite his clear anxiety. It’s turned him into a good friend. Someone Aziraphale is glad to know. Someone he thinks he will want to know for a very long time.

And yes, he might have been ignoring some signs of Crowley's feelings otherwise. The way Crowley blushes around him. Or secretly buys him books of poetry and hides them in his bags like Aziraphale won’t notice. And while all signs point towards such an attraction being romantic in nature, Aziraphale doesn’t want to assume. He is no stranger to attraction without romance. In fact, he thinks the last time he had a crush on someone was in uni. He’s dated since then, of course, but it has been years since that specific tug in his stomach. That skip in the beat of his heart.

Not that feeling that had entirely consumed him as he had watched a smile bloom over Crowley's face in front of the woodpile.

Aziraphale pulls into the parking lot in front of Shadwell’s and takes a deep breath. Is he really going to try to figure this out tonight? Should he do anything at all? Any potential relationship between himself and Crowley would be difficult.

But Aziraphale never feels like this. This earth shattering, jarring sensation like everything in his life has rearranged just because Crowley smiled.

The bell above the door tinkles and the smell of sawdust and old building greets Aziraphale like an old friend.

"Bit late for an errand run," Shadwell grunts from the register in his out of place drawl. One of the oddest things about this part of America is the strange subset of mountaineers who speak with a different accent. And own far too many guns.

"Yes," Aziraphale says, still dazed. "We picked up a stray kitten out by the cabin and needed to take care of him for the night."

"Your fancy feller is still staying with you then?" Shadwell asks, and Aziraphale couldn't care less for small talk. It seems Shadwell doesn't either because he takes an Aziraphale tumbled yes and turns back to restore the Marlboros.

Crowley is waiting at home so Aziraphale tries to be quick. Except Crowley is waiting at home and Aziraphale isn't ready to face him. He hasn't made a decision.

He looks at the cans of cat food that look like they've been there for at least a few months and inspects the expiration dates without really seeing them because his vision is still swimming with images of Crowley.

Crowley awkwardly looking away when they sat down for lunch at the riverfront. Crowley's gaze lingering on his chest when he got out of the shower. Crowley's shit eating smile when he finally beat Aziraphale at pac-man.

Aziraphale clutches at the meow mix in his hand and breathes through the pain in his chest. He can’t just give this up. Relationships fail for all sorts of reasons but it would certainly be doomed if he never even tries.

Aziraphale places several cans of cat food into his basket. Now to figure out how to tell Crowley. Another memory drifts into his mind, scented with salt and seagrass.

If I were interested in you, I wouldn’t use underhanded seduction tactics like forcing you to share a bed with me.

Aziraphale grips the shelf in front of him. "Oh, good lord," he hisses to himself.

Had he really said that?

And then Crowley had turned red and ran off to the bathroom. Well, Aziraphale probably has some apologizing to do. Some ground to make up.

Maybe he will plan something romantic. Crowley hardly seems the type to go in for being wooed. Roses and truffles certainly aren't the way to his heart. But everyone deserves to be wooed sometimes.

Aziraphale pays for his purchases and got back into the truck. His heart hammers for different reasons now. He is going to tell Crowley. Not tonight. But soon. Somewhere romantic. Somewhere that says I have feelings for you and I'm willing to put in the work.

Pulling up the gravel driveway, his stomach jumps in time with the bumps in the road. He certainly found Crowley attractive before. Or at least thought him the sort that people would find attractive. Thin, tall. Defined features. Well-styled, striking red hair. But he hasn't really thought about it. Hasn't really looked.

His hands shake as he turns off the ignition and he tips his head back against the headrest. He is about to walk into his house and Crowley will be inside. He will be in one of his tight black shirts. The sort that dip at his collar bones. He will be barefoot and Aziraphale will be able to see the delicate bones of his ankles, the rigid tendons of his feet.

And Aziraphale will want to kiss him. He knows he will. And it wouldn't be just any kiss. It would be a back you up against the wall and show you exactly how I feel about you kiss. It would be everything.

But it is most certainly too fast.

This is brand new. Aziraphale doesn't want to rush. He will make a plan and he will talk to Crowley, making it clear that their friendship is paramount and that his ability to sleep on Aziraphale’s couch is not predicated on Aziraphale’s feelings and they could...go from there.

Satisfied with his plan, Aziraphale goes inside and every little nice bit of what he told himself went to pot. Crowley is sitting on the floor playing with the little black kitten with a shoelace. Upon Aziraphale’s entrance, Crowley looks up and grins.

Dimples.

Aziraphale tears his gaze away lest he drop the box of litter and tackle Crowley against the floor. He turns away and kicks off his boots with more force than necessary

“Did Shadwell have what you needed?”

Is his voice going to do things to Aziraphale’s insides now too? Goodness, this is about to become unbearable.

“Yes,” Aziraphale manages, glancing over at Crowley to see the kitten climbing up onto his shoulder. The move has tugged down his shirt and revealed the ginger patch of his chest hair which Aziraphale has an insane urge to lick.

"I was thinking about names," Crowley says, crawling up into a standing position, careful not to disturb the kitten by his neck.. His shirt pulls taut over his thin chest with his movement, rising up at his waist and exposing the line of one of his hip bones. Good lord, how had Aziraphale not noticed the man standing right in front of him?

"Spider,'' Crowley says, draping himself over the back of the bar stool. Crowley does that. A lot of draping. Lounging. Dramatic really.

Aziraphale likes him so much.

Crowley must have interpreted the look on his face for one of confusion because he adds, "You know, like you said. There are spiders in the woodpile."

It is a miracle the Aziraphale doesn't kiss him then and there.

#my fic #lumberjack fic #azcrow fic

403 notes · View notes

thevividgreenmoss · 4 years ago

Text

My grandfather was awake and lucid for a longish while between late Friday night and Saturday morning apparently first time since this past Sunday when we all thought that was It and crammed ourselves seven people in one sedan that got a flat on the way over of course (as we were leaving the handle of the screen door came off in my hand as I was closing it behind me so the vibe was very on the nose things farcically falling apart that whole goddamn day lol) but then when we made it he was smiling and laughing and talking to and teasing everyone that was there, albeit with much more effort than it would have taken him even just a week earlier when he was already in a really frail state because of his hip surgery. My sister happened to be up later than she usually ever is and got to video call and chat with him for a bit I wanted terribly for my cousin in Colorado to be able to also but by the time he could get through my grandpa's blood pressure had suddenly spiked or something and he'd drifted back into that borderline unconscious state so they didn't get a chance to talk which makes me want to claw my fucking skin off of my face but who knows maybe another opportunity will present itself hopefully it does like he suddenly became really talkative and energized the other day after not having said more than maybe a couple sentences over the few previous days like I was there with him for several hours on Thursday and the entire time he didn't say a word and only opened his eyes once for like half a second and even that I might have been imagining after sitting there sleep-deprived and holding his hand trying not to cry because then my mom would start crying and then my aunt and on and on and if he's conscious at that point he'll start to get worried and his heart rate will destabilize but after that for this one stretch without anyone expecting it he was really talkative and alert and joking around with the nurses and doctors and all that for a while but then later yesterday afternoon he started to get disoriented and drift in and out of the present in between dreaming and waking again at one point apparently he kept saying 'look at my shoes' to my mom and her sisters and they thought it was just just the medication/pain-induced delirium talking but he kept insisting and eventually said 'you're not taking me seriously' and I guess gave up? Or said it a few more times I'm not clear on the course of events I only heard all this secondhand when my younger aunt, who also got diagnosed with cancer late last year but thankfully is more or less in the clear now, got back home last night and she and I went into his room and took all the shoes out of the cabinet he keeps them in and like looked inside and turned over and examined the soles of every pair, took the cushion insert things out of the ones that had them, checked for scooby doo-esque hidden doors, all that but there was nothing there just shoes. Her kids flew back out yesterday morning, the older one's tentatively returning to Toronto in the next week or so she had a painfully rough time in some ways her first couple of years and then abruptly had to be uprooted and leave because of covid then everything with her mom and in time honored eldest daughter tradition bearing the brunt of the familial frustration and insanity associated with that and now everything with our grandpa I really really want her senior year to go smoothly and be enjoyable and memorable in a manner opposite to how this past year+ has been I'm so worried about her and her little sister's starting freshman year there in the fall and I'm terribly worried about her in a whole different way like she's still really attached to her parents in this innocent way that still strongly resembles like a baby's adoring my mom hung the moon type attachment and it can be especially hard being away for the first time ever when that's the case...like she's hyper hypersensitive even by my family's standards lmao but she does have this sort of self-possession and inner groundedness that no one can quite pin down but it's

definitely there and maybe that

could carry her through I really hope so...they were saying to come up to visit them in the fall hopefully I can find a job soon after returning to Texas and like be able to afford to do that and also like keep paying the bills and shit lol in either case I hope so so badly that they'll be okay like I think they will be the women in my family are all really strong but they've also had to be because of various fucked circumstances and I don't want that to keep having to be the case...my grandpa's a Strong Woman in a certain way also honestly lmao like my mom's aunts have always been like your father raised you in a way beyond even most mothers which like who fucking receives let alone genuinely deserves that kind of praise from their in-laws lmao let alone a man from a notoriously patriarchal culture of a generation when fathers from any culture barely had any involvement in their children's upbringing at all which I mean most still don't but even more so back then and like literally everyone we've been hearing from or seeing drop by at the hospital has a story of how at one point or another my grandpa was there for them when no one else was like distant cousins variously removed and loose family friends all with something about how he comforted me when no one else could, I remember word for word what he said to me when I suffered some loss of my own, he's the strongest man in our family, the best times we ever had were when he was near us, when he'd take us out, his youngest brother's children saying he cared for and spoiled them as if their were his own after their dad died suddenly when they were just kids, my mom's third cousin whose own father was with her till a late age saying that he was even more of a father to me than my own father, his other brother's son who was ostracized for decades by his immediate family on some straight up racist ass bullshit on the part of his mom and older brother because he married a black woman but my grandpa stayed in touch and made sure my mom and uncle did as well and made sure we all got together when he'd came to the states, like even now lying there on what very well might be his literal deathbed when he can barely talk he was telling my uncle he's worried about him and he needs to go home and rest, asking who's taking care of the house, are the kids all okay even at this point his thoughts are for others. After I put his shoes back in the cabinet I closed it and opened the one beside just in case I guess just in case what I don't know but it was just like standard cabinet stuff clothes a shaving kit and a couple of what I assume are photo albums that I didn't feel like I should open for some reason and a few old books, a collection of Ghalib's which I can't really read very easily if at all because it's in Urdu lol, a history of government college of Lahore where his father was teaching at the time of his death and the two philosophy textbooks my great grandfather had written himself, Inductive & Deductive Reasoning, and inside the latter I found a handful of yellowed pages torn out of an old notebook upon which mostly seem to be translations of french poems and I think maybe a song or two? I guess old coursework or just for funsies I'm not sure whether written by my grandfather or his own father. My khala was mentioning just the other day that she'd kept one of my grandpa's old notebooks marked as having been designated for biology but inside it were no actual notes just urdu poetry which she wasn't sure whether it was his own original tossed off work or something the lifelong frustrated creative transcribed while bored in class. The night I got here I was looking through his bookshelves after everyone had gone to bed and then a couple of weeks ago I was sitting in the living room by myself watching archer when my cousin came and sat down next to me upset and unable to sleep on her own first night here and I held her and tried not to cry and then went through the same bookshelves again, this time with my cousin who we came to Pakistan for the first time after moving to the US

to see being born who turned three

the day we arrived on what until this current trip was the last time I was here her little sister having just been born earlier that same year (whose life I may or may not have saved when I caught her after she was dropped by the person holding her (the fact that (parentheticals within parentheticals!) I may or may not have been the one who dropped her in the first place is immaterial imo not that I'm the one on trial here but what's important is that I caught her and if anything this would be an even more athletically impressive and frankly heroic incident if I'd been the one that was holding her to begin with since I was 8/9 years old at the time and there wasn't much of a distance for her to fall and yet I kept her from hitting the ground like talk about reflexes like that's what's important and what's more important than even that @ my year older cousin (whose younger sister was the first baby in the family after myself whose arrival in this world when I was three had me positively giddy in the way that young children get when witnessing the miracle of even younger children, who's the only other one of the cousins that's been here during all this, just me and the three I got to see as darling little babies) who was the only other person in the room with me at the time, is that we take this to our fucking graves no one can hear a word of this least of all any adults in the house who like not that they're the ones on trial here either but like who allowed for this scenario to transpire in the first place where two children and an infant are in a room by themselves unsupervised in retrospect that's somewhat irresponsible not that I'd ever hold it against them or even mention it because then they might get mad and not let me hold my little cousin anymore and I do love holding my little baby cousin and carrying her around everywhere, mostly without incident)) neither of whom I'd see in person again until we visited them in Canada the summer after I graduated college the trip during which I finished the last of the Neapolitan novels the day after landing and turned 22 the day after their mother, my younger khala, turned 43, looking through my nana's bookshelves with my baby cousin no longer a baby but a U of T classics major entering her senior year, noting the overlaps with our own, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, George Eliot, the same exact copies of Cheever and Kafka's collected shorts, Umberto Eco, Proust, wondering what the various titles meant to him or what they might say about him, wondering how much of even the version of him that can be hypothesized based off his library I'm missing now that I'm limited to the much reduced version of what had been in his old home in Lahore (when he visited us after my junior year of hs and my mom was trying to convince him to downsize and move in with my other aunt with whom he's been living the past several years, the one who most resembles my grandfather the only one that has his cheekbones my khala whose eyes have sunken all the way into her skull before my eyes with exhaustion and grief over the past two weeks, when my mom was like what's the point of just hanging onto a bunch of books that you've already read: I look at them [dramatic pause], and I feel happy [my mom sighing equally dramatically in.exasperation, me cracking up in the background]) the city I was born in the house where I spent the first almost five years of my life before we moved to the US to join my dad who'd moved back shortly after my mom became pregnant with what turned out to be me, abu nana's house with the garden we'd walk through every morning holding his hand and following along as he puttered around with his plants in the garden in the house in the city he had to leave to move into my khala's house in Islamabad where I've been the past almost a month now where two weeks ago he suddenly came down with pneumonia and had to be dragged to a hospital in Rawalpindi where he's been since, not in his house, my nana's house, with the garden in the city I haven't seen since the last time I was in this country the

summer I

turned nine the day after my khala turned 30 the day before my other khala turned 32(?) the summer I first remember obsessive compulsive disorder becoming an overwhelming aspect of my consciousness although it was there before, the first summer of the Iraq war and being terrified watching the Iraq war unfold on the BBC evening news my nana would turn on

at dinner time and hearing for the first time or maybe just the first time I remember the night we left the phrase 'the rich will get richer and the poor will get poorer' from my younger khala talking to her sisters and some family friends that had come over to see us off feeling terrified and cold then embarrassed because she noticed my face visibly fall from across the room and told my mom and I was like godammit everyone knows I'm scared now smhead then crying the entire flight back home because I missed everyone and maybe had a little kid premonition that I wouldn't return to my nana's house and I would be years and years till I saw any of them again some I still haven't or maybe there was nothing premonitory about it but in either case that's the way it turned out. I do feel grateful I got to see him again at all, when he last came to the US late 2016-early 2017 I was sure it would be the last time we would be in the same room. I'd make breakfast for us every morning and we'd eat together and the entire day I'd sit next to him inhaling secondhand smoke and talking and reading. I was in the midst of my initial aborted attempt to read Swann's way when he arrived. I'd gotten to Guermantes way last summer but I couldn't find a secondhand copy so I had to read it via ebook and that didn't feel right so I abandoned it until now I've been reading a copy pulled from his bookshelf. Last he visited was the first time I learned we were both Garcia Marquez-heads which I'd kind of assumed before and I showed him Mad Men which he heavily fucked with and also every John Le Carre adaptation I could track down online. From the first time I read one hundred years of solitude the summer after freshman year of college the passage describing Colonel Aureliano Buendia's death already absolutely and unbearably heartwrenching enough immediately brought thoughts of my grandfather, aching aching sorrow over the solitude that he himself existed within in all the fucking pain his life has been inordinately filled with grief over the knowledge of this inevitable final separation from him after so many years and so much distance already having separated him from the people he loved and cared for and he loved and cared for so many people so deeply with such sincerity and beauty and endless endless warmth and compassion and humor when Gabo wrote of the colonel trying to reach back through to his memories and being unable to after previously recalling that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice even years later, as he faced the firing squad, at the moment of his death like a 'baby chick' my poor frail beautiful grandfather appearing exactly the same way when he'd take off his dentures and curl over to the side to sleep, then when awake but still half asleep hearing your voice having brought his apple cider vinegar and garlic concoction or a cup of tea or just coming by to hold his hand or play with his beard the way all of his grandchildren have at one point or another and smiling with his eyes still closed smiling bright and wide the expression of a precious little cat purring as you scratch under its chin always the most beautiful smile and even as his hair turned white and his body withered and wrinkled and shrunk his cheekbones while still not bad long ago ceased being the way they were in that picture from his wedding day back when he he looked like young Robert De Niro's much much prettier Kashmiri cousin from then until now always that same radiance and those same quick-witted and kind and bright bright bright sparkling eyes. The past month and a half I've been feeling like I'm seeing my own mother dying before my eyes along with her father, my adorable beloved abu nana, I can't even begin to comprehend how she must be feeling right now I feel like I'm witnessing her death in advance through all of this and losing the part of her that is him even though I know that's not actually the case. Things have been so fucking painful and complicated between us but the one thing we've shared that's never

been painful is our love for him. When he left after his last visit four years ago I spent the next two days barely able to even talk. Compliments or like any positive comments directed in my directions have almost always caused me this reflexive discomfort and uneasiness but whenever he or anyone else would say that I'm his favorite grandchild I'd want to hold on to that as closely as i possibly can. I don't want him to leave us and more than that I want for whatever happens to at least happen with him back at home but neither of those things seem likely right now although who the fuck knows. I hope his last thoughts can be of flowers, like Kafka's, and Lispector's, or of love, wherever he is I hope it's not asking too much to hope for that at least. For someone that spent his life so deeply immersed within that Garciamarquesian solitude he never made those around him feel any way other than at home, safe and warm and loved and adored and adorable and lovable and at home not because of a place not even the garden at the house in Lahore but with him always always I've never felt more at home than during the times I spent near him, and his love and his flowers

20 notes · View notes

taehyungiejiminie95 · 5 years ago

Text

BTS Reactions – They try to win you back

He clutches at his chest, trying to slow his racing heart down. This isn’t right. He knows it. It’s not been the same since he left you, and he doesn’t know how to cope. In all of his life, he has never made a mistake this big, and he has never wanted to turn back time more. He’s not a time traveller, so the only fix is to do his best to win you back. It has to work. He has no other choice.

Jin

It’s been… some amount of time since you last saw Jin. It hasn’t actually been that long, but at the same time it feels like an eternity. You’ve got this Jin-shaped hole carved into you, and there’s nothing that can fill it. No amount of time, distraction or food could ever come close. You’d know. You’ve tried. You’ve been trying since he left you, but nothing’s changed. It still hurts, but you’re not using it as an excuse. With all the effort it takes, you’ve been going out everyday to the bakery you run with your soon-to-be-retiring parents and acting like you’re okay. For the most part, you very nearly believe it.

You normally get in before your parents do, so you can fire up the ovens and set up for the day ahead, so you’re not surprised to find the bakery in complete darkness. It smells like home here, somewhere you can truly forget your worries. Today’s special pastry is going to be churros, and you know it’s going to smell even better. A nostalgic scent, you always felt. You flip on the main lights as you go, heading straight for the back room. Stopping short, you realise that something feels odd. You have that feeling you get when someone’s stood too close, but you know there’s nobody around. You’re probably just being weird. That’s quite normal for you at the moment, really, so you do your best to shrug it off and you push your way through to the office to put your coat and bag down,

“What on earth…” You mutter under your breath, seeing the state of the office. Flour. Literal bags of flour covering every inch of the desk where you do the accounts. Your brow furrows as you step forward to where a sole red rose rests atop the bed of flour bags, next to a small note, “I’m outside,” You read aloud, a sense of dread filling you from the toes up. If you couldn’t recognise Jin’s handwriting after how long you spent together, who even are you?

The question of whether or not to respond to this gesture makes you wonder. Is it worth seeing what he wants? Or should you just ignore it, clear the bags into the pantry, and pretend this never even happened?

Your feet move of their own accord, propelling you back through the shop and out of the front door to where Jin is waiting, looking as handsome and as serious as the day you met him, when he was running late for his friend’s birthday and needed something – anything – sweet to take in means of a gift,

“You always said you had no use for flowers. Flour on the other hand… that you need an abundance of,” He half-heartedly teases, looking at you with poorly concealed fear, “Please, will you let me explain myself to you? I know I don’t deserve it but…” He trails off, eyes wide and fearful. Your words fail you. What are you meant to do here?

Yoongi

Your alarm goes off with a harsh buzz, making you wince as you’re rudely woken. It’s cold this morning, you realise with a huff as you get up. You flick the kettle on for your coffee and turn on the radio. Ever since Yoongi left you, you’ve hated the silence. It only amplifies how alone you are, how empty the apartment has been since he left. You rub the sleep out of your eyes as you reach for a mug, the kettle screaming to you that it’s ready. That’s when you hear it,

“In a surprise move from BTS member Suga, a new song has been realised under his own name. This is unusual for him, as the rapper uses many aliases for his different work, but never his birth name…” A cold sweat breaks out over your body as you fumble to get to the radio. You don’t want to hear the new song. The feeling of dread in your stomach tells you what it is, and the soft sounds of piano confirm that for you when you’re not quick enough to the power switch.

Time stands still. Nothing moves as the song plays. You know it’s for you. The melody is something he wrote for you in the early days of your relationship. He always joked that he’d release it under his birth name, because it was so personal. He never did. But now, as you listen to the song which is so clearly dedicated to you, your heart aches for him. His art. This is far more than a melody, than a simple piece of piano he wrote for you. This is pain mixed with poetry and poured into a track. This is true beauty, and you can’t deny it. You can’t move as the words wash over you, and your emotions quickly follow. Tears threaten to break rank as your lip trembles and you’re forced to see how much you miss him.

The last notes of the track wrap themselves up in melancholy, the final one dragging out as if it doesn’t want to end. You don’t want it to. It feels even emptier now, without that song. The radio DJs begin to discuss the unusually heartfelt track, comparing it to First Love, only more pained. You’re still stuck in the kitchen, holding a mug so tight it’s groaning and threatening to break.

Minutes pass as you try to process what you’re feeling, and what this means. Does he want to talk to you? Does he regret what he did? Or is he only using pain as inspiration, with no real intent?

Your phone rings. “Min Yoongi is calling…” You lurch to pick it up before it goes to voicemail.

Hoseok

It’s just gone 11. You pull the covers up over your head in an attempt to try and pretend like you’re any closer to sleep than you were 2 hours ago when you got into bed. It’s been… hard lately. Without him. You can’t even bring yourself to think his name anymore. You’re not someone who lets their life halt for some man, and you’re not letting that happen now. You refuse to huddle down and let this ruin you, which is why you confine your sadness and dysfunction to night times only. During the day, you’re fine. You don’t even let yourself entertain the thought that you want him to come home, to climb into bed and sing you to sleep like he always did. It’s too painful to think about wanting-

Your thoughts are rudely interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. With a groan, you slide out of bed and head towards the door. You fumble around for a moment with the lock before you’re finally able to swing the door open, your very best glare ready for whenever this visitor comes into view. You’re surprised to see… nobody. It takes a huff and an eye roll before you cast your vision down to the floor, where you see a small box. The words “From your Hoseok~” are born on a gift tag, and the tidy scribble of the handwriting you recognise so well. It’s hard to resist scooping down to pick it up.

The box sits in your hands for the rest of the night. You don’t sleep. You barely even blink as you try to work out whether you should open it – just so you don’t have to live with the painful curiosity – or put it in the bin – just in case whatever it is hurts you.

As night turns into dawn, you sigh and put your head down on the back of the couch. Your first movement for hours. It’s taking everything in you to not just throw this damn box back onto the doorstep, or post it straight through Hoseok’s letterbox and be done with it, but you know you need to open it. You lift the flaps carefully and look inside, somehow terrified about what you’ll find. It’s a small note, written in the same tidy scrawl.

‘Meet me by the river tonight. The one we met at, outside your apartment. Let me show you how sorry I am’.

You’re out the door before you can stop yourself,

“You’ve been here all night?” You shriek, seeing Hoseok sat under a willow tree, one of many that line the bank of the river. He nods slowly, gazing unseeingly into the flowing water. You tear off your dressing gown and drape it around his shoulders as best you can, “You’re still an idiot, then. It’s the middle of winter, and you’re hardly dressed appropriately,”

“You didn’t come, but I couldn’t accept it. I needed to be sure you really didn’t want me anymore,” He whispers, finally turning to look up into your eyes, trying to find his answer. The truth is that you’re not even wholly sure on one yourself.

Namjoon

The pigeon hole with your apartment number on it never has anything interesting in it, other than bills and spam, but you still make a habit of checking it every day. Just in case, you suppose. You’re on your way in from work when you check it, today. You barely even glance in, about to walk away when a small package catches your eye. You take it into you hands curiously, not recalling having ordered anything, You take it up to your apartment anyway, seeing as it isn’t a case of someone else’s mail in your pigeon hole. It’s clearly addressed to you. Maybe one of your friends has sent you a care package to get through your low period.

An hour or so later, you curl up on your couch with a hot cup of tea. You’ve showered off and had a snack, and your mid had wandered back around to the mysterious package tantalisingly awaiting you on the coffee table where you left it. It feels quite dense, you realise as you carefully tear back the brown wrapping paper. It’s a book, you find out. You’ve opened it from the wrong side – you’re looking at the back, where the blurb should be. Instead, it’s just a plain matte black. Turning it over, you see the title embossed in silver against the black – “My Last Love by Kim Namjoon”.

Your heart drops to your stomach, but you can’t stop yourself from carefully opening the cover, flicking to the acknowledgments in the front.

“To my greatest loss, and my greatest achievement. We always spoke about me publishing this book, but I never had the courage. Now, I have nothing lose. I hope you’ll read this, although by now you’ll know the story better than I do. It may be selfish, but I also hope you’ll reach out in the way I’m too afraid to do”

You fingers trace over the words, not written in the traditional font but printed in the front of every book in his own handwriting, smudges and all. Tears shine in your eyes without you realising as you see what this is. For years, Namjoon was writing a book. It was based on the story of your love, although he was always unsure of his skill, whether it would be good enough to ever publish. He kept it in his archives for a while, forgetting about it until he broke things off with you. He was right, you do know the story better than anyone, but you can’t resist flicking to the first page and allowing yourself to get lost in his world. A world you sheared, it used to be.

You’re only a chapter in when your phone lights up with a text. It’s your friend. They want to know if you’re going to reach out to Namjoon, the way he clearly wants you to. The thought makes your throat close up. Do you want to?

Jimin

Turning your phone over, you sigh. You miss the days when you would be able to pick up your phone at any given time and see a few notifications waiting patiently for you. Jimin was someone who liked to keep you updated always, even if it was just with the occasional picture or a few seconds of video. It’s almost painful now to turn on your phone and see ‘No New Notifications’ waiting for you. At times like this, it’s too painful to look at. At least if you’ve turned the screen away from yourself, you can’t jump up every time the flashes across it, making it look as if it’s lit up again.

You try your best to go about your day as normal, running errands around the house in time for work tomorrow. It’s boring, but well overdue. You scrub the inside of the oven, do your laundry, sweep the floors, bleach the toilet and you’re just about to re-organise your wardrobe when your phone rings,

“Hello?” You answer, only to immediately be spoken over by your very excited friend,

“Look out of your window right now! Just go, do it! You will not believe what it is!” They all but scream, causing you to panic slightly as you rush to tear your curtains open, fully expecting to see an alien spaceship threaten to destroy the earth if you don’t comply. But it’s not anything like that. Somehow, it’s worse. It’s a large white blimp, with Jimin’s face plastered onto each side. In his own enlarged handwriting, a message is shown clear for the world to see – ‘you will always be my safe place’, “Oh my God, I need to go for a second and call my boyfriend. He needs to up his game. I’ll call you back!” Your friend promises, but you barely even hear. Your phone is loose in your grip, and your breath is scarce in your lungs as you’re forced to see what the whole of the country is currently photographing and talking about. They’re literally sending Jimin’s over-the-top attempt to win you back viral. You don’t know how long passes before your friend calls again. You pick up instantly,

“I honestly can’t believe this. He broke up with me, why would he-“ An all-too-familiar voice cuts you off,

“Because I made a huge mistake,” Jimin’s broken voice whispers, marred with tears.

Taehyung

You smile politely at the security on the door as you breeze past them. They don’t bother to stop you, knowing well who you are. The event looks as grand as you were hoping, and a sense of satisfaction bubbles up to the surface as you cast your eyes around the gallery. This was probably your most ambitious project yet – you’ve combined the art collections of 25 of the greatest connoisseurs in the world, having to rent out 10 different venues to hold everything that encompasses your art show. Your colleagues shake your hand as you sautés further into the venue, knowing you’ll be bored of all this by the time the final one opens. But for now, you’re enjoying it on night 3 of 10.

Something grabs your attention from the corner of your eyes – a tallish man, wearing a beret and an unusual combination of clothes but… no. You refuse to let false memories of Taehyung plague your night. You plaster a smile back onto your face as you take a glass of champagne.

As your exit time comes near, you decide to simply observe as much of this wonderful art as you can. The pensive look on your face wards off conversation partners as you wander through the work you’ve compiled. You recognise some of the work here, but not all of it. Some of it is to your taste, and some isn’t. That’s what you love most about this. Seeing things from the perspective of others, and not always agreeing with what you find.

But one painting stands out more than anything else in the room. It’s… unique. It’s a clash of colours that shouldn’t work, but do. It’s confusing and loud, but you can’t tear your eyes away. It gives you a sense of nostalgia that you can’t shake, and it speaks to you in an odd way. It feels like pain and longing,

“You haven’t stared at a single painting as long as this one,” A familiar voice remarks from behind you. Your eyes dart to the corner, and you see the artist who created this. It’s called “Desire” by Vante. With a deep breath, you turn around to face Vante. Your Taehyung, “Do you like it?” He asks, eyes as wide and as curious as when you first met him,

“It’s different to your normal work. What prompted the change?” You reply civilly, feeling your hand start to shake around your champagne glass. Funnily enough, you already know the answer to your question,

“Losing you,” Taehyung whimpers, taking a step forward, “Look, I know that I’m the one who left you, but I made a mistake. Please, let me talk to you. I can’t lose you like this,” he pleads, voice cracking as he tries to reach for your hand. You don’t know whether or not to let him.

Jungkook

Your Jungkook, your love, the one you cherished above all else, was never that into big romantic gestures. He was small things that made you smile. He was doing the dishes when he got in past midnight so you didn’t have to. He was buying you a bouquet of flowers every now and then because of how you love fresh flowers. He was leaving you a home cooked meal on the side when you were getting home late. He was carrying you to bed when you fell asleep. Your Jungkook was not a big gesture. He was the little things that kept you smiling.

Maybe that’s why everything going on right now has been such a shock to you. This isn’t like your Jungkook at all, but somehow it’s just as real and genuine. The video on your phone plays again, stuck on a loop, just as your mind is. It hardly makes sense at all, that he would do this. He’s the one who left you, and yet he’s gone to such a length to get your attention again. You cast your eyes back down to your phone, needing to watch it one more time to try and grasp that it really did happen,

“ARMY!” Jungkook calls, waving his hand up. The crowd screams loudly before finally falling quiet again, “ARMY, you do so much for me, and for BTS. You know our love for you never ends,” He confesses, sending the crowd wild again. He waits patiently for their focus to come back to him, “That’s how I know that I can ask this favour of you. Will you all do something special for me?” Jungkook calls, spinning to cast his eyes around the arena. It’s the end of the concert, and everyone is tired, but he can’t let this go. He knows it will work, “Everyone, get your phones out! Put your camera on, turn the video on, film this! I want you to record something for me, and then I want you to post it to every platform you have. Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook, everywhere! You, my Kinds and Queens of trending, I need you to make this go viral,”

Jungkook’s eyes somehow meet the lens of every camera in the arena at once as he speaks your name solemnly. The crowd hushes each other so Jungkook can speak. His eyes are red, and he’s not sure for how long he’ll remain composed, “Forgive me. I’ve done something stupid, I know that now. I see that I’ve hurt you, and I’m ready to grow and mature and become the best version of myself. Baby, I need you. Will you please call me? I know you’ll see this. Please, all I want is to talk. Even if you decide I don’t deserve a second chance. Please,” Jungkook closes his eyes, blinking back tears, “ARMY, please make sure they see this. Post it everywhere. I want them to know that I love them more than myself,” His voice cracks on his last word as he starts to break down, “Please,”

#bts #bts reactions #bts angst #bts fluff #bts jungkook #bts taehyung #bts v #bts jimin #bts hoseok #bts jhope #bts seokjin #bts jin #bts namjoon #bts rm #bts yoongi #bts suga

406 notes · View notes

ibijau · 4 years ago

Note

"You always this quiet?" Lan Zhan and Nie Mingjue interacting after nmj and lxc's engagement is fixed in your arranged marriage au where nmj dies (ouch!).

The fic in question. And thanks for the prompt! LWJ is... not particularly present in the original fic and neither is NMJ in the end, so this was interesting to write!

Not fully sure if this would take place before or after NMJ’s father has died, but either way NMJ is 17/18 and that puts LWJ at 11/12

Mingjue relaxed when he was left alone with Lan Wangji, fully expecting the younger boy to do the same. He did not. Lan Wangji remained seated with perfect posture and a cold face, silent and poised as he served tea for both of them. His gestures were careful and measured, somehow more elegant that Huaisang's would have been. For some reason, it annoyed Mingjue. There was no question that Lan Wangji was far above Huaisang in most domain, couldn't he have been at least a little bad at something?

“So, how long until your brother returns?” Mingjue asked.

Lan Wangji did not answer right away. He put one cup of perfectly steeped tea in front of his future brother-in-law, then took a moment to consider the question.

“I do not know,” Lan Wangji admitted. “Master Nie's visit was unplanned. Brother would not know the need to return quickly.”

There was just a hint of reproach to his voice, which Mingjue supposed he deserved. He had barged in unannounced after a Night Hunt, overcome with the realisation that he was close to Gusu, and thus close to the Cloud Recesses, and close to Lan Xichen. Their engagement had been finalised some weeks earlier, and Mingjue just hadn't been able to resist the temptation of making a detour.

Much to his dismay, he had arrived in the Cloud Recesses while Lan Xichen was briefly absent, although it was apparently likely that he would return before night. The only Jade Twin available was the youngest one who had agreed to entertain his future brother-in-law, though clearly did so with little enthusiasm.

“So, I hear you're quite good at the guqin?” Mingjue asked, desperate for some conversation.

“I try,” Lan Wangji replied, and then refused to elaborate.

“Must be hard,” Mingjue noted. “I'm not musically inclined myself, but I guess I like hearing other play. I think my brother would like to learn, given the chance.”

If it had been Lan Xichen in front of him, he would have asked why Nie Huaisang wasn't learning (Mother would not allow it, refused to allow him any pleasure until his cultivation level improved enough to earn it) or he might even have offered to teach him a little, next time he could come to the Unclean Realm (which Mother wouldn't have been able to refuse, so Mingjue had half a mind to suggest that someday).

Lan Wangji, instead, simply nodded and took a sip of tea.

“You've met Huaisang at the engagement, right?” Mingjue insisted. “Did the two of you get a chance to talk?”

“No.”

Actually, Mingjue already knew that. Huaisang had complained at length about Lan Wangji ignoring his attempts at conversation, which according to him was because the second Lan Jade disdained him for being such an inferior cultivator. Mingjue did not know Lan Wangji well enough to judge on that, but he knew his brother and his insecurities. It was bad enough that Huaisang felt the judgment of his elders, he did not need to feel rejected by kids his age or younger.

“I know he's a handful, but I'm sure you two could get along, given the chance,” Mingjue suggested. “I'm sure he'd like that. Your brother says you like poetry, right? So does Huaisang.”

“Hm.”

Mingjue huffed, and drank some tea. He wasn't gifted for conversation. He did not have the need for it. Huaisang talked enough for three people when they were alone, and Lan Xichen was amazing at making small talk, effortlessly engaging people. It was part of why Mingjue was excited to one day, hopefully soon, have both of them at his side. His brother and his husband-to-be completed him perfectly.

But neither of them were there, and Lan Wangji's refusal to engage in conversation was getting on his nerves.

“You always this quiet?” he snapped.

Lan Wangji looked up from his tea, his eyes a little wider than usual, surprised by that moment of impatience. By Gusu Lan standard, it must have seemed like a crazy tantrum.

“Apologies,” the younger boy said with the slightest trembling to his voice. “I will try.”

Something twisted in Mingjue's guts, giving him the same cold feeling he got whenever someone teased Huaisang over his cultivation or his personality.

“It's fine,” Mingjue grunted. “Nothing wrong with being quiet. Sure could use some of that at home. Do you prefer if I stop talking as well?”

Lan Wangji gave him a careful look over and again Mingjue was reminded of Huaisang, always too careful, always trying too hard to find the right thing to say.

“I do not mind,” the younger boy said at last, sounding sincere. Not that it meant much. Mingjue lived with Huaisang, he knew how easy it was to face sincerity.

Still, since Lan Wangji had agreed to it, Mingjue made efforts to hold the conversation, acting as if it didn't bother him that he rarely got more than a word or two in answer to his questions. He thought that Lan Wangji appreciated it, but of course that kid was harder to read than even Huaisang.

It didn't matter. Mingjue was more than willing to try.

Lan Xichen had been so good at making Huaisang feel comfortable around him, it was only fair that Mingjue should extend the same courtesy to his own brother-in-law.

#nielan #nie mingjue #lan wangji #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #even when I write about other characters it's still about nhs LOL #Anonymous

80 notes · View notes

deanstop13billyjoeltraxx · 4 years ago

Text

Superposition

a deancas college roommate AU

Chapter 10 is up on AO3! Chapter-by-chapter masterlist here.

Wanting is Enough

“You goin’ home for Christmas?” Dean asked.

They were walking back to the dorm after dinner. It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving, a holiday for which neither Cas nor Dean had bothered to travel home.

“No,” Cas said. “I don’t believe I’m welcome at my father’s house anymore.”

Dean glanced sideways at him as they entered the stairwell. “Why? ‘Cause you’re gay?’ He asked.

Cas shrugged. “If he knows now, from Bartholomew or Hannah, then that certainly doesn’t help my case.” He sighed. “No, when he found out I was attending college and not entering ministry, he told me I shouldn’t come home again.”

Dean held the exit door open as Cas walked onto their floor. “When did that happen?” He asked.

“I kept the entirety of my college application process a secret. Only Anna knew,” Cas said. “She’s the only other sane person in my family. I made the mistake of informing the rest of them about it at dinner sometime in July.” He gave Dean a wry smile as they entered their room. “None of them were particularly thrilled.”

“You told them about the full ride and everything?”

“Yes.”

“And your old man still kicked you out?”

“The same night.”

Dean snorted. “Dumbass.”

A smile tugged at Cas’s lips. “You could say that.”

“Where’d you go after that?” Dean asked.

“Well, Anna was already living alone, down in Norman. She was at the University of Oklahoma,” he added by way of explanation. “I just stayed with her until August.”

Dean nodded. “She sounds cool. What’s she doing now?”

Cas broke into a grin. “She lives in North Carolina, now. She’s a therapist.”

Dean smirked at him. “So your ass is constantly getting psychoanalyzed?”

“I suppose.”

Dean slumped into the beanbag with a sigh. Cas remained at the door, leaning his weight against it.

“What about you?” He asked after a beat. “Are you returning home for Christmas?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, smiling. “Well, it’s kinda complicated. I am going home, like, my actual home. Lawrence. We spend Christmas with some family friends.” Dean paused, looking thoughtful. “They’re really more family than friends. Bobby and Ellen and Ellen’s kid Jo. Bobby and Ellen were both friends with my dad.”

“Will your father and brother be there?”

Dean’s look darkened, if only slightly. “Dad’s not coming. The whole thing started ‘cause he got tired of trying to pretend to like the holidays after Mom died. Decided to pawn us off on his old friends. But yeah, Sammy’ll be there.”

Cas gave him a nod and pushed off from the door. While he was disappointed that Dean would be gone for winter break, he was relieved, too. That was three weeks sans-Dean, more than enough time for Cas to work through his little crush. The solitude would be good, he told himself. Cas figured he could fast-track the five stages of grief, and by the time Dean returned, Cas would be the best friend he deserved. Cas sighed to himself as he rifled through his closet for a towel and a change of clothes. He was grabbing bottles of shampoo and body wash when Dean cleared his throat.

“You know,” he said slowly, like the words were difficult to force out, “You could… I mean, I’m sure everyone wouldn’t mind if you came to Christmas.”

Cas whirled around to face Dean, who was picking at a loose thread on the beanbag.

“What?” He asked, a little too loudly.

“Since you’re not goin’ home,” Dean said. “You know, it sucks to spend Christmas alone. ‘Specially in this dump,” he added, gesturing generally to the small room.

“Are you inviting me to spend Christmas in Lawrence? With you?”

Dean gave a short laugh. “I guess it is kinda dumb. Yeah, nevermind.”

“No, I’d like that,” Cas rushed out. He blinked at his own words. He was supposed to be avoiding Dean as often as possible, not spending three uninterrupted weeks in his hometown. “It sounds nice,” Cas added weakly, despite the fact that it definitely did not.

Dean looked up at him. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Dean broke into the biggest grin Cas had ever seen. “Dude, it’s going to be awesome. I can’t wait for everyone to meet you.” Dean stood up with and pulled Cas in for a hug, clapping him on the back twice. Cas winced, letting out a feeble chuckle as he returned the hug reluctantly. He was trying not to notice the warmth of Dean pressed against him, or the absence of it when they parted.

“Are you pissed at me?”

It was the Wednesday before finals started. They were quietly eating dinner when Dean threw the question at Cas, who coughed into his water.

“What?” He sputtered.

Dean rubbed the back of his head. “I dunno, man, I just feel like I never see you anymore.”

Guilt crashed into Cas like a freight train. He had been absent, more absent even than before Thanksgiving. Part of it was out of necessity — finals were fast approaching, and he was intent upon an all-A’s first semester. But the hours at the library were stacked on top of the hours he spent in class and the hours he spent simply staying away from his room.

“I apologize,” Cas said, and he couldn’t keep the earnestness from his voice. “I’m just feeling overwhelmed. I have two final papers, three exams, and two final projects coming up before the break.”

“No, man, I get it,” Dean said with a shrug. “You’re busy. Sorry, that was kinda uncalled for. All in my head, you know.”

Cas wanted to tell him that it was completely called for, that what Dean was feeling was valid, that he was being selfish and rude and a whole number of terrible things for avoiding Dean. But he couldn’t, because that would mean promptly declaring soul-destroying love for his best friend, right there in the middle of the dining hall. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he mumbled.

Cas had thought that it was getting easier, being around Dean. He’d basked in the feeling of being not just someone’s best friend, but Dean’s best friend, after Halloween, and that was enough. And while he was still avoiding spending long hours in their room, he felt like he was well on his way to making peace with the unrequited.

But then, they’d gotten drunk on the night of Thanksgiving. Cas didn’t remember much besides waking up in a tangled heap with Dean on the floor of their room. He’d been successful in extricating himself from the strange embrace before Dean regained consciousness, and thank god for that. But the situation lived rent-free in Cas’s mind. It made things considerably more difficult.

And then there was the prospect of travelling to Lawrence to spend Christmas with Dean and his family. Cas really hadn’t wanted to spend the holiday alone, and was, on the one hand, thankful for the invitation. On the other, his anxiety was mounting. That trip meant there was absolutely no avoiding Dean for at least three weeks; not to mention the fact that he was meeting the group of people most important to Dean.

So if Cas was making extra efforts to put space between himself and his roommate, it was not unwarranted.

They finished eating and made their way back to the dorms. Dean was complaining about his own finals, and while Cas tried his hardest to remain engaged, his heart wasn’t in it. He was angry at himself. Even when he felt like he was succeeding, he was failing.

“Cas,” Dean said. Cas had just let them into the room, but Dean was standing resolutely in the hallway.

“Yes?” Cas responded.

“Are you… I know I already asked, but man, something’s off,” Dean rushed out. “Is — Is this about Christmas? ‘Cause —”

Cas interrupted him. “No, Dean. I’m excited to spend Christmas with you and your family.”

Dean smiled weakly, but it was brief. “I just — you’re never around, man,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “I feel like I fucked something up somehow.”

Cas knew Dean well enough by now to know there were things he was trying to say without saying them. His heart broke to know that I miss you was likely one of them.

“I promise, you’ve done nothing wrong,” Cas said. “I’m just concerned about my finals.” Lie.

Dean looked at him with skepticism. “Okay,” he said finally.

Another twinge of guilt soared through him, but he didn’t say anything more, just gathered his things for a shower. Dean still hadn’t come into the room when Cas pushed past him and made his way to the bathroom.

When he returned, Dean was gone, but Cas saw a notification on his phone.

DW (7:32 pm)

went out back later

Cas narrowed his eyes at the short message, but typed out a reply anyway.

CN (7:34 p.m.)

Okay. Be safe. Don’t forget, there’s class tomorrow.

He sat down at his desk and opened his computer. He tried studying for his accounting final, but the words and equations might have been hieroglyphics for all that he was absorbing them. Cas sighed and pulled up the final project description for his creative writing class instead.

It was his favorite class by far. In high school, Cas focused on writing short stories, mostly adapted from real life. His notebooks were his confidants, the product of never having a close friend. But now, he was challenged to write other things; poetry, scripts, memoirs. Cas lived for the challenge, finally able to stretch new creative muscles. And while his attempt at drama had received mixed reviews from his professor and peers alike, his other works were well-received. He’d never shared his writing with anyone, and to hear others enjoyed it was something Cas cherished.

But this final project, it was difficult. The professor had tasked them with writing a 1000-word story in prose and adapting it into both a drama and a poem. The goal was to tell the same story in each genre. Cas couldn’t even think of a scene he might want to write, let alone how he was going to move fluidly between genres.

He sighed, and began to list out possible ideas. When it became clear that he wasn’t getting anywhere, he closed his notebook and moved onto something less intense. He reviewed his econ notes for an hour, got started on his final paper for literature.

After hitting a solid halfway point on his first draft, he checked his phone again. It was already midnight. Cas frowned. Dean was known to stay out late on the weekends, but it was Wednesday. Cas knew Dean had a nine-a.m. history class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He also knew that Dean wouldn’t make it to said class if he was out much later. He sent him a text.

CN (12:03 a.m.)

Are you all right?

Cas hit the bathrooms to brush his teeth and get ready for bed before checking his phone. His worry only increased when he saw that Dean hadn’t replied. He sent another text, hoping he didn’t seem too overbearing.

CN (12:11 a.m.)

Just making sure you’re alive.

He decided that if Dean didn’t respond in the next ten minutes, he’d call, regardless of how ridiculous he might sound.

Cas paced around the room, picking up what little stray trash they had left lying out. He was about to take out his phone again to check the time when it started vibrating on his desk. He picked it up eagerly, but frowned at the unknown number. Cas considered letting it ring out, but he hit the “accept” button at the last second. He didn’t say anything as he held the phone up to his ear, expecting a wrong number.

His eyes went wide when Dean rasped, “Cas?”

“Dean?” Cas replied, trying to keep panic out of his voice. “What — Why are you calling me from this number?”

“Phone’s dead,” he said, sounding exhausted. “I hate to do this to you, man, but… Just — goddammit — can you come get me?”

“What?”

“I’m just — I’m at the corner of seventeenth and Gentry.”

“Don’t you have a DD?” Cas asked. Dean had never called him to pick him up from a party. He always made sure someone was sober, or he called an Uber.

“No,” Dean sighed.

“Seventeenth and Gentry?” He repeated, and he heard Dean murmur something in affirmation. Cas made a turn for his car and said, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He hung up.

Cas tried to drive at a normal speed, but it was difficult. Dean had left abruptly, and while Cas hadn’t thought to question it, it now seemed glaringly out-of-character. Dean had never partied in the middle of the week, and he certainly had never gone drinking by himself. Every red light kicked his anxiety up a notch.

After the interminable drive, Cas finally arrived at the corner Dean had directed him to, a small bar with WSU flags plastered everywhere. Cas drove past the front of the building slowly, but couldn’t find Dean there. Finally, he saw a phone booth just past the bar’s street parking, and he coaxed the car forward. Dean was leaning against its side, a cigarette in his mouth. He hadn’t brought a jacket, and it was barely thirty degrees out. Cas turned up the heat in the car as he unlocked the passenger door.

Dean put out the cigarette and slid in without a word. Cas hit the gas and started the drive back to the dorms.

Neither said a word in the ten minutes it took Cas to reach campus. The only sounds were the roar of hot air from the vents and the low groan of the engine. Cas kept his eyes in front of him, never once daring to glance at Dean.

When they reached the lot, Cas threw the gear shift into park and folded his hands in his lap. He stared at his own interlaced fingers, willing Dean to speak first, not wanting to ask the question.

Dean didn’t speak, though, just opened the car door and stepped out. Cas saw a light flicker through the passenger window, and suppressed a groan as he realized Dean had lit another cigarette. Typical, Cas thought, and he was suddenly annoyed. It occurred to him that if their places were switched, Dean would be hounding him, demanding that Cas tell him everything, because he always did. Anytime Cas seemed the slightest bit off, Dean was there, asking questions, being the good friend that he was. But now? Now, he expected Cas to leave it alone, to let him suffer with whatever was bothering him. Cas took a few steadying breaths, then turned the engine off and got out.

“Dean,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral, “What the hell?”

Dean didn’t answer, just took a long drag, his gaze aimed resolutely ahead. Cas huffed and crossed his arms.

“You… You can’t just ask me to come pick you up from a bar and not offer an explanation,” Cas said.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered.

Cas let out a mirthless laugh. “Oh, well, that’s perfectly adequate,” he scoffed.

“What else am I supposed to say?” Dean demanded.

Cas stared at him, then shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, his jaw set. “I’m going to bed.

“What?” Dean asked, finally looking at Cas.

Cas shrugged. “I’m obviously wasting my time.”

Another drag. An exhale.

“My dad called while you were in the shower.”

The irritation shifted, almost immediately, to concern. “Your father called you?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he want?”

Dean tapped his cigarette against his leg. “Mostly to remind me what a piece of shit I am.”

Cas remained silent, allowing Dean the space to form whatever his next thought might be.

“I guess…” Dean rubbed his free hand over his forehead. “I guess Sam let it slip that I was bringing you to Bobby’s for Christmas.”

Cas cocked his head. “And that’s… Problematic?”

Dean exhaled another plume of smoke. “Yeah,” he said. He let out a mirthless laugh. “He said he didn’t get it, that if I was bringing anyone home, it should be a girlfriend, not…” Dean trailed off.

Cas felt the blood leave his face. “He thinks —”

“Yeah.”

“Dean, I don’t have to come,” Cas said. It would be better for both of us. “I’ll be perfectly fine here. I appreciate the offer, I do, but I don’t want to make life more difficult for you than necessary.”

Dean looked at him, finally, and he was all shadow and exhaustion. “No, he’s not gonna be there. You’re coming,” he said resolutely, and Cas tried not to let the disappointment show. “Plus, that wasn’t all of it. He’s pissed that I didn’t come home for Thanksgiving. Said something about how I was dishonoring my mom’s memory or something.”

Cas was silent for a moment. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“What do you mean?”

“At the bar,” Cas clarified. He couldn’t tell how drunk Dean really was, but based on that recent revelation, he could guess.

Dean furrowed his brow. “What?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I had like three beers. I was planning on going full blackout, but then you reminded me about class.”

Cas almost smiled at that, because it was almost funny. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Decide to get blackout drunk just because your father incorrectly assumed you were bringing me — bringing a male partner to a Christmas he wouldn’t even attend?”

Dean frowned. “I don’t — I don’t know,” he said, and he sounded almost surprised at his own answer.

Cas was treading on thin ice, he knew that. But he kept up anyway. “I don’t want to overstep,” he said slowly, “But, Dean, your father… It doesn’t seem like he’s taken the time to get to know you. The real you, not the version he wants you to be, or the version he projects onto you.”

When Dean didn’t stop him, he continued. “And you don’t owe him anything, not anymore. You’re here, aren’t you? All on your own. He has no power over you. And, I’m only assuming, but I believe that might terrify him. Because not only do you no longer need him, but you may choose not to want him.”

Cas let out a small laugh. “Believe me, I know how difficult it is to stop putting stock in what your father thinks. It took me years to accept that I had done nothing wrong, that my father was, and always would be, a bigot. I… I’m still working on it, even now,” he admitted. Cas sighed. “But my life has been better, easier, since I stopped trying to please someone who hardly even knew me.”

Dean’s expression changed, and he blinked. He was still looking in Cas’s direction, but not at him. Past him, at some unknown subject. Cas took a step toward him.

“Dean?”

“I don’t need him,” Dean whispered.

“Are you all right?” Cas asked, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean let out a huff, overflowing with something like realization. “I never thought about that before. It’s not like he’s ever tried to talk to me.” Dean threw his cigarette on the asphalt and stomped it out. A breathy chuckle escaped his lips, and he wrapped his hands around his midsection. “You know, I used to try so hard to be like him.” Dean tilted his head toward the sky. “I listened to his music, I dressed like him. Hell, I even started talkin’ like him.

“It was never enough, you know? I always fucked up. Sam didn’t get to school on time, or I forgot milk at the grocery store. I just, I dunno. I know he loves me. But I always wanted him to like me, too, you know?”

“I do.”

“Oh man, you should’ve seen him when he found out I’d been hiding money away to go to college,” Dean said, laughing darkly. “I thought I was gonna go to school with a black eye for a week.”

“He hit you?” Cas asked, horrified.

“What? No, no,” Dean said quickly. “I just thought he might.”

Cas let out a breath. There was one crime John Winchester hadn’t committed. “What do you mean, hiding money?”

“Dad never really had a steady job, not after our mom died,” Dean explained. “That’s why we moved around a lot. When I was fourteen, I started working. Chickenshit stuff, mostly. Mowing lawns and detailing cars until I was old enough to start flippin’ burgers.” Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “The money was supposed to go to rent and food, but I started putting most of it aside, just in case, you know? I had enough for a year of college by the time I was a senior. I figured I could get loans and stuff for the rest.”

“And when you told him, he got angry?”

Dean only nodded, now staring intently at the ground. Cas didn’t say anything more, knowing Dean had probably just unloaded more trauma than he’d even known he had. Finally, though, Dean’s gaze met his.

“But I don’t need him,” he repeated.

“You don’t.”

“He’s nothing, unless I want him to be something,” Dean said slowly, and his eyes were growing triumphant. “Cas, you’re a genius.”

“If you say so.”

“You learn all that stuff from your sister? The one with a degree in ‘dealing with crazy fuckers’?”

Cas smiled. “Maybe,” he said. “And therapy isn’t just for ‘crazy fuckers.’”

Dean smirked at him. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say ‘fuck’.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “It’s cold out here,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Yeah, okay.”

As they walked, Cas felt latent anger curl in his stomach. Dean hadn’t told Castiel much about his home life, not until that night. He understood, now, why Dean could so easily take care of others, but needed three beers and a cigarette to show his own vulnerabilities. In his eighteen years, had Dean ever been told that he was enough? The possibility that he hadn’t awakened something in Cas, some righteous fury.

He chided himself internally. How much of his selfish avoidance scheme had contributed to those feelings of inadequacy? He’d rather burn with the pain of unrequited love forever than let Dean think he wasn’t enough.

When they reached the entrance to their dorm, Cas put a hand on Dean’s arm. “Are you okay, Dean?” He asked.

Dean let out a long breath. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I’m okay. I really am.” He said it like it might have been the first time he’d ever meant it.

Cas woke up at two in the morning from a particularly vivid dream. His breathing was heavy with the shock of waking up so suddenly. Dean was breathing slow and even across the room, still entirely asleep.

Cas shook his head a little. The dream had felt so real that it had left a residual burning feeling in his hand. He stared at it, but it remained entirely human.

Abruptly, he remembered his creative writing project. A short story, something he could turn into a poem and a stage scene. A lightbulb went off in his brain.

Cas lowered himself from his bed and hurriedly opened his computer. He had to get this down as soon as possible. Cas replayed the dream in his mind as his computer booted up. He supposed it might be a little strange, to turn this story in as his final project, considering it was somewhat of a self-insert. But it had everything he needed.

Finally, he opened a blank document and began to write the first draft. Cas wrote down everything he could remember from the dream, sights and sounds and feelings. With each word, his excitement grew. He’d never felt this way about a writing project, like the story demanded to be told.

Cas hit word count and kept going, because the story was building itself larger and larger. He didn’t even notice how long he’d been working until Dean’s six-a.m. alarm went off.

Dean groaned and rolled over in his bunk. He said something, but Cas didn’t hear, too intent upon getting the words in his head onto the page.

“Hey,” Dean said, raising his voice. “Stephen King, what the hell?”

Cas didn’t turn from the computer screen. “Good morning,” he said. “How did you sleep?”

Dean groaned. “Like the dead,” he said sarcastically. “How long you been up?”

Cas checked the time. “Somewhere around four hours,” he said.

“Four — you’ve been up since two?”

“Yes.”

Dean blanched and swung himself down from his bed. “Dude, that means you got, max, an hour and a half of sleep.” He made his way to Cas’s desk and leaned over his shoulder. Upon seeing the word count on his screen, his eyes widened.

“You wrote all that last night? Or this morning?” He asked.

Cas shrugged, a little sheepishly. “I got inspired.”

Dean blinked at him. “I’m gonna make a pot of coffee,” he said.

Cas wrote a few hundred more words before finding a good stopping point. He scrolled to the top of his document and highlighted the scenes he wanted to use for his project. Dean brought him a cup of coffee, which Cas accepted eagerly, beginning to feel the first twinges of exhaustion through his inspiration-fueled mania.

“What’re you writing over there?” Dean asked after taking a sip from his mug.

“It’s one of my final projects,” Cas replied. He drank from his own mug.

Dean looked at him in horror. “A five-thousand word essay?”

Cas laughed. “No. A thousand-word short story,” he said.

“What, so you’re an over-achiever?”

“No,” Cas said. “I’m only using the first thousand words for my project. But I just couldn’t stop. There was more to tell.” His cheeks flamed. Talking about his creative projects always embarrassed him.

“What’s it about?” Dean asked.

Cas gave him a sideways grin. “You’ll find out when you read it.”

Dean scowled. “At least tell me what you’re calling it.”

Cas looked up thoughtfully. “I don’t know for sure yet,” he said. “That reminds me…” He turned back to his computer to save the document. When faced with the title option, he faltered. He typed in “The Righteous Man.” That would do for now.

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

taglist! @nguyenxtrang @castielsbeeslippers

#supernatural #destiel #deancas #destiel fic

11 notes · View notes

thanksjro · 4 years ago

Text

Zero Point, a Last Stand of the Wreckers prose story- I Sure Hope You Like Eye Imagery

Ooh, an artsy start to our prose this go around.

This story takes place after the events of Last Stand of the Wreckers, with our dear friend Springer well into his Overlord-induced coma.

Roadbuster is a gentle soul, when he’s not busy ripping people’s spines out.

Roadbuster’s been put in charge of the Debris station since Springer’s out of commission. It’s boring. He’s bored. He has a routine he follows, but there’s only so much grave-visiting/security-checking/weapon-building/eyeball-cleaning a guy can do within a 120 hour day before it becomes less of a routine and more of a compulsive habit.

Springer’s eyes are a specific shade of blue known as Matrix Blue- supposedly a marker for being Matrix Compatible. Considering that Senator Shockwave had to go and get multiple guys some nonconsensual plastic surgery to make sure they could actually fit the Matrix, I’m going to go ahead and say that that’s some bunk someone made up to hype up the mysticism of Primehood.

Springer’s obviously in a bad way, and it’s not looking like things are going to get any better. You can tell, because this is the point where his internal monologue kicks in, reflecting on just what it’s like to die, and his past. Sure hope they don’t have any vats filled with corrodia gravis on this space station.

Back before the war was The War, Springer was young and naive, but his boobs were just as awesome as they are now.

Springer became slightly disenchanted as his time on the front lines went on, thinking that he needed to do more to help the Autobot Cause. He decided he wanted to join the Wreckers, though he knew next to nothing about them at the time, and everything that he’d heard probably should have sent him running in the opposite direction. Decepticons caught by Impactor and friends would kill themselves in the middle of the street if they managed to escape.

But we’re dealing with a mind that’s been shaped by a civil war, now aren’t we? Impressions are warped for Autobots, because Decepticons are evil, and therefore they deserve that sort of thing, now don’t they? Nobody is immune to propaganda.

Springer first met Impactor at Sherma Bridge, where he saw him punch through a ship’s windshield, spear the driver’s head with his drill-hand, and then land the thing in front of a memorial statue. Gee, what a guy.

Springer, even though he’d seen all this and was feeling a little wary about this whole situation- which is a very valid reaction to witnessing a murder, no matter who’s been killed- decides to get put on the list of reservists for the Wreckers.

It’s amazing they even bother with Rung at all, isn’t it?

Springer’s interview is a violent one, because this is the Wreckers, and we don’t ever go half-mast on anything- Impactor falls out of the fucking sky in the middle of a huge battle and tells Springer that he’ll be coming with him. And that was that.

Oh hey, it’s the IDW2 eating chairs. And hello, Kaput, it’s nice to see you again.

Kaput’s diagnosis is as bleak as it is cryptic- Springer’s probably for sure going to die. Kaput seems to only exist to tell people they’re dying or dead, unless they’re the once and future Optimus Prime.

Kup’s pretty bummed out about this whole thing, pacing like a 1950’s father in the birth and delivery waiting room. Kaput doesn’t seem to notice, or is too lost the the medical sauce to realize that him going on about how they fixed that weird humming noise Springer’s legs used to make is making folks anxious.

Roadbuster asks just what exactly’s wrong, if they fixed everything from his ripped-off face to his weird humming legs. Kaput doesn’t like confrontation, so he blathers on for a bit before admitting that they haven’t found the zero point.

Roberts, how many times are you going to do this to Kup? First Rodimus, now Springer- did Kup bully you in primary school? I’m starting to get concerned.

That was six months ago, and while Roadbuster had been polite about it at the time, all the nothing that’s happened since has made him feel a little less kindly toward Kaput.

Okay, who’s ready to find out why doctors and mechanics aren’t the same thing on Cybertron? Because I sure am!

So they have to account for the soul, is what you’re saying. Is this about having some sort of bedside manner, because the mental aspect of healing has to be taken into account? Or is it more to do with the bizarre implications of the soul being physical as opposed to metaphysical, and therefore capable of being destroyed? The ethical conundrum that the spark presents is fascinating.

If a break happens between these two nerves, it can cause the energy of the spark to be redirected away from the points it’s meant to go, like a heart with a hole in it. Yes, the blood is still inside the body, but it’s not inside the veins and is therefore useless, and in fact is directly harming the body.

Roadbuster, after reflecting on the grim reality Springer is currently living, breaks out Wreckers: Declassified. This isn’t reading for personal enjoyment or ego-stroking however- Roadbuster actually greatly dislikes reading about himself in Fisitron’s datalogs. No, this is more of a last-ditch effort to save Springer’s life.

Roadbuster learned to read to act on a theory brought up by Rung- he and Kup are friends, on account of both of them being very old- that the spark is psychosomatic in nature. It can be influenced by intense emotional responses to potentially heal the physical self. They’re willing to try this, because nobody really knows how exactly a spark works, so Rung’s guess is as good as any.

Story time for the evening picks up on a chapter in a story called “The Wreckers’ Air Attack”, getting right into where Megatron’s about to shoot Impactor in the back of the head. But not without pontificating first.

This is so over the top, so romantic- and I’m talking Romantic as in the literary style. I don’t even know what to say here. Luckily Impactor does.

Fisitron may not know what this whole scene is about, but we as the reader do. The hardcover trade edition of Last Stand was published roughly a six months after “Chaos Theory”, where we got THIS exchange:

If this is what Megatron’s poetry is like, it’s no wonder Impactor isn’t a fan. Purple prose out the wazoo, incredibly flowery imagery- I’m sure there’s an audience for all that, but I doubt Impactor’s a part of that crowd.

Megatron is distracted just long enough for Springer to descend upon him on the sky sled, like a murderous Santa Claus, jumping off so the sled can slam into Megatron and send him careening down the side of the mountain.

That’s taken care of. What next?

It’s at this point that Roadbuster checks what chapter they’re on, because he’s really not the biggest fan of Fisitron’s writing style. Guess he isn’t one for fanfiction, or adverbs. Turns out, each of these datalogs are less blog posts and more fully-fledged books. Every single one of them.

Roadbuster’s feeling kind of hopeless at this point, and it’s not hard to understand why; there hasn’t been any sort of response from Springer at all in all the months he’s been reading to him.

He considers the contents of the only datalog he hasn’t cracked open yet, outright skipping over it every time- #113, the one about Pova. He doesn’t ever read it because it’s full of false information, as was made very clear in Last Stand #5.

Springer joined the 17th iteration of the Wreckers, after a hazing ritual so brutal, it required the addition of an amendment to the Misuse of Weapons Act. Horrifying. None of the original members of the Wreckers had survived the war by the point Springer had been brought on- except for Valve, who does not count because he left the Autobots to go be a Decepticon, a fact which will never be expanded upon, much like Eugenesis Skywarp having been an Autobot for some friggin’ reason.

Springer, once on the inside, realizes that maybe the Wreckers are a little too dark a shade of gray for him to be able to sit comfortably with- the battering of POWs just a little too enthusiastically, the bending of the rules a little too sharply, the blatant disregard for the Tyrest Accord being smoothed over with an “oopsie doodle!” It’s looking like the Wreckers aren’t completely on the straight and narrow; shocking, I know.

Still, he doesn’t really see the point in arguing with it, instead just trying to make sure that he’s not the one doing the maiming and such. Complicity is not the answer to this sort of behavior, Springer.

When Squadron X came onto the scene, Impactor was so upset at the perceived slight- because obviously if Squadron X was the Decepticons answer to the Wreckers, and they were a bunch of murderous assholes, what did that make the Wreckers?- that he made it everyone else’s problem. The Wreckers WOULD destroy Squadron X. It was his new goal in life.

This went exactly where you’d expect such a singleminded hate-boner to go.

After the execution of eight POWs who should have been let go due to being on sovereign territory, Springer decided that enough was enough and called the cops on Impactor. High Command had been itching to get this guy back under control, so things moved pretty quickly after that.

Springer resigned from the group afterwords, but then everyone started coming out of the woodwork, pestering him to come back and LEAD them, because they were worried about being shut down. The likes of Roadbuster and Whirl don’t exactly make for good executives. After thinking about it, and after the trial, of course, he agrees to come back on as the leader of the Wreckers. So began a new era.

Back in the real world, Roadbuster’s trying to read the falsified account of Pova, but just can’t go through with it. He decides to tell Springer the truth, if only so he won’t die with a bunch of bullshit bouncing around in his brain.

Springer did so many drugs in Eugenesis, he BECAME drugs in Last Stand.

So Springer is apparently the greatest hype man to ever live, as he pumped everyone up so much about getting Squadron X, they just went completely feral the moment they saw their ship. Squadron X wasn’t even doing anything, and the Wreckers were frothing at the mouth.

When this lead to the inevitable, and Springer was trying to break down the door to prevent Impactor from racking up eight war crimes in under two minutes, Roadbuster and Whirl had a little moment. They knew what had happened, they knew that they couldn’t stop it, they knew that Springer couldn’t stop it, and they were pleased as punch about it.

Once Impactor had been arrested, the other Wreckers were worried that they’d be the next to get ratted out. To try and prevent this, they created a false narrative to lure Springer back into the group, placing him in a position of leadership to soothe his worries about the others having been complacent in the murder of Squadron X.

Roadbuster finishes off this horrifying admission with a non-apology, complimenting Springer on being a good leader. Then he notices that Springer’s got a tear in his eye.

That’s a [ tair ] , not a [ teer ]. It took me a second, too. English is a nightmare of a language.

He tries to buff the tear out, manually peeling back Springer’s eyelid to do it, only to find that maybe Rung wasn’t completely full of shit after all.

#transformers #jro #last stand of the wreckers #zero point #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #prose writing #wreckers trilogy

56 notes · View notes

ajokeformur-ray · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, Fawn ❤️🦌 I'm pretty nervous to send you this message. But you are the person I look up to when it comes to self-shipping. You are always a help to everyone and a great source of inspiration! I deeply admire your relationships you have with your f/os!

So... Do you maybe have any tips or advice for me, on how to reconnect with your f/o? Unfortunately, due to my stress, I don't feel connected to J at all lately. I'm so insecure about the way I see him as my f/o 😔

And are your requests still open? 👉👈 I thought I'd ask you first because I don't want to bother you unnecessarily.

I hope you are well and safe, darling! I'm sending you lots of love and strength for your studies. I'm so so proud of you!!! 💖💖

Sueeee ~ 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Hello, my love! 💘

How are you? How is everything? Are you okay?💗

Darling, I’m so sorry that you were so nervous to send this message, and I’m equally sorry that’s taken me so long to respond!😔 I’m honoured to be the person you look up to with self-shipping asdfghjk omgggg ~ 🥺🥺🥺I’ve been a self-shipper for as long as I can remember, though I didn’t know there was a term for it until this time last year (my, how time flies...⌚). Thank you for your kind words, angel. I try to be the one people can feel safe in going to and I can only hope that even one thing I say in my responses is what people need or want to hear in any kind of way skksksk. Thank you, darling!💙I cherish what I have with my F/Os and I wouldn’t be who I am or where I am without them.🥺

Do you maybe have any tips or advice for me, on how to reconnect with your f/o?

The first thing I want to say is that if you cannot reconnect with your F/O straight away, do not panic. It can sometimes take a while to rekindle a fire in any kind of relationship, not just in self-shipping, and the important thing is to be patient with yourself while you reconnect with your F/O.

Watch the content of your F/O, read some imagines, create a playlist of songs which remind you of your F/O or songs which feature in their content, create something (writing, drawing, songwriting, scrapbooking, poetry etc.)... to remind you of why you love your F/O.

Essentially, surround yourself with them as much as you’re able to. This should help to make your F/O feel closer to you and at the very least, it will get you thinking about them, which is a good first sign. As I’ve already said, please don’t panic if this takes a while - the longer it’s been since you felt close to them, the longer it can take to feel reconnected, but that doesn’t mean that it won’t happen.

It’s important to not force a connection. If you try to force something which isn’t there, you may end up making yourself feel worse in the process and that won’t help you to re-establish any kind of connection. If self-shipping at any point makes you feel unhappy, then it isn’t being done properly. Always put yourself and your wants first! If at any point you feel impatient or upset, then take a break and focus on something which requires less effort.

Something I like to do when I want to reconnect with my F/Os is to daydream actively when I go to bed. What I mean is that when I’m waiting to go to sleep, I’ll focus on the F/O I want to reconnect with and think up scenarios in which we reconnect with one another. Most often, I end up falling asleep in the process, but at least I fall asleep thinking of someone I love. It’s a win-win.🥰💗

Write a list of all the reasons why you love them. These reasons can be anything - something deep and complex like their coping mechanisms or something simple like eye colour. And here is where the self-love component of self-shipping comes in: write a list of why your F/O loves you. Don’t be shy! ~ You deserve to give yourself love!!!💖

Take your time with this and take it slow! It might happen quickly or it might take some time, but either way, the bottom line is this: If you genuinely want to reconnect to your F/O, then you will!

I can’t think of any more tips right now, angel, but if there’s anything else which you want to discuss or if you have any more questions, then please don’t be shy to reach out!💚

Aaaaand ~ to answer your second question, darling, my requests are open, yes!!! ~ 💙💜🌸Thank you for asking first, my love, I really appreciate it!!!💕🤗 You’re never a bother, my love, and I hope that you’re safe and well and looking after yourself! I am so proud of you and so is J!💛🥰

Thank you so much for your kind words, darling, it means a lot to me and so do you! You’re working so hard and I’m so proud of you!🤗💗🥺💜🌸💙💖🥰💛

#self-shipping #advice #thoughts #jslittlebirdie

5 notes · View notes

fairydust-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

Banana Fish Buffy the vampire Slayer crossover Special! Instead of Fox ,Dino hires a different predator to bring him Ash a decision him and everyone involved quickly come to regret.

Angelus walks into Lee Manor whistling still covered in blood he’s wearing a green neck scarf. the hushed voices of the two teenage boys seated on the sofa fade to silence.

“ Now you boys wouldn’t happen to be plotting would you, I wouldn't want to wake up tied to the bed with someone holding lighter fluid over me. Though it was a good effort, Yue. Even you did just exceed at pissing me off” Angelus added cheerfully.

“ You know what they say, third times the charm” Yut Lung’s tone is deceptively pleasant. “ I’m guessing by your new accessory Papa Dino is no more”

“ The old man was so annoying, Capture Ash Lynx blah blah blah I understand being obsessed with a blond superhero but if your not good at breaking people hand the whip to someone who knows how to use it,” Angelus said with annoyance. “ Don’t get me wrong some of his ideas were good but the execution D minus for effort.”

They’ve been holding each other he can smell it on them how adorable he’s glad he decided to keep Sing around after all. The two of them are much more fun as a set.

“ Shit you‘re in a good mood that’s never good” Sing looks uneasy.

Angelus plants himself between the two of them and stretches himself out one hand by each of their shoulders. “ Go to channel eight” this is directed at Sing The fourteen-year-old picks up the remote and flips the tv on.

Yut Lung has already started on the wine like a good little sixteen-year-old alcoholic. Angelus has contemplated getting rid of every bottle in the mansion just to see him go through withdrawal symptoms but has decided it’s not worth the risk of the kid possibly dying. Besides he’s got a million other ways to make him suffer. “ The Christen killer seems to have struck again the body of a blond eighteen-year-old boy crucified and turned upside down as a clear mockery of the Christen Faith”

Yut Lung scoffs “ What does this have to do with anything?”

“ Keep watching Yuey,” Angelus says in a cheerful voice.

“ the boy has been identified as Ash Lynx former gang leader”

Angelus looks over Sing’s face pales and Yut Lung’s face is clouded disbelief. The vampire shuts the tv off. “ Guess who finally bagged a Lynx” he gloats.

“ No, he’s not really dead…..he’s just playing a trick” Yut Lung mumbles standing up “ That’s just some random boy you picked up off the streets”

Angelus fixes a look of false sympathy on his face “ No I’m afraid it’s not” He grabs Yut Lung’s elbow and turns him so he’s forced to meet his eyes. “ Cinderella is never going to the ball again” then he pulls out one green eye from his pocket.

The head of the Lee family crumples to the floor a high-pitched anguished sound emerges from his throat. Angelus drinks the sight in deeply its hard to get a satisfying reaction from the kid. So when he hits that sweet spot it is euphoric.

“ Kill me” it’s not even screamed just a weak plea for mercy from a severely depressed teenage boy.

“ Nah! you don’t get to die” Angelus tilts his chin up so he’s looking up at him like some sort of God. Its fitting Angelus does control his fate. “ I don’t get why your so eager to go, you’d just burn in Hell for an eternity” truthfully Angelus isn’t sure of that considering the Chinese have a different belief system someone up there might decide reincarnation is more fitting for this wreck of a boy which would undo all his hard work. Now to deliver the finishing blow “ Like, Ash is”

Yut Lung runs out of the room chocking back sobs with anyone else Angelus would think he broke them but the boy had surprised him before. Even posing Blanca’s dead body in a reenactment of Judas’s suicide and offering his actual bloody heart to Yut Lung hadn’t been the devastating blow he thought it would be. Sure the kid was upset judging by his attempted seduce and burn him alive attempt but Angelus had aimed for curl up and whimper, not revenge.

“Just leave him alone you shit!” Sing lost his temper

“I normally don’t finish other’s art projects but his face is poetry and that body is an unfinished canvas. I’m going to craft the sloppy mess they left behind into something agonizingly beautiful” Angelus gloats “ A little side project while I wait to start working on my passion project”

“ Who’s your passion project” Sing asks

Ah, Sing hitting on what truly matters, Angelus thinks with some fondness. “Let’s have some fun, you're going to introduce me to Ash’s group,” the vampire says instead.

“ What the hell makes you think I’d do that?” Sing demands

Angelus just turns and walks up the stairs and up to the bedroom.” Oh Yuey come out and play!” he says in a sing-song voice Sing shot out dragon fang honestly what a ridiculously childish name, Angelus dodged his weapon with a laugh. He can hear Yut lung’s sharp breaths on the other side of the door before he opens it the kids hugging his knees in the middle of that big bed. Hair half out of his braid. Angelus stalks over and runs a hand over the boy’s leg feeling a slight tremble. Angelus contemplates Does he want to feel him up just to show he can or leave burns on the tender skin of those legs?

“ Haven’t you tormented me enough?” it's almost a whisper

“ Hey blame Sing, for choosing Eiji over you again”

“ You bastard! That’s not what’s happening!” Sing protested he’s caught up and he lands a punch on Angelus the vampire blocks and tosses him to the floor. Angulus slides a hand into his pocket. “ I’ll do it, I’ll do it just leave him alone!” the younger boy pleads.

“Really, Sing I had the lighter ready and everything. He’s so fickle” Angelus complained to Yut Lung “ Ah well we’ll play another day” he promises. The vampire blows the boy on the bed a kiss as he leaves with Sing he turns to Yut Lung’s bodyguards “ Watch him make sure he doesn’t die” they nod their human faces vamping out…

“I kinda miss how he was before, trying not to be clingy while wanting to grab onto me, so desperate” Angelus smirks. The two of them are standing on the New York subway.

“ You love the sound of your own voice” Sing observes.

“I was trapped by that nauseating soul, for years. It had me rescuing puppies, puppies! I used to nail those to people’s doors. Think Yut Lung would be upset if I nailed a dog to his door?” Angelus asked “ You are asking me for ways to torment my leader?” Sing demanded incredulously “ Oh right you have a crush don’t you” Angelus laughed. “ I keep forgetting that cause of the whole betrayal thing” “ He was the one working with Dino my cousin’s murderer” Sing argued

“ You think Yue wasn’t plotting against him?” Angelus chuckled “ Maybe that’s why I like you two. Years of do-gooder pep rallies and the constant we help the helpless rah rah rah. And your all hell with it! Your still both gooey in the middle but I’m going to fix that” he promises, vamping out and advancing on one of the homeless people near the back. He had after all missed breakfast.

Sing was looking rather pale by the time he got off the subway Angelus fixed his leather jacket “ I look good right, no blood on the mouth?” he asked “ Now remember only good things or I’ll be paying your pretty cousin Nadia a visit. Maybe I’ll grab of a few your guys as a midday snack” ...

“ We don’t talk to the police” they’ve been incredibly unhelpful,” says the handsome blond man before him who must be Max Lobo. He looks haggard and worn Angelus is pleased with how big an effect his actions have had on the group.

“ I’m a private detective” Angelus pulls out one of the Angel Investigations business cards he’d stolen. “ Sing told me you might need some help catching this mad artist”

“ You mean sicko with a god complex” Ibe retorts.

Sing laughs, he'll pay for that later Angelus thinks. He’s about to draw on some of his Angel speeches the soul makes him act like such a….His thoughts are frozen at the sight of a baby faced nineteen years old with an athletic build and big eyes. This must be Ash’s, Eiji the one he was sorry for not being able to protect. “ I’m sorry, I’m not usually up this late” his voice is hoarse and his eyes are red-rimmed.

“ This is detective Angel he’s a friend of Sing’s,” Ibe says. “ Oh, I’ll make you some tea,” The boy says quickly hurrying to the kitchen and starting up the pot. “ Its the least, I can do for a friend of Sings”

“ Some tea would be nice” Angelus comments. Eiji prepares tea for all three of them.

“ My condolences about your lover” the vampire lies.

“ Thank you, Ash had his flaws but...he didn’t deserve” Eiji pauses

“ I want to bring this man to justice but I need your help. Can you describe everything you saw that night every detail?” Angelus says in a smooth professional voice.

Eiji recites in a dull tone how he found Ash’s body its secretly quite fun for Angelus pretending he was unclear and asking for him to repeat himself, demanding more gory details.

“ that’s enough Ibe,” says harshly noting Eiji’s face.

“ Its necessary for the investigation” Angelus replies “ Its best to pry while every detail is fresh in his mind” he wants to laugh at how easily Eiji defends him as he continues tugging at the fraying threads of the boy’s grief. After the questioning Angelus leaves them the card and promises to keep in touch.

Eiji is sickeningly good, putting his feels on the backburner for the sake of others. He reeks of insecurity and doubt and despite his grief, there’s still a sparkle of naive hope in him. Also, something tells him the boys never been touched, considering Ash’s hang-ups about sex. Angelus normally finds these things not so appealing in boys but there’s such a girlish feel to this boy despite his athleticism that Angelus finds himself wanting to ruin and consume him. The way he would Drucilla or Buffy and the way the gangs in New York latch onto him like lost puppies. Angelus likes the idea of snuffing out the little light they’ve found in the dark world they live in. “ Wait here, Sing I’ve got to get something from the store”...

“ You shouldn’t get too attached to that” Sing comments as Yut Lung snuggles the kitten on his lap. the boy’s laughing at the little licks from the sandpaper tongue Angelus scoops up the kitten which cries out in terror and snaps its little neck. “ Why did you?” the boy yells

“ Present for your enemy Eiji” Angelus commented. “ But it didn’t have anything to do with it!” Yut Lung argues “ Neither did your brother’s children” Angelus returned. “It’s fun to kill defenseless things that can’t fight back right Yue?” he taunts stroking the dead kitten…

Angelus shoves Yut Lung down and receives a dark look “ Your not still mad about the little furball” he taunts. The boy remains silent

“ I’m sure you’ll add it to your list of things to avenge. Angelus runs his tongue along the boy’s wrist contemplatively. “ That’s the problem with you Eastern type everything has to be avenged or its dishonor” the vampire mocks brushing the boy’s neck lightly with his mouth.

“ If your smart you’ll kill me now” Yut Lung warns.

“ But your so cute and helpless” Angelus lifts the quipo slowly and runs his tongue along Yut Lung’s thigh he vamps out and bites down a cry escapes the boy under him. He licks the blood savoring the taste god its been too long. Yut Lung’s silent hatred makes it sweeter. Then the phone rings “ Yes!” he snaps “ Angel I….m... sorry….for…” the shaky voice on the other end is music to his ears. “ Eji what’s wrong?” he fakes concern “ Someone nailed a...a kitten to my door” the Japanese boy managed to get out.

“ Where are you” Angelus clamps a hand on Yut Lung’s ankle just missing as the boy rolls off the bed and makes a break for it. “ I’m staying with a friend,” Eiji says. “ Alright, I’ll be there first thing tomorrow night at eight” Angelus slams down the phone. “ So you're in the mood to play tonight are you Yuey?” the vampire walks into the hall scenting the air “ Alright, let's play hide and seek” he starts walking the halls “ 1, 2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9” he stops in front of the bathroom door the scent of blood and fear so strong he can almost taste it “ 10” he whisks the door open only to get shoved backward by a long-haired boy into a bathtub of holy water!...

It took Angelous a whole day to heal with the damage a whole day. He had to reschedule with his masterpiece and by that time Yut Lung was long gone. How the hell he managed to slip by his former vampiric bodyguards the former Scourge of Europe had no clue. Sing seemed to have not come back as well which meant those two had planned this. Angelus bet his little boyfriend smuggled him the holy water. When he got his hands on them both ...

“ So you think it’s the same guy who killed your boyfriend?” Angelus asked

“ What other fucker could it be!” Eiji snapped “ Sorry”

“It’s ok you’ve had a bad night. Eiji, I get the impression you're not telling me everything. Do you others to get hurt because you failed to cooperate?” Angelus asked

“ Papa Dino, he didn’t like Ash. We think he may have hired someone to get rid of all of us” Eiji interjects.

Yes me, Angelus thinks to himself not that it went well for the Godfather wannabe or his cohorts. “ Is there anyone else who may wish you harm?” Angelus asked “ Yut Lung Lee,” Eiji says.

“ Isn’t Hau Lee the current head of the Lee clan?” Angelus asked with phony surprise

“ They have a secret seventh brother” Eiji makes a face.

“ I take it your not fond of him” So the feud goes both ways.

“ Even so he’s been silent for weeks” Eiji comments “ And what happened last night. He’s cruel but even he wouldn’t do something like that” Angelus asks a few more questions “ Dam is it nine already” he commented.

“ How about I make you some dinner? It's the least I can do” Eiji offers.

“ You are not looking to break any stereotypes ” Angelus teased.

“ I can still spit in your meal” Eiji jokes. While dining on fish and vegetables the two converse.

“ So what you do besides catch scary serial killers?” Eiji asked “ I like ballet, I draw, I read, love the classics” Angelus admits. “ You” though he already knows photography and pole vaulting. He’s done his research or rather Yut Lung did and was always ready to complain about Eiji Okumura.

Eiji’s face crumples and he starts crying right there on the table. Angelus pulls him into a hug “ Thank….you…..I’m sorry...i” Eiji breaks off. “ Ash, he also loved the classics ”

“ its, fine let it all out’ The vampire soothing I can't believe I’m saying this cheesy crap, you better be worth it Angelus thought. “ I understand what you’re going through…..I lost my whole family to a killer” Yes, me I ripped their throats out.

Eiji’s horrified expression makes Angelus struggle to control himself. “ I’m so sorry, is that why you became a detective?” Eiji asked

“ I’m not a good person Eiji, I’ve done terrible things to deal with my grief” Angelus channels the soul and broods.

“ You're not a bad person,” Eiji tells him softly but with conviction. “ You should stay away from me” Angelus gets up and leaves the house smirking when he’s out of view…

The vampire sits across from the round-faced Japanese boy. The boy has circles under his eyes and the expression on his face resembles that of a lost puppy rather than that of a human. After weeks of ghosting him, dodging his calls Angelus has pulled I don’t want to but now I’m going to tell you the absolute truth ruse. He agreed to meet with Eiji to clear things up and damn he should win an Oscar.

In the meantime, he’s been trying to find his slippery teenage duo. He knows Yut Lung has safe houses all over New York due to his family’s activities well-stocked with weapons, medical and most likely staff furthermore absolutely no invitation inside. Last time he had the advantage of being invited in while attending a meeting with Golzine. Yut Lung had been low key furious when he found out about the vampire thing and how Dino had knowingly let one into his home. He can’t even use Sings guys because they appear to have disappeared as well.

“ First mafia and trafficking now demons! The worlds turning darker every time I turn around” there’s bitterness in his young voice. “ And without Ash….” he gulps and tears start to pour from his eyes. “ I’m so….r...r..y i” “ He meant a lot to you it's understandable you miss him” Angelus takes his hand “ And I’m going to help find whoever killed Ash” he vowed. “ For now I hear the gooseberry pie is to die for”

Eiji opens his mouth but the two of them are interrupted by two Asian men wheeling in a dinner cart. They were young clean-cut and wearing waiter uniforms. “ Order of flaymonyong?” one of them asked “ I’m sorry you have the wrong table, we haven’t even ordered yet,” Eiji says. One of the men reaches for the silver dish lid the vampire feels annoyed “ Look he said you had the wrong table so why…….”

The guys whisked the lid off to reveal a flamethrower. Eiji knocks the vampire out of the way the blast just misses them. The other waiters rush forward also Chinese he notices. Two of them tackle Eiji pinning him to the ground he trashes and bucks. The guy with the flamethrower fires it up again but this time the vampire is ready throwing his shoulder against the fragile human as hard as possible. The sound of something snapping makes him grin. The other Chinese men advance the vampire beckons them forward. “ So how much were you Bruce Lee wannabees paid to die?” he taunts

Two of them pull out their super soaker guns and aim holy water! Angelus snarls with rage and pain his shoulder sizzling. “ Angel, Eiji’s managed to get free and takes the other blasts for him getting utterly soaked. The vampire reaches past him for the hand which he crashes then grabbing the pained man uses him to smack into the other guy knocking them both down. Then he swipes a knife from the table and does three quick slices and two neck snaps. “ Why doesn’t that bastard leave me alone? Ash is gone! What does he want?” Eiji yells “ Go in the kitchen and call Ibe and Max to come and get you” The vampire orders. “ I’m going to make sure that’s all of them” he added. Eiji opens his mouth “ Go!” Angelus snarls. Once Eiji is gone the vampire pulls one of the dead men’s cell phones out of his pocket. He calms and puts Eijji in a taxi promising to continue this tomorrow...

The phone starts ringing, just as he arrives outside his fancy new apartment.

“ Gao?” a soft-spoken young voice comes through.

“ Hello, Angel investigations home of the no fun do-gooders” The vampire smirks.

The sharp exhale on the other end was worth it “ You survived” the boy says calmly. Angelus hears Sings outraged cry in the background.

“ Yut Lung Lee, I’m not gay but that voice of yours does things to me,” the vampire said obnoxiously. “ The rest of you isn’t too far from my fantasies either”

“ Funny, you appear in my fantasies most often as a charred corpse or a stain on the street” Yut Lung said with false sweetness. “ That bastard better keep you out of his fantasies!” Sing again. “ Yue, I’m glad you called” the vampire exclaims “ I need some of your venom spewing cynicism” he pauses “ Three hours with the Japanese boy scout. I swear, I saved Ash from picket fence purgatory!” he complained “You don’t get to say his name, Angelus!” Yut Lung spat

“ Go back to LA to Sunny whatever or even go pillage in the Caribbean Islands. Leave Ash’s Japanese boy alone and leave New York, this is your last warning” Yut Lung’s voice is cold.

Angelus laughs “ Your so obsessed with him you’d try to protect someone you can't stand because he’s the last piece of Ash you have left. God you're delightfully pathetic” “ Maybe but I will average Ash Lynx” Yut Lungs tone is ice “ Yuey you got damseled by the New York underworld's favorite hostage.” the vampire said with contempt. “ By all means take your best shot, I love a good Comedy.” “ How are your burns?” Yut Lung taunts

“ I’ll let you know as I’m slowly taking my revenge,” Angelus says smoothly.

“ You think you can do anything to me that hasn’t already been done,” Yut Lung says sardonically.

“It’s not the act, its all in the performance.” He pauses “I could trail burns down those wanton thighs of yours or maybe I’ll be nice enough to respect the ancient Chinese tradition of footbinding. I like the idea of mutilating those pretty feet of yours.”

Then he hung up and reaches for a pile of rough sketches he’d been working on. “ Your leading man is dead so your mine for the taking, the both of you” he pauses “ First which one of your friends do I kill next” he closes his eyes and selects one of his pictures. Then he hears footsteps turning around he sees a dark-haired woman. “ Hello, Dru” Angelus grinned. “ Do it, Daddy! Make the envious Moon weep until he no longer glows. He’ll taste of fresh lemons and pomegranates” Drucilla says excitedly.

“ Oh i’ll get to our succulent femmefatale eventually now I’m focused on another. Now let’s see who I can nab for dinner” his face vamps out...

“ Another dead end,” Eiji says looking exhausted The two of them combing through the crime photos. It’s not his finest work Angelus admits but he’s still proud of it. Then there’s a knock on the door Angel opens to reveal a man with red hair. “ Charlie?” Eiji says then the color drains from his face at the man’s expression “ No no not anymore I can’t take it!” he insists. “ I’m sorry Eiji,” Charlie says...

“ He always believed in me he used to say I could be a little more selfish,” Eiji says in a dry whisper. “ I was never the type to go for things but Ibe always…..how many more”

The boy doesn’t talk much after that during their outing which suits Angelus fine he’s not after the boy for his stimulating conversation skills. The excuse was he wanted to cheer Eiji up but honestly, its because Drucilla told him “the Moon was angry and stick and straw houses would fall” So Angelus is not surprised to see his house blown to rubble in a fiery explosion nor is he surprised to see three of Yut Lung’s men armed with stakes in case his vampire healing spared him said fiery death. They were here to finish the job. They took one look at healthy alive smiling Angelus and ran for it, unfortunately, he’s with Eiji so he can't rip off their limbs and mail them back to their leaders.

Eiji looks at him after a long thoughtful moment of silence“ I’m sorry you got dragged into this, I’m dropping the case” “ What?” Angelus demanded “It’s too dangerous for you to be around me, here’s some money for a hotel I’m sorry!” Eiji leaves. Dam it that brat ruined his plans Angelus is furious. He’s interrupted by humming he turns to see Drucilla “ Shhhh Miss Edith Daddy is very cross” the vampire chides her doll. “ Come on Dru let's grab a bite in Chinatown ” Angelus vamps out…

Angelus gets a call from Eiji two days later “ Angel, Yut Lung contacted me he says he’s got evidence on who killed Ash. He wants to meet in Central Park”

Angelus grins “ You think it's a trap?” Well, it is but not for Eiji. The little whore is using himself as bait, but if Angelus plays his cards right then he should be able to grab Yut Lung and use him as a hostage to get an invite from Sing. Of course, there’s still Eiji to worry about. Then Angelus comes up with a solution.

“ I need you to come with me just in case, please” Eiji pleads.

“ Of course” Angelus hangs up the phone and turns to Drucilla “ What do you say Dru ready to go to the park?”...

“ You made it,” Yut Lung says standing there.

If Eiji is soft cuddles in the morning Yut Lung is the dirty polaroid stashed secretly in a man’s drawer Angelus muses. Ash may not have been drawn to him like Eiji but the vampire bets he still a small hold on the boy. Yut Lung is all dressed up when they meet him makeup applied, hair done up its like he wants to be taken. It's like he’s living breathing art even his movements are fluid, every step a light tease.

Still, Angelus is going to bind those feet, the air of challenge in those delicate movements gets under his skin.

“ I was worried I’d have to draw you a map” a taunt on those red lips.

“ No tricks Yut Lung where’s the evidence?” Eiji asks

“ Right here” Yut Lung takes out a gun and puts bullet after bullet into Angelus. The vampire crazed with pain doesn’t realize he’s backing up into a tree until he hits it a familiar sharp object sails towards him and the vampire finds himself wrapped up in strings a familiar sharp object penetrating his stomach. Sing swings down from the branches.

“ You think you got me, oh Dru!” he calls the vampiress bursts from her four hours ago hiding spot and grabs Yut Lung pressing her nails to his throat. “ Aaand he doesn’t make it to first base” Angelus taunts. " Though he has been around the field a few times"

“Another one!” Sing exclaims

“ Sing kill him!” Yut Lung ordered.

Drucilla smiled “ Shhhh you used to be a dolly made of sugar to hide the taste of arsenic when you kissed the lizards. You burned the wicked Dragons. Even though you were too late to save the princess before they made her all red.”

Yut Lung gapes at her “ How do you know?”

Drucilla strokes his hair softly and for a moment she seems almost lucid“ My mummy is dead too, daddy name with his teeth like needles. The wolf came to the door but he dressed in the skin of a priest.” she laughs “ We’ll make you all red too. You don’t have to smile when Daddy makes you part you’re legs. We’ll be brides together, I'll carry you under the stars” She promises.

“ Like hell, you will!” Sing exclaimed

Drucilla looks at him and laughs “ Hades and Persephone will ride off with the Moon. The mountain Lion crushed beneath their feet.” she taunts.

“ Isn’t she wonderful? this is Drucilla my masterpiece” Angelus brags.

“ You mean she used to be human” Sing said in horror.

“ And sane and pure and oh so good. She was going to be a nun and declare her vows to God” Angelus said mockingly.

“ You hurt her, you broke her, you took her dam sanity” Yut Lung looks like he wants to rip the vampires’ eyes out with his bare nails.

“ I was going to do the same to you both” Angelus croons.

“ I won’t let that happen,” says Eiji pointing a gun at Drucilla.

“ Daddy who is this?” Drucilla asked in confusion

“ Just Eiji he was the other one I was focused on” Angelus wants to get on with things. “ I can’t see you ” Then Drucilla had a look of realization and lunges for Eiji. the boy fires a gun straight through her head which doesn’t kill her but causes her to scream. Sing moves and shoves a stake through her heart.

“ Not supposed to be here …..” then she turns to dust.

Angelus feels her loss not the loss of a man for his lover but an artist for his greatest work. Angelus breaks through Sing’s flimsy strings furiously. Yut Lung attacks Angelus pins his wrists “ Tonight doesn’t seem to be working out for you Yuey maybe if I give you a rousing cheer!” then he groans as a bullet pieces his chest. Yut Lung slips a needle under his skin and Angelus feels his body flop to the ground.

Then he sees the smoking gun. “ Eiji how could you, I thought we were friends” Eiji flashes him, his middle finger.

“ Congratulations you finally caught on after what a month” Angelus sneered.

“ Why couldn’t you have paralyzed his mouth too Yue?” Sing groans

“ He needed to have some awareness, for personal satisfaction,” Yut Lung says. “ I’ve contacted the Council we have a few minutes”

“ Even when taking out someone for the safety of the community you can’t stop being a sadistic bastard” Eiji complained.

“ He was going to give me locus feet” Yut Lung argued.

“ You fucking bastard!” Sing raged.

“ I’m going to do even more until those feet are completely useless” Angelus vows.

Both Sing and Yut Lung shiver. “ I’ll teach Sing all the wonderful things I learned in Tibet”

“ How could I have thought you were here to help me?” Eiji says with disgust

“Because Eiji if there was a first place for the biggest idiot you’d win the grand prize. I’d rather be back in Hell then continue to hang out with you” Angelus informs him.

“ Why did you?” Eiji asked

“ Because I wanted to taint, and corrupt you in every way,” the vampire says. “ I wanted you spread out on my sheets but you were so hung up on Ash, you friend-zoned me, me!” “ Clearly a bad choice on his part,” said Yut Lung sarcastically

“ You killed Ibe and Ash as a part of some sick game to hurt me” Eiji spat.

“ You were going to be my comeback piece,” Angelus said.

“ This pretentious fuck thinks he’s an artist,” said Sing with an eye roll.

“ So what did finally light a red dot in your empty noggin?” Angelus taunted

“ Yut Lung I realized he wasn’t trying to kill me but you. He wouldn’t do that unless. I went to Max and we did some investigating of our own. Three people saw you the night of Ibe’s murder with red hands. They were just too scared. I contacted Sing and Yut Lung and the three of us made this plan” Eiji said.

“ Enough talk” Yut Lung says with a nod

Sing goes up the tree to retrieve something.

“ You think the Watchers council can hold me?” Angelus laughs

“ They won’t have a chance to try” Yut Lung pulls out a stake and Sing comes back with a Jar. “ You want to do the honors Eiji chan, he wronged you the most” Angelus doesn’t register until seconds before Eiji holds the stake over his heart “ This is for Ash and everyone you ever raped, tortured or killed” Yut Lung holds the jar under him and Eiji drives the stake deep...

Angelus looks at the familiar fiery cubicle “ You know you guys could have redecorated since last I was here” the door opens and a familiar blond boy with green eyes walks through the door.

“ Are you a demonic projection or the real thing?” Angelus asked

Bastard!” a punch sails directly into his gut.

“ Hi, Ash got the guys upstairs really give you a reprieve to torment me.?” Angelus asked curiously “ I’m flattered”

“ This is my torment every sick thing I did for Dino I have to do for them. He’s a fan of my dam work!” Ash sounds beyond self-loathing

“ Yep definitely in Hell! I work my undead ass off sticking it God and humanity in general only to get passed over for some seventeen-year-old hack!” Angelus complained, “ So what Whips, chains, crabs ?”

“ Time to explain why you fucked up” Ash smirked. “ Drucilla never saw Eiji”

“ Come on your telling me your damsel was the difference between me winning or dying him?” Angelus exclaimed incredulously

“ Yut Lung was a mixed bag among the powers that be. Half the people upstairs wanted to put him on Hell’s legislator and be done with it especially after the Lee family slaughter. The other half debated he deserved a chance. In the end, it was love that saved him, Lang Lui his mom caught word and advocated on her little boy's behalf. She’s quite the pistole over on the other side and was smart enough to drum up enough favors for this day” Ash laughed.

“ We got it wrong Angelus, Eiji wasn’t meant to be saved he was meant to guide and protect others.”

Angelus processes this “ Those goodie two shoes used me!” he raged

“ Yut Lung and Eiji hated each other. Worse Sing was left torn between them. You were the nudge all three of them needed to become a united front. It was what the powers hoped for.” Ash grins “ There going to save so many people and its all because of you”

Angelus feels utterly horrified.

“ And it gets better you see Angelus just because you choose evil doesn’t mean good was done with you. You had more chances than any of us and you blew them!” Ash spits

“ I have no soul,” Angelus said in a well duh voice.

“ Neither did Darla or Spike heck Drucilla could've gotten redemption maybe if you hadn’t used her one last time. You robbed that girl of so much! Even with a soul, You were never serious about helping anyone; it was always about Buffy or the Shanshu prophecy or appeasing your own guilt. That’s why when you lost that guilt it was fucking party time” Ash hissed.

“ Are you torturing me or yourself?” Angelus mocks

“ I’m just getting to the good part,” the blond says sweetly “ See every act of evil you did brought out some good”

“How?” Angelus demands

“It’s funny you did so much good as a murderous psychopath because the face of your inhumanity brought out the compassion, kindness, strength of those who didn’t even know they had it” Ash finished.

“ Oh god no please no more just no more!” Angelus’s mind is reeling all that work, all that planning.

“ And guess what? we have an eternity to go over all of the ripples you created in the lives of others while souled and not. I’m talking about every sinner and saint and all of the good they did throughout their lives and how they influenced others. Welcome back to Hell you piece of shit. I’m the new management. I'm here to make sure your stay is as unpleasant as possible. So today lets start with all the nice laws that got passed because of you and Darla’s rampages!” Ash says in a cutesy voice.

Angelus lets out a wail of anguished despair that echoes throughout all of hell. The end

#banana fish #buffy the vampire slayer #Eiji Okumura #ash lynx #sing soo ling #yut lung lee #asheiji #yuesing #angelus #drucillia #Angelus/Eiji one sided #Angelus/Yut Lung implications #yut lung/sing #Yut/Sing/Eiji team up #angelus needs to kill instead of tormenting

12 notes · View notes

geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde · 4 years ago

Text

Misery and Happiness Ch. 4

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Summary: Word of an injured, possibly dead witcher has reached Jaskier in his travels and as much as he would like to walk away, he knows he can't.

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

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Jaskier finally said, voice small and unsure. Geralt continued to stare at the bard, silent and unblinking.

After some of the longest seconds of Jaskier’s life, Geralt finally grunted out a hmm, making Jaskier look away.

“How long?”

Jaskier’s gaze shot back to Geralt as he registered the words, “Five days since I found you. Innkeep said you were gone four days before that. Don’t really know how long you were unconscious though.” Jaskier was trying to keep his words short, clipped, trying not to anger Geralt too quickly, trying not to get sent away.

“Where am I?”

“Same village you took the contract in.”

“What happened?”

Jaskier sighed, of course the one time he is trying not to say too much is the one time Geralt questions him, “I found you under a rock outcropping. You had a nasty infection. Brought you back here. Cleaned it up. Here we are.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you leave me to die?” Geralt responded, brows furrowed, staring hard at Jaskier.

Jaskier was taken aback by the question. Why would he leave Geralt to die? Sure, Geralt was a boorish, rude, jerk, but that didn’t mean he deserved to lay in the dirt and die to a festering wound. “I can’t think of a reason I would leave you to die,” Jaskier finally responds.

“I deserve it.”

The bard blinked slowly, no clue what to say to that. It had been one thing, hearing Geralt beg for death when he had been out of his mind, and another entirely for the witcher to just say it. Just declare, with absolute certainty, that he deserved death.

Plain, simple. I deserve it. Death.

“Well,” Jaskier starts, “I can’t say that I agree with you.”

“You should.”

“And when have I ever done anything that you think I should?” Jaskier spit out.

Geralt sat in silence, still staring at the bard. Jaskier had no idea what to make of the look on the witcher’s face.

Abruptly standing, Jaskier made his way to the door, “I’ll be right back, stay here. I’ll get something for you to eat. Don’t go anywhere, you’re far too weak and I don’t want to have to find you and carry you back again.”

Jaskier inhaled deeply, leaning his weight back on the closed door to their room. Closing his eyes, he let the relief run through him, relief that Geralt was awake.

He tried to ignore the anxiety rising in him.

The look on Geralt’s face sent dread through Jaskier’s body. Jaskier knew that Geralt wouldn’t want him around, knew that the witcher’s sick ramblings couldn’t have been real. Knew that this would hurt.

But those ramblings had seemed real. It had certainly seemed like Geralt, in that moment, wanted to die. But why would he? Jaskier just didn’t understand. Geralt has always had a fairly passive stance in regard to death, the witcher knew it was inevitable, had made peace with it. But he had never wanted it.

Or, Jaskier supposed, Geralt had never made it known he wanted to die.

No, no that couldn’t be it. There could be no way that Geralt wanted to die. And none of the other delirious ramblings meant anything either. Geralt didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to apologize to Jaskier, and he certainly didn’t miss the bard.

Geralt’s face as he stared at Jaskier had been harsh, unyielding. Cold. Jaskier was a burden, a burden Geralt had thought he had washed his hands of. But, much like the stubborn weed he had named himself after, Jaskier always found a way to come back.

A buttercup, pretty and poisonous. Unwanted.

Breathing deeply Jaskier stifled a sob. Why did he come for Geralt? He hadn’t even known it was Geralt – just an unnamed witcher. Hell, he didn’t even know if the rumors were true until he found Geralt himself. Geralt’s words six months prior had shattered Jaskier and as much as Jaskier wouldn’t hold it against the emotionally stunted witcher, he still shouldn’t be setting himself up for more pain at his hands.

He didn’t owe Geralt anything, but here he was, tying himself up on knots, trying to nurse the ungrateful bastard back to health.

But, Jaskier had done this to himself, ignored the logic of what would happen and dived into the situation headfirst.

Jaskier had known this would hurt.

Maybe he just like to suffer.

Returning to the room, food in hand, Jaskier take stock of Geralt’s position. The man had moved his back up against the wall and was leaning against it, eyes closed. He had to be exhausted still.

As Jaskier moved as quietly as he could Geralt finally spoke, eyes remaining shut.

“Roach?”

“She’s fine. Stabled outside.” Jaskier responded as he sat a bowl of broth on the table beside Geralt’s bed.

Geralt nods, opening his eyes and moving to stand. Jaskier darts forward, blocking the witcher’s movements. Giving the witcher a stern look he says, “You’re not going anywhere yet.”

“Jaskier-”

“No,” Jaskier starts, shoving the bowl of broth in the witchers hands, “you shouldn’t be moving. You’ve been unconscious for days; you haven’t eaten in over a week. Don’t you dare undo all my hard work healing you.”

“Hmmm.” Geralt grunts, taking the bowl and leaning back against the wall again.

Geralt slowly starts sipping at the broth, pointedly ignoring Jaskier’s gaze, watching him intensely. Jaskier would be damned before letting the witcher get out of taking care of himself properly.

The bard knows he should be leaving, the witcher would be able to take care of himself. He knows he should leave Geralt in peace, to finish healing. Jaskier knows, he knows, he’s no longer needed, but he just spent the last five days worried sick over whether Geralt would even survive, and now, Jaskier decides, now he needs some answers.

The broth was light, filling Geralt’s weak stomach without upsetting it. He appreciated it, appreciated the thought the bard had put into the choice of his first meal.

But why had the bard gone through the effort? Why was the bard here?

Geralt knew he ruined everything on that fucking mountain. Said words he didn’t mean.

He had lashed out at the one person who always seemed to want his company. It just didn’t make sense, though. He couldn’t be wanted, no one had ever wanted him in any capacity. His own mother hadn’t wanted to take care of him, to raise him. To the elder witchers at Kaer Morhen he had been expendable, put through even more mutagens after the initial trials to see how far they could push him until he died.

Jaskier had been the only voluntary company he had ever had. But why? He could think of no good reason the bard would have continued following him. At first, sure, Jaskier benefitted from the stories provided by his muse. But it wasn’t long before Jaskier had achieved fame and had no more use for Geralt, and yet he kept following him, kept calling them friends.

Geralt spent the better part of two decades disparaging everything about the bard, his clothes, his choice in bed mates, his singing, his poetry, and then the witcher blamed the bard for every mistake that Geralt had ever made.

And yet, there he was.

Jaskier was there, sitting on the opposite bed, eyes tracking Geralt’s slow movements. The bard had been here, with Geralt, for five days, nursing the mostly dead witcher back to health.

Geralt deserved misery, he deserved pain. Not the kindness the bard showed him time and time again, not loyalty or devotion or anything the bard just kept willingly offering.

And he absolutely didn’t deserve any of those things from Jaskier, the very man Geralt had cast to the side like trash.

Jaskier deserved better than anything Geralt would ever be able to offer, he deserved to leave Geralt behind and lead a happy life, deserved friends who didn’t tear him down at every turn, a friend that treated him like a friend.

Geralt couldn’t give him that, had no clue how.

Geralt knew, deep down, he thought kindly of the bard. He was happy to have the man’s friendship, wanted more, even. Geralt knew that he had loved the bard for a long, long while.

Geralt also knew that wasn’t fair to the bard, he didn’t need the witcher weighing him down.

Jaskier had been right, Geralt was too weak to be moving about right now, let alone travelling, but he would recover soon, and he would leave. It was the only way he could guarantee he couldn’t hurt the bard any further.

#mine #fanfiction #also posted on ao3 #misery and happiness #chapter 4 #the witcher #the witcher fandom #geralt of rivia #i love competent jaskier #eventual geraskier #the boys are dumb but theyll get there #geralt whump #mentions of death

17 notes · View notes

thereluctantinquisitor · 4 years ago

Note

AHHH I MISSED PROMPTS! How about we give someone in Stonebreaker something they desperately need. 22, nap!

Micro Story Prompt

In which I, once again, fail to deliver a micro story. (1453 words SHAAME).

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

“Hey, Delver... can we stop for a bit?”

The heat was unbearable. Oppressive. Smothering. So much so that Delver trudged a few more steps, deep in the trance of just putting one foot in front of the other, before he even realised Sylda had opened her mouth. By the time he lumbered to a halt, the young woman was already veering off the road, her pack half-slung, dangling from her elbow. “What?” He blinked slowly, glancing around the roadside. Red dust. Brown grass. A scattering of rustbark trees. “Right here?”

Divider, he felt like his head was about to split open. Whose bright idea was it to make the sun so damn... well... bright.

“Mhm. Why not?” Sylda, the brat, was already dragging out her spare cloak. Deftly, she shook out any stray pieces of grass before laying it down again beneath the thick branch of one of the rustbarks. The squat tree, its copper leaves drooping like a miser’s purse, cast its shadow at a long, wide angle. They still had a few hours of light left. It made no sense to stop.

Delver opened his mouth to say as much, only to turn and find Sylda already lying on her back, one leg kicked over the other, her foot bobbing, shoeless, in the late afternoon heat. He stared for a beat. And another, bemused. Then, with a defeated sigh, he shook his head and trudged over, boots grinding against road until the sound was replaced by the snapping of brittle grass.

“What, no argument?” Sylda seemed genuinely surprised. He supposed that was fair enough. On a regular day, he would have a number of choice words at the ready, but right now his head hurt enough to turn his empty stomach inside out. So instead, Delver just grunted, dropping to the ground, not even bothering to put anything beneath him. He wrapped himself in his cloak and leaned back against the rustbark’s knotted trunk. As always, it was about as comfortable as lounging on a bed of river rocks, but for some reason it didn’t bother him so much. The shade alone, like a salve against his throbbing skull, was worth the rest of the discomfort.

”Twenty minutes,” he said, and tried hard to keep the relief out of his voice as a gentle breeze trickled around the tree, curling the edges of his cloak. Merciful Divider. He failed to stifle a yawn. “After that, we keep moving.”

“Forty,” Sylda countered. Because of course she did. “I’ll keep watch for the first half while you take a nap. You can do the second. Deal?”

Delver would have sent her a vicious glare - Divider knows she deserved it.

But, lucky for her, his eyes were already shut.

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

Delver awoke, disoriented, to the sound of birds. Groaning, struggling onto one elbow, he nearly yelped like a startled maid when something slid from on top of him and landed with an indignant rustle in the grass.

A cloak?

His cloak.

When had he...?

As his consciousness slowly rejoined reality, Delver glanced around. A few feet away was a pit, lined with stones, the smoke of a freshly quenched fire curling from its charred center. A pot hung above it, filled with water, about a cup short of full.

And, perched atop the already packed coil of her sleeping roll, was Sylda.

How had she managed to boil an entire pot of water in twenty minutes?

“Oh, hey- you’re up.” Turning, alerted by his attractively waking grunts, Sylda threw Delver an innocent smile. It called forth just the right amount of dimples to disarm even the sternest opponent. It was the exact smile she used when she was up to something. “Feeling any better?”

As much as Delver wanted to chastise her, he found himself lacking the willpower. Again. Oddly enough, this time it was because he didn’t feel like a mule had kicked him in the head.

He really was losing his touch.

“I’m fine. I was fine yesterday, too.” Sitting up, wincing from a night spend on dirt and stones, he mustered the effort to cast her a disparaging look. “You didn’t keep watch all night, did you?” He wasn’t sure what would make him angrier. Camping roadside was dangerous at the best of times. One of the biggest benefits to traveling as a pair was having a second set of eyes readily available. If she’d stayed awake, she was an idiot. If she’d dozed off, she was a reckless idiot.

Sylda shrugged, before climbing to her feet and moving towards the pot of water. Well, at least she'd put her boots back on. “It’s alright. I sleep well most nights.” She left out the unspoken unlike you, which was unusually tactful for her. “And before you start snapping at my neck, it was an accident, okay? I got all stuck in my thoughts and forgot to wake you.” She scooped a ladle of water into a cup. The water was probably still pleasantly warm. “You didn’t even snore for once. It was actually peaceful.”

While that was a valiant attempt to distract him, Delver refused to rise to her obviously false bait. He didn’t snore. He had that on good authority. “It doesn’t do either of us any good if you’re exhausted either,” he chided, stiffly accepting the offered cup. “You won’t be able to concentrate on your lessons.”

The water was a sweet, sweet mercy. His throat felt thick and dry with dust. It coated his skin, his hair, darkened the underside of his nails. Divider’s Own, he couldn’t wait to be rid of it. Away from the dust storms, and the burning heat, and the shadeless stretches of sun-cracked road...

He lost himself so thoroughly in the simple act of drinking that he completely missed that Sylda had spoken.

“I said,” she repeated with a roll of her eyes, “that you’ve been in no shape to give me lessons these past few days anyway, so what does it matter if I’m a little tired?”

The urge to argue rose like a flood within him. In fact, Delver spent a good half-minute in stony silence trying to come up with a remotely feasible defense. But, like with most things lately, it just kept slipping through his fingers. He might not be in crippling pain, but he still wasn’t himself. As much as he loathed to admit it... she might have a point.

“Oh!” Clearly immune to his resentful silence, Sylda tugged up her sleeve, her fingers making short work of the leather straps binding the anchor to her wrist. “Here. I took it off you while you were sleeping. Figured I could try practice a bit overnight, but...” She faltered, some of the brightness in her dimming as she turned the ebenite disc over in her hands. Delver waited silently, partly because he still felt a little too raw to speak, partly because he assumed she had more to say. But instead, she just sighed and handed it over, her eyes fixed on the brown grass at her feet. The shame radiated off her so intensely it was almost palpable.

“Drawing from any anchor isn’t easy, Sylda.” The disc felt right, strapped safely to his wrist again. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed its absence the moment he woke. “And drawing from Ebenite? It’s practically impossible at the best of times. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here, doing what we’re doing.”

More importantly, if she truly couldn’t do it, she wouldn’t be here. Alive. Breathing. Mothering him despite being ten years his junior.

“I know, I know.” With a heavy breath, Sylda kicked at the stones near her feet. “I just... I don’t know. I have the anchor, and I have you. I figured I’d be able to do something by now.”

You and me both, Delver thought, but kept it to himself as they lapsed into silence. She self-applied more than enough pressure without him adding to it. He might be a belligerent asshole, but he liked to think he knew when to ease off. “We should pack up,” he said after a time, sensing they both needed a distraction. As Sylda nodded and stood again, his gaze followed her, a slight frown tinging his brow. “You’re... sure you’re not tired?”

His kindhearted concern was met with an entirely unnecessary groan.

“I’m not, Delver. Really - I feel better than fine. It was just one night. I’ve stayed up for longer before, back when I was in Yelen.”

Just one night. Sure, if they were lounging around eating grapes and reading poetry, he might accept that. But they were on the road, traveling all day in the dragging heat of Latesun. It just didn’t add up.

Then again, he had to admit, she really did seem fine. No heavy footsteps. No dark circles beneath her eyes. No sluggish reactions as she went about clearing up their makeshift campsite, bundling utensils, kicking dirt over the fire, re-scattering the stones. She wasn’t even yawning, even though she had been the day before.

Slowly, Delver’s gaze drifted down to the anchor. It was warm against his wrist. As warm as usual? It was hard to tell, with the day’s heat already climbing fast around them. Regardless, he made a mental note to pay closer attention in the future. Something could be happening right beneath their noses. Something subtle enough that they could comfortably blink and miss it.

“So are you planning to watch me do all the work, or...?”

Snorting, Delver waved an acquiescing hand and struggled to his feet, muscles protesting the movement, aching from a night spent curled on the uneven ground. “What, you mean your goodwill only lasted one night?”

He barely caught the ladle as it went spinning towards his head.

#stonebreaker series #reluctant writes #delver #sylda #ya boy needs a nap #and ya girl sometimes has to be sneaky to make that happen #because he's a belligerent shit when it comes to taking care of himself #>.>#micro story prompt #(lol sounds fake because it is)#frenchy-and-the-sea

7 notes · View notes