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lesdemonium · 4 years

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romtober day 1: fake dating

Rating: T Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 2421 Summary: Jaskier is invited to his parent's annual banquet, and to keep the nobles (and his parents) off his back, he asks Geralt to pose as his husband. Geralt completes this task a little too well.

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The banquet was the picture of opulence. Not a single expense was spared, and Jaskier could read the envy in the partygoers eyes as he passed them. His mother really had outdone herself this time; even Jaskier had to admit he was impressed. It was difficult for him to admit that, considering his family was as close to the heart--and hurt feelings--as they were.

Even the music was amazing. Now that took some effort to admit to. It would have been better, of course, if he’d had the opportunity to play for the banquet, but Jaskier knew that was a far-fetched idea at best. His mother and father still liked to tell the other “respectable” company that he was off studying, taking his time and exploring the world, before he came back to accept his title and lands. Truly, it was giving him a good head on his shoulders, allowing him to be worldly and lead the people of Lettenhove with grace and wisdom. It helped that they only referred to their wayward son as Julian; even in these circles, Jaskier was proud to say his stage name carried.

Despite the beauty, despite the fine wine and food, despite the beautiful lords and ladies around him, Jaskier was having a terrible night. It was his own fault, he knew. When he had received his invitation--really a summons, as Jaskier knew he had little choice but to accept--he had panicked. Another event in which his parents tried to court him into staying and taking over as Count, and tried to get him to court a lady or two of agreeable upbringing. Jaskier couldn’t stomach the dread. So he had asked Geralt for a favor.

Geralt was delivering.

“Darling,” Geralt started, drawing Jaskier’s attention back to the task at hand--a conversation with the Duke of some township or other. The hand Geralt had on the small of Jaskier’s back sent shocks of heat through Jaskier’s body, every time it moved ever-so-slightly. “There was a vineyard in Dorian, wasn’t there? The one where the owner gave you five bottles?”

That was an interesting retelling. Much more polite than saying that Jaskier stole the bottles after the owner had insulted Witchers and tried to cheat Geralt out of his pay for dispatching a pack of drowners tainting the water supply. Jaskier was learning a lot about just how talented Geralt could be at traversing a crowd of nobles--when he wanted to.

“Ah, there’s some controversy over that. Technically, when the borders changed, that vineyard moved to Maribor. Ask any of the workers, though, and it’s still in Dorian,” Jaskier answered, just barely remembering to add a smile at the end.

The duke guffawed and wagged his finger at Geralt; apparently Jaskier had managed to settle something for them, but Jaskier hadn’t been listening to the rest of the conversation. He wasn’t listening now, even, as Geralt continued on with the Duke as if this was something he just did on a regular basis.

Geralt was baffling. Jaskier had expected him to say no to Jaskier’s favor. Why would he want to pretend to be Jaskier’s husband at the party Jaskier’s parents threw every year? Even Jaskier didn’t want to go, which might have been partly why he even asked Geralt in the first place. Part of him was holding out hope that Geralt would give him an out.

Instead, Geralt had not only agreed, but had listened to every bit of advice and every pointer Jaskier had given him. All night he had been impressive--he had even managed to charm Jaskier’s mother. Jaskier did not often find himself at a loss for words, but apparently watching Geralt entertain a noble with stories of monster slaying with an unfortunately well-behaved hand on the small of Jaskier’s back was enough to render Jaskier speechless for hours. He had been the disappointing one all night.

“Excuse me,” Jaskier said, bowing a little as he shrugged himself out of Geralt’s grasp. It was rude, Jaskier knew, and if Geralt had done it he would have… well, he would have expected it, and maybe would have silently thanked him for the out, while outwardly complaining about his lack of decorum. But Geralt had been the picture of grace all night. Jaskier was the one that had been disheveled and thrown off guard and, at times, downright rude.

Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment, however. Let the nobles talk. He knew they all would as soon as they left no matter what happened tonight, so Jaskier might as well underperform rather than living up to the lies his parents were no doubt telling the other people of the court.

The night air was crisp and cool against his face as Jaskier pushed the doors open onto the balcony. Technically, this area was off limits. No guest was allowed here and the servants had gone to great lengths to make sure that no one made it out here. But what were they to do when the Viscount of Lettenhove was the one trying to escape to his parent’s balcony?

Finally, Jaskier felt as if he could breathe. It should have been a relief to have Geralt so willing and helpful, and really he had been completely wonderful all night. Far better than Jaskier would have ever expected. And yet, he was so thrown off and upset by it. It would have been so easy to just lean into this, to accept Geralt’s exemplary behavior and pretend, just for a night, that Geralt regularly called him things like “darling” and “love.” That Geralt kept a hand on him at all times. That Geralt checked up on him when Jaskier left abruptly. As he did now.

“I must ask you to return--” a servant started, but Jaskier cut her off.

“It’s alright, Orla. He’s my husband,” Jaskier said, and even he winced at how bitter his voice sounded. He didn’t turn to see if anyone else noticed, though. Instead, Jaskier leaned against the railing, his forearms resting on the cold stone as he stared out over the grounds.

He heard rustling behind him and a door closing, but it was still a moment longer before Geralt joined him against the stone wall. There was still a space between them and Geralt, bless him, seemed almost hesitant to step closer.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asked, finally leaning against the stone beside Jaskier.

Jaskier huffed an extremely forced laugh. “Wrong? What could be wrong? You’ve only been perfect all night. Everyone loves you. Even my mother, who could find fault in a saint.”

“And… that’s a problem?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier could almost picture the way his eyebrows must have been knitted in confusion.

Jaskier sighed, then buried his face in his hands. “No, darling, of course not. You’re doing exactly what I asked. You’ve made a wonderful impression and have made everything far easier for me.”

Geralt stood silent beside Jaskier, probably trying to decipher what, exactly, Jaskier was going on about. Jaskier wished he could do more to help, but Jaskier was just as flummoxed. This should have been perfect; a night Jaskier would tease Geralt about for years to come. Jaskier should have been preening under the attention and prideful over how much the other partygoers enjoyed Geralt. Instead, he felt empty and cold and as if he was missing something.

“You don’t seem like you in there,” Jaskier finally settled on.

The truth was far too big for him to speak just yet, so he settled for a half truth. The man inside wasn’t the Geralt Jaskier knew and loved, and neither the man inside nor the man outside was a Geralt that belonged to Jaskier.

“I thought you didn’t want me to be me. I thought you wanted me to be your husband,” Geralt said, and his voice was just a touch too serious for his teasing to be believable.

Jaskier straightened up and met Geralt’s eye, finally. Geralt looked lost, like a little boy who was just trying so desperately to be good, and coming up short. Or, perhaps Jaskier was projecting, since that was the way he often felt, especially when he was in Lettenhove. Geralt had a hand on the stone wall, and Jaskier covered it with his own.

“I always want you to be you. I’m sorry I made it seem as if I would ever want someone else,” Jaskier mumbled. He took a moment to stare at their hands, before finding Geralt’s eyes again. “This is all just a bit… much.”

Geralt hesitated a moment, then took a step forward. His hand turned beneath Jaskier’s and he took Jaskier’s fingers, his thumb running absently over Jaskier’s knuckles. Jaskier waited, but Geralt didn’t say anything, and Jaskier found he wasn’t surprised. The silence hung between them as they both waited for Jaskier--of course it would be Jaskier--to break it.

“I don’t think I knew what I was asking for when I asked you to do this,” Jaskier whispered, and he took a step closer to Geralt. The tips of their shoes just barely brushed together and if Jaskier wanted to, it would only take a quick sway to bring their lips together. “I don’t think I asked for the right thing.”

Geralt hummed. “What would you ask for now?”

“For you to accompany me. As yourself. Rather than as a puppet or novelty for the court,” Jaskier started. He wanted to say more, opened his mouth again to do so, but the words died in his throat.

Geralt’s eyebrow raised. “I doubt your mother would approve of me as I am for your husband. Didn’t you want to avoid her appeals to court suitable ladies?”

Jaskier looked away. Back over at the gardens. Geralt’s fingers tightened around his, as if Geralt was afraid Jaskier would pull away. This felt different than the hand at Jaskier’s back, but had Jaskier’s heart beating faster nonetheless. “I shouldn’t have had you pose as my husband at all.”

There was a long silence, and it wasn’t until Geralt tapped Jaskier’s hand with his thumb that Jaskier realized Geralt was waiting for Jaskier to continue. To explain. Jaskier sighed.

“You’ve been amazing in there. I didn’t expect you to… be so wonderfully physically affectionate, or use pet names, or talk me up and be otherwise… casually affectionate. Truly, you are a master at your craft, and if this whole witchering business goes to the wayside, you should consider a future on the stage.” Jaskier huffed and bit the inside of his cheek. He would keep himself together. “It’s easy to believe it’s all real. You play the part so well. There’s not a single person in there that doesn’t believe us as a couple, and sometimes even I forget.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said. His voice was low, firm. Get to the point, Jaskier heard.

“I don’t want to spend a night pretending. I don’t want to enjoy myself too much, only to wake up to reality come morning.” He pulled his hand back from Geralt’s grasp and swiped it over his face. “I’m sorry, I thought I had a better handle on myself than this. I thought I could separate reality from fiction, but apparently I have fooled myself too thoroughly.”

The embarrassment rose through his body to paint his cheeks a vibrant, hot shade of red, and Jaskier could not bring himself to look at Geralt again as he turned toward the doorway.

“We should go back inside. I’ll get it together, and we can continue on as if--”

“We could start smaller,” Geralt interrupted, taking Jaskier’s hand again and using it as leverage to pull him back. Jaskier allowed himself to be pulled, and faced Geralt again, his eyebrows furrowed in his confusion. “Make reality. Different.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier started. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried, very carefully, to find the words he was looking for. Nothing sounded right. “You’re not proposing--”

“I’m proposing we change tomorrow, rather than tonight,” Geralt answered. He took a step closer to Jaskier, his free hand cupping Jaskier’s hip. “Build up to tonight.”

Geralt dropped Jaskier’s hand in favor of trailing his fingertips along Jaskier’s cheekbones, his jawline, his lips. Jaskier found himself breathless, almost dizzy, and he closed his eyes, trying to convince himself that this was real. It seemed far more likely that he had managed to stumble, hit his head on one of the many heavy, solid, and jagged rocks, and was now having a very imaginative, blunt-force-trauma-induced dream.

“Geralt, I’m afraid I might have been struck with delirium. It feels rather like if I asked you to kiss me, you would,” Jaskier whispered. Surely his imagination wasn’t good enough to create the feeling of Geralt’s thumb shifting as Jaskier’s lips moved. Jaskier may have to come to the conclusion that this was real.

“Why don’t you try it, bard?”

Jaskier let out the breath he had been holding, and rested his hands on Geralt’s hips. He opened his eyes again to find Geralt staring at him with probably the softed, most fond smile Jaskier had ever seen on his face. It was that smile, that barely-there tick of the corners of his lips that gave Jaskier his courage. Jaskier smiled back, just as small and soft, and Geralt stopped tracing Jaskier’s lips and held his face instead.

“Please kiss me,” Jaskier breathed.

The words were barely out of Jaskier’s mouth before they were swallowed into Geralt’s. Jaskier’s arms wove themselves around Geralt’s back, pulling him closer, and Geralt’s hand crept up Jaskier’s back as well. Geralt still held his face, cradling Jaskier’s cheek carefully, no matter how they moved together.

The air was just as cool as it had been when Jaskier stepped outside, but now Jaskier found himself warmed by the heat of Geralt’s lips. He put every ounce of longing into the kiss, and was almost surprised to find just as much wanting in Geralt. They had wasted time, so much time, but Jaskier was already quite fond of their methods for making up for that.

Finally, they had to part. Neither strayed far, though. Their foreheads pressed together, their breaths intertwined as Jaskier’s heart settled. Geralt’s thumb stroked Jaskier’s cheek, and Jaskier could hardly hear the din of the banquet hall over his own disjointed, trailing, endlessly giddy thoughts.

“If I ask you again tomorrow, will your answer be the same?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt hummed. “And every day after that,” he answered.

#my writing #octoberfest #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fanfic #i'm so bad at tagging things #put me out of my misery and just read this fluff #lmao #romtober

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ilovemesomekillianjones · 4 years

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Navigating the Storm (1/4)

Summary: Emma Swan navigates the aftermath of Neverland by trying to deal with everything the way she always has, by locking all her feelings away. Between having to share Henry with two other people now, her parents confession in the Echo Caves, her parents pushing her towards a man she has no interest in, and feelings for another man that she never expected to feel, Emma is at the end of her rope. *Post Neverland - No Curse*

Author’s Note: Thank you to my friend @hollyethecurious for beta reading this story for me! I have had this written for about three months now and have finally put on the finishing touches. This is part 1 of 4 - I will post a chapter a week. Hope you guys enjoy!

Rated M 4.5K ao3 ffnet Under the cut, promise

It had been exactly two weeks since they’d stepped foot back in Storybrooke, since bringing Henry home safely from Neverland. Two weeks in which Emma Swan had had very few chances to just be, to just breathe. Each breath felt like it was choked by the need to scream or cry. Two weeks of restless nights and emotionally fraught days; parents urging her toward a man she did not want, her mom wanting a new baby, another mom wanting her baby, not that she held anything against Regina. Henry was as much Regina’s as he was hers, she knew that, but that didn’t mean it didn’t weigh heavily on her soul. And of course there was Neal, who had been an ever-present thorn in her side during the last two weeks.

Emma wanted to blame everything on Neal, it would be so easy, but she couldn’t do that, there was rarely only one person to blame. She had to take some responsibility, too. He’d been bugging her about giving their relationship another shot, about putting aside the past to make a better future for Henry. Each time, Neal’s words would hit the solid mass of her thick skull and bounce right off, while simultaneously invoking a silent wrath in her being. What the everloving fuck was he thinking? How could the two of them being together be good for anyone? It didn’t help that her parents both still thought Neal was a saint. It didn’t help that each time they unwittingly made little comments about her giving him a chance, it felt like a little more of the world weighed on her shoulders.

Each morning she dragged her feet getting out of bed, if only to delay dealing with the barrage of shit she didn’t want to hear about or deal with. Of course, if she was honest with herself, she’d admit the reason she was feeling like this was because she was effectively not dealing with any of it. But why choose now to be honest with herself, she’d been content to ignore every other issue she’d dodged in life, abandonment, intimacy, self-worth, why stop now?

Emma hadn’t felt emotional sadness like this since the days between finding out she was pregnant in prison and knowing she would have to give her baby up. Her body felt heavy, her mind felt clouded, and her soul was just… sad, there wasn’t a better word for it. She hated this feeling, and when the sadness became too overwhelming, anger often surged in, and no one needed an angry Emma Swan around. She loved her family and her family-by-extension, but she needed a break.

As she walked toward Granny’s at a molasses slow pace, hands shoved in her jacket pockets, head down, where she was meeting her parents, Neal, Henry, and Regina for a late dinner, her eyes filled with tears. She struggled to inhale air past the lump forming in her throat. A deep anger rose within her, mostly because she was pissed at herself for wanting to cry. She didn’t know how to make everyone understand what she was feeling and why she was feeling it. No one had ever taught her the healing power of communication, while growing up in foster care. As the anger finally defeated the desire to cry, Emma Swan did what all responsible folks do and locked that shit up, deep inside where no one would see it.

“I saved you a seat, Ems,” Neal offered as she entered the diner.

“Yeah, look mom, right between me and dad,” Henry piped in.

Emma glanced at the six of them, one seat between Neal and Henry, no doubt by design and one seat at the other end of the table by her dad. “Uh, I have to discuss a case with David,” she lied. And boy did that make her feel like Shittiest Mom of the Year. “I’ll come back in a few.”

Taking off her jacket, she sat next to her dad and began speaking with him about the new project they were working on to make Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department digital. There was truly nothing she needed to discuss with him right this instant, but she could not handle another manipulation by Neal, especially in front of Henry, about getting back together.

“Why don’t you go sit with Henry and Neal,” David whispered, “we can discuss this tomorrow at work.”

Sucking in a deep breath to tamp down the edge of anger that started to creep up on her, Emma realized there was a silver lining here. At least he had whispered.

“I’m perfectly fine where I’m at,” she quietly replied, affecting a sense of calm she didn’t really feel.

“Oh, honey,” her mother began in what was not a whisper, “go sit down there, let me get a picture of the three of you.”

And just like that, there was another brick piled on her shoulders. She understood that her parents really did want what was best for her. Why couldn’t they just magically understand that Neal wasn’t it? She could hear Neal trying to coax her over and her head started to spin. She really did need that break.

As she choked on the sob that wanted to escape, the bell above the entrance rang, and if she’d never experienced what being saved by the bell meant, she was right now. “Hook,” she murmured, just a little more breathlessly than strictly necessary.

“What?” Snow asked.

“Hook’s here,” Emma said. “Why don’t you join us for dinner, Hook?” Emma called over to him. He was just the buffer she needed tonight. She didn’t miss the intrigue in his eyes, which he quickly masked with a conciliatory smile that didn’t quite reach those pretty blue eyes.

“While I appreciate the offer, I don’t wish to intrude,” he answered graciously.

“You’re not intruding, we were just sitting down to eat a meal. Everyone has to eat.”

“Well, if all of their Royal Highnesses don’t mind,” he acquiesced.

“Everyone scoot one seat to their right,” Emma instructed, she didn’t expect him to sit next to Neal, not with the current state of affairs.

Snow stared at her daughter wide eyed and Emma just stared back through narrowed eyes, hoping that her expression conveyed, he did save your husband’s life.

“Ems, I thought you were going to sit with me and Henry,” Neal asked, failing to mask the irritation in his voice.

And I thought I was meeting you with the bag of watches, not the cops, Emma thought bitterly. If Neal was going to use Henry against her, he was going to be sorry. She wasn’t going to stoop to the level of using a child to get what she wanted, but she was also not going to be bulldozed by her ex.

“That’s okay, dad,” Henry intervened. “Mom can sit with her friend. How’s the fastest ship in all the realms, Captain?”

Emma beamed at her son’s cherubic nature. He was truly good. He was innocent and perfect, and she felt like she might cry again as her young son saved her again.

“She’s jolly good, m’boy,” Hook answered merrily, obviously tickled that Henry had asked about his pride and joy. Or maybe it was simply because this boy treated him with common courtesy. Hook had vowed to himself to turn over a new leaf when he’d turned his ship around to help Emma save her son, and although he knew that, most people still treated him like the pirate they’d known him to be.

“You okay, Swan?” Hook asked her quietly, as conversation started up around the table.

“I- yeah,” she said, slapping on a smile, and even though it was an effort to smile, she found that she wanted to smile for Hook. She also found that he knew she was lying.

“If you ever want to talk about it, I’ve a never ending supply of rum aboard the Jolly.”

“I might just take you up on that,” she laughed. And it felt really good to laugh.

“I thought you said you’d back off,” Neal seethed as he walked over to their end of the table.

Emma looked between the two men before quietly sounding a warning. “We do not need another pissing contest here,” she hissed.

“Contest,” Neal fumed. “There is no contest, I’m Henry’s father, he’s a home-wrecking pirate.”

Emma’s head began to swim again as she listened to Neal berate Hook, as she read between the lines of what he’d said. He felt like he deserved her because they bore a child together.

“Is everything okay?” David asked.

Emma closed her eyes and weakly shook her head no. She would lose it if her parents got involved.

“Here Neal, why don’t you take my seat,” Snow offered.

Emma shook her head no again, but apparently no one was looking at her.

“Haven’t you destroyed enough lives?” Neal asked.

Emma’s eyes shot open and she’d hit just about her limit. Her throat felt like it was almost swollen shut as that urge to scream or cry or both, came raging back.

“Haven’t you done enough damage, Hook?”

“Bae-” Hook started

“Stop calling me that!”

“Neal,” Hook corrected, “it is not my intent to come between you and Emma. I was merely accepting the invitation she offered. I did say I would back off, I didn’t say I would ignore Emma if she requested my company.”

“Back off from what?” Emma asked, feeling a little annoyed that they’d been discussing her like a - she didn’t know what.

“Swan, I merely told Ba- Neal that I would not interfere if you two decided to pursue a chance at a family with Henry.”

“I think that is very noble, Hook,” Snow inserted.

“Not now, mom.”

“Well Emma, it’s only fair that you two have a real shot, now that you’ve been reunited,” Snow argued, “and I was just saying that I think it’s noble of Hook to put his feelings for you aside to give you and Neal that chance.”

That was it, that was her limit. Chances? Reunited? FAIR? The lights flickered twice before pitching Granny’s in darkness. Emma stood up and placed both her palms flat down on the table.

“Regina,” Emma said in a ragged voice, barely containing her emotions, which she desperately wanted to contain with Henry present. “Take him home, please.”

“Come on, Henry. I have lasagna at home,” Regina said, without having to be asked again. She could feel the energy of the situation sizzling about, and she knew only too well the magical properties of raw emotion. Of course Henry instinctively knew to listen as well. “Granny’s is closed,” Regina announced, “Mayor’s orders.”

The several patrons around had the good sense to slap some money on the counter and head out.

“I love you, mom. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Henry said as he and Regina readied to leave. He came to her end of the table and gave her a hug.

“I love you too, kid,” Emma responded as she ruffled Henry’s hair, and the lights flickered back to life.

Once Henry and Regina were gone, Emma eyed her parents. She tried breathing in and out slowly. She didn’t want to fight, she didn’t want to hurt them, she didn’t want to cry. But something had to give.

“Mom, Dad,” she whispered, as she knew her voice would crack if she attempted to speak in a normal voice. “I’ve been having a really-” a broken sob overtook Emma, halting her words. Her face crumbled, tears filling her eyes and falling to her cheeks, as the full weight of what she’d been dealing with overwhelmed her.

“Oh honey,” Snow cried as she stood up to try and comfort her daughter.

Emma held up a hand and shook her head no at her mother. “Please… don’t. I have to do this.”

Snow’s face fell as her daughter rejected her, but she sat back down to comply with her daughter’s wishes.

“Go on, Emma,” her father said quietly.

Nodding her head, she took another big breath. “I’ve been having a really hard time since we came back from Neverland. I’m happy that you want a new baby, I am, but it also hurt to hear that you wanted to have a chance to experience everything we never got to, and I know that’s not your fault, but it still hurts. And I am happy that Henry has Regina, because no matter what, she really does love him. But it hurts to have to share him with her when we have a third person to share him with now, it’s less time, when I’ve already missed so much.”

“It wouldn’t be if you spent time with me and Henry,” Neal muttered.

“Goddammit, Neal!” Emma yelled, pounding her fists on the table. “You have got to stop that. I’m struggling with my parents wanting a new baby and I am struggling with sharing Henry with you. But my biggest problem, the one that eats away at me every day, is you! I can’t stand the way you try to manipulate me in front of my son, making it seem like I’m the only reason we can’t be a family. You showed up to Storybrooke with a fiancée, don’t act like you came back here to win me over or some other noble bullshit. And I can’t stand that my parents think you should be my happy ending.” Another sob choked her words and she paused to catch her breath. “You will never be my happy ending,” she yelled before leaving the diner.

Emma jogged down the walkway, unsure of where to go, but knowing she couldn’t remain in there one second longer. She didn’t want to see the looks she’d put on her parents’ faces anymore and she didn’t want to deal with Neal. After an hour of wandering, she found herself down by the icy cold shoreline. She sat down in the freezing sand and folded her arms around her legs. Resting her chin on her knees, she lamented the fool she’d made of herself and the mess she’d made of things.

“Awfully cold for camping at the beach,” Hook said.

Emma jumped so hard, it hurt her butt when she landed back in the unforgiving sand. “Jesus Christ, you scared me. Are you following me?”

“Sorry, love,” Hook apologized, holding hand and hook in the air as he always did when she went on the offensive. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. And no, I am not following you. I was up on the deck of my ship and saw your golden hair in the moonlight; wanted to make sure you don’t catch your death out here.” He handed her a blanket.

“Thank you,” she said through chattering teeth, only now realizing just how cold it was. “You probably need to invest in some warmer clothes if you’re planning to stay in Storybrooke for the winter.”

“Is that an invitation, Swan?”

She just rolled her eyes as she held her hand out to him to help her up.

“Don’t worry your heart, I am plenty hot,” he flirted, extending his hand and pulling her up.

“You are plenty full of yourself is what you are,” she laughed. “I don’t know why I ended up here. I just… I cannot go home. I should probably see if Granny has a room available. Paying her some rent is the least I could do after clearing out her customers.”

Hook scratched behind his ear, his nervous habit that always made Emma chuckle inside, because how did The Captain Hook have a nervous tic?

“You could stay on the Jolly, if you like. You know, instead of walking back to Granny’s.”

“Is that an invitation, Hook?” Emma countered.

“Actually, it is,” he said as he bowed deeply, holding his right hand out in the direction of his ship.

She decided it was probably her best option for the night. She didn’t want to see her parents at the loft, she definitely didn’t want to risk running into Neal at Granny’s, and she was far too proud to ask Regina for a crash pad. So, she followed the direction of Hook’s extended hand and headed to the Jolly.

“Thank you,” she mumbled as they headed down into the Captain’s Quarters. It was only slightly warmer below deck, and she wondered how cold he got at night.

“Perhaps a little gratitude is in order,” he smirked, pointing his finger to his lips as he had done several weeks ago.

Emma didn’t even have to think about it this time. She launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and backing him up against the wall. She kissed him just as passionately as she had back on that Hell Island, but this time, she had no intent of limiting their activities to just a kiss.

“Swan,” he moaned against her mouth.

“Hmmm?” she hummed as she continued to learn his mouth and his tongue which had come out to play.

She loved the way his hook felt pressed at her back and the way his hand cupped her cheek before sliding into her hair. She took the opportunity to quickly run her hands up through his chest hair before shifting them up under his jacket to divest him of it.

“Swan, stop,” he whispered between kisses. “Stop, darling.”

Emma immediately pulled back. Like, what? “What’s the problem,” she asked defensively.

“I apologize lass, it was a poorly timed Neverland reference.”

“A… joke?” Emma’s head began spinning again. One million thoughts ran through her head as her brows furrowed and panic hit her eyes. Her mouth turned down as a strangle hold settled over her... rejection. She’d had one melt down and now she was damaged goods in his eyes. A one time thing, she’d said, and he was the one who was going to enforce it. “I have to go,” she muttered, mind already on auto pilot to the lovely land of orphans-aren’t-worthy-of-love.

Killian quickly blocked her path to the door. Bad move.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way,” she seethed. “You don- don’t want me...” Oh fuck, she panicked, the tears were going to start again. When would this roller coaster come crashing to a halt? Emma Swan, Dumpster Fire, she mused, it had a truer ring than Emma Swan, Savior.

“Don’t you tell me what I want or do not want,” Hook reprimanded. “I want you, I have wanted you, far more and far longer than you know.” He stepped into her space and lifted her chin with his hook, until she had no choice but to look into his eyes. “Make no mistake about that, love.” A fire burned between them, something palpable, and only by sheer force of will, was Hook denying himself the pleasure she’d been looking to bring him mere moments before.

Truth. Truth is what she saw in Hook’s eyes. “Then why are you pushing me away,” she asked, lips still quivering with the threat of tears.

“Because I won’t exploit your emotions, that would be the pinnacle of bad form.”

“What?”

Hook took her hand and led her to sit on his bed. “Emma, you just confessed major hurt and heartache to your parents. You obviously have unresolved issues with Bae, and you’re harboring a sadness that is ruling your emotions. Despite Neverland and everything that happened there, I have never seen you this close to the brink of despair.”

A tear slipped down as Hook brought his hand up to cup her cheek. “Look at me, Emma.”

She sniffled, but complied, as she realized he was not going to continue until she looked at him.

“You are strong, and you will get through this, but a quick romp in the sack is not part of the solution. I cannot in good conscience let you lead us down a path that you will undoubtedly regret. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to me.”

“If I don’t get to tell you what you do or don’t want, then you shouldn’t get to tell me what I will or won’t regret,” she huffed.

Hook smiled at the fire that lit his Swan, and continued on, “I did promise Bae that I would back off, I thought it was best for Henry, if it was what you wanted as well.”

“I don’t want that,” Emma interrupted.

“I know you don’t want that. Tonight made that clear,” he assured her. “But tonight also showed that you have some things to work out. I am here for you, Emma, and no matter what our future holds, I will stand by your side and help you traverse all of it. But where matters of our hearts are concerned, I cannot be your port in this storm if you only plan to pack up and set sail when the tide calms and the tempest parts.”

Tears surged forth once more as she lunged at Hook again, but this time just to throw herself into his embrace. She didn’t even know why she was crying, but she knew that this, him, everything he’d just said, this was what she needed. Someone to stand by her side, someone to accept her for her, someone who knew that she had shitty baggage but was okay with it and wanted to help her lighten her load. “I just want to forget, I want five minutes where I don’t feel like everything is closing around me like a vice.”

“That’s it lass, everything is going to be okay, I promise,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her protectively. “Let it out, crying can be quite cathartic when you let it.”

Emma cried a little harder as she listened to his soothing voice. She sat up many moments later when she’d cried herself out. Wiping away her tears, she looked at the man next to her. “How did you get so wise,” she asked in a nasally, I’ve-been-crying voice.

“How’s that?”

“About crying being cathartic.”

“Ah,” Hook chuckled as he blushed a bit. “You pick up some things as the centuries pass. I may have learned that sometimes letting out pent up emotion is better than harbouring it until it blows up.”

“Thank you, Killian,” she whispered, before leaning in and tenderly placing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“You called me Killian.”

The bit of awe in his eyes made Emma giggle. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

“Aye, but you know what I mean, love,” he chuckled with her.

She laughed again until she was caught in a yawn that wracked her whole body.

“Let me get you something to sleep in.” Hook went to an antique armoire and pulled out one of his shirts and a pair of long johns. “These should keep you warm.” After handing them to her, he placed a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll let you get some rest, no doubt your day has been taxing.” Then he turned to leave.

Before he could make it to the door, Emma reached out to grab his hook. He turned around to see what she needed.

“Will you stay with me?”

His eyes pleaded with her not to tempt him into breaking his word. His good form.

“I promise I won’t jump your bones, sailor.” She rolled her eyes playfully, but then she glanced away and folded her arms around herself, a vulnerability encasing her whole form before she spoke again. “I just want you to hold me,” she whispered.

His chest ached for her, for this tender side of Emma Swan that he’d never been privy to. Why would he ever deny her something as simple as holding her? “Of course, love.” After changing into something passable for sleep attire, he joined Emma in his bed.

“I know this is going to sound sappy, but today, at Granny’s, when you showed up, I was on the brink of losing my mind,” Emma confessed as she lay snuggled against his side, his right arm wrapped around her, making her feel safe. “But when I saw you, I felt like… like I might be able to get through it, like everything would be okay, if only you were with me. That’s why I asked you to stay.”

“And did it help, having me there?”

“All I know is, even though I didn’t say everything I need to get off my chest, I did get through part of it, and I am glad you were there.”

“Happy to oblige, darling.” Hook craned his neck forward to place a kiss to the crown of her head.

Pulling the blankets up to her neck, Emma shivered. “Give me your other arm, you’re warmer than these blankets.”

“My hook,” he said, holding up the shiny version of his moniker. “I wouldn’t want to accidentally harm you.”

“Then take it off,” Emma responded as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.

“I don’t think so, love.”

“Why not?” she asked, sitting up to look at him.

Hook took advantage of his freed arm and scrubbed his hand over his face. “It’s not a sight I wish you to see, it’s actually quite revolting.”

“I don’t believe for a second that any part of Killian Jones is revolting,” Emma said, gently pulling his left arm toward her.

“Swan,” he groaned.

“Killian, you saw me at my most vulnerable today, and you didn’t run for the hills. I won’t either,” she promised softly. “I don’t think you understand that what I like about you is this,” she placed her hand over his heart, “the man you are.”

Killian placed his hand over hers, where it rested on his chest and brought it to his brace. “Okay then, go ahead.”

Carefully unfastening the buckles, Emma pulled the entire brace away from his arm. She held his forearm in one hand and ran the fingers of her other hand over the scarred flesh, inspecting the damage. Although Hook was right, it wasn’t a “pretty” sight, it wasn’t nearly as bad as he would have had her believe. “Does it still hurt?”

“Aye, sometimes.”

She delicately massaged in a downward motion, from his forearm to the end of his wrist, and watched his face. He wasn’t making eye contact with her, but rather, watching her ministrations. He looked half panic stricken, like he might bolt, and half enchanted by her touch. She followed the pattern several times until he’d fully relaxed to her touch. “See, was that so bad?”

Hook’s face was a deep shade of red and his entire body had broken out in goosebumps. He didn’t know how to answer her question. He had never willingly let another person see his mutilated arm, let alone touch it. On one hand, it was that bad, he felt laid bare before her and he was still dressed. On the other hand, or hook, as it were, he felt something akin to what she had explained earlier, like he would be okay, because she was there. “I suppose not,” he murmured, all the more enamored by this enchanting woman.

“Good.” Laying back down, she wrapped both his arms around her and snuggled into him. “Much better.” Emma slept better that night than she had since they’d come home from Neverland.

Tagging some lovelies - please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

@laschatzi @qualitycoffeethings @hookedonapirate @wordsmith-storyweaver @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @wyntereyez @hooklineandswan @teamhook @let-it-raines @whimsicallyenchantedrose @spartanguard @tiganasummertree@apromisednightcap @xemmaloveskillianx @elizabeethan @cocohook38 @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615 @timeless-love-story @girl-in-a-tiny-box @thesschesthair @galadriel26 @ultraluckycatnd @lifeinahole27 @therooksshiningknight @kday426 @djlbg @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @lfh1226-linda @delightfully-difficult-pirate @thejollyswan @csalltheway @xarandomdreamx @vvbooklady1256 @withheartfulloflove @resident-of-storybrooke @mcakers @gingerchangeling @searchingwardrobes @snowbellewells

#cs ff #cs fan fic #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fan fiction

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laceymorganwrites · 4 years

Text

HQ love letters: Kunimi

Word count: 1,365

Pairing: Kunimi x reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood (in a movie context), ooc Kunimi (sowwy, I rlly tried my best >.<)

Summary: Kunimi wasn´t easy to read, but maybe he also wasn´t that difficult to understand, you just needed the chance and patience. Centered around Valentine´s Day find out how you met and how your relationship progressed

Taglist: @miyaniacs @prettyforpapiiwa my aries besites 🥺

A/N: I am so excited to be able to finally post this!!!! The collab (by lovely @luna-in-luv <333) was so much fun, I loved the concept!!!

to @samthegirlnextdoor: I am so sorry, I am so bad at writing for Kunimi but I really tried my best (even asked my aries friends to help me characterize him hehe) and well, I am also sorry for not getting to know you better, sadly I wasn´t really in a good place mentally, but thankfully I´m doing better now. I hope you enjoy, it was so much fun writing for you and happy Valentine´s Day!!

Kunimi always seemed lazy and uncaring. He was always the type to do the things he needed to, but not more. He always got done just at the right time, using every minute he could get, so that he didn´t need to do extra work.

People never really paid him any mind, he was just the kind of man you didn´t really get to see a lot since he was always the first one to leave just as the class was done.

People seldom saw him for what he really was: clever.

They never cared to get to know him better than the man he presented himself as.

Honestly you couldn´t blame them.

Kunimi could be quite mean sometimes, he made snarky and sassy remarks that were overall annoying and didn´t really mind if he hurt people with it.

At least it seemed that way. He seemed like a guy you didn´t want to get to know.

Sure, he was rather quiet and stayed to himself and only had a small circle of close friends, making it hard for others to see through it.

But then again, Kunimi never was one to make any efforts with people he didn´t know.

It intrigued you more than you liked to admit.

He wasn´t the type of guy you would notice immediately, but he certainly made you curious.

You two had the same classes and sat next to each other and you thought you got along quite well.

Especially when you had to do presentations and other projects together.

Kunimi wasn´t an asshole and did his part of the work. He always did.

However it was quite strange, you never met someone like him. From the outside he would seem lazy, like he didn´t care about anything.

Maybe that was true, but not in the extent you would think. Perhaps you were biased and blind though.

Kunimi and you got done with your work quickly all the time and you always started a conversation with him because you wanted to get to know him better.

You never thought that you´d get along that well with him. Kunimi was really funny and noticed things most people didn´t, he was empathetic in his own way which made him incredibly charming.

You didn´t have any other choice than to fall for him.

He always indulged you. Though that was out of politeness rather than of actual fondness. At least that´s what Kunimi told himself.

He wasn´t one to crush on people, it was pointless and a waste of time. More than anything it was such a nuisance, he didn´t want to deal with it.

So he pretended he didn´t feel anything more for you.

His plan backfired though. Apparently it was painfully obvious that he had feelings for you, so his friends told him. Though he just told them to fuck off like always.

“Hey, you got a minute?” you stopped him in his tracks one particular day after class. You were so annoying when you did that, when you wanted to talk to him and stopped him from going home. And yet he let you.

“Make it quick” he told you, but his voice was way too soft to make it sound annoyed or threatening.

“Wanna be my Valentine´s?” you grinned.

You might as well, you thought.

Kunimi was quite surprised, not really knowing how to react. Sure he liked you well enough, but love was way too complicated for him, it sounded like such a drag. But it was Valentine´s Day, he didn´t want to be the asshole that stood you up, so naturally he agreed, though not really expecting anything.

Maybe that was why he was so hyper aware of his own feelings, not knowing what to do when you smiled at him like that, asking him if he was feeling well or if you were boring him, if you just misunderstood him.

Looking back on the fact that he just ditched you then and there to rush to his friends to ask for advice, it was funny.

You could laugh about it one year later but it really wasn´t the best move on his part.

Luckily that was just the mere beginning of your relationship.

This time he would do it right.

Kunimi learned the importance of occasional romance with you, you taught him how to be open about his emotions, that it was fine, how you were feeling the same thing.

Somehow love didn´t seem so scary anymore with you. You made him feel safe and secure.

Sadly the time around Valentine´s was always stressful since it was when exams were being written.

However he used it to his advantage.

He knew that you were studying at home and would come around when you were done. You also told him you´d text him when you would get ready.

That left him with enough time to prepare everything.

It was your anniversary after all and he was pretty sure you thought he forgot about it.

He couldn´t help but smile at that thought, he hoped you´d like the surprise.

Kunimi went out of his way to decorate his place with your favorite flowers, he even invited Kindaichi to help him cook your favorite meal.

While Kindaichi was in the kitchen, Kunimi checked everything and then rushed to the nearest convenience store to get your favorite snacks and drinks.

He had planned out everything perfectly, though of course it didn´t seem that way. Kunimi wasn´t one to seem like he planned anything, it would just ruin his lazy reputation.

Though in all honesty, he couldn´t be lazy without planning.

And for you, everything needed to be perfect, there was no other way.

It wasn´t only to make up for his stupidity in the year prior, no, he just simply couldn´t fuck up and be lazy today.

Those three words were way too important.

And so as he returned, he bid goodbye to Kindaichi who wished him luck. Something he only snorted at, who´d need luck in uttering words? It wasn´t like he would lose his voice all of a sudden, though he might as well.

As soon as you stepped through the door it was like history repeated itself.

But he wouldn´t let it this time, he wouldn´t let himself run away.

“Fuck, you´re beautiful….” he husked, almost sounding out of breath.

You closed the door behind you and couldn´t hold back a chuckle, though you were quite surprised at the prepared couch and table for a movie night.

“Um, thanks? Did you get knocked on the head, babe? I´m literally not wearing anything special” you said, looking around.

Kunimi seemed nervous for some reason, but you couldn´t quite pinpoint why.

“So what? Who says you need to wear something special to be beautiful? That´s the dumbest shit I heard all day” he smirked and sat down on the couch with you, immediately laying an arm around you and starting one of those dumb movies you only watched to make fun of the people in it.

“Oh my god, you´re so stupid, of course you´re gonna die first….” you groaned, laughing at the unrealistic scream and spurt of blood in the bad slasher movie on screen.

Meanwhile Kunimi looked at you as if you were his whole world, because you were. How did he get so lucky? To have such a work of art sitting next to him who didn´t think that much of themselves? How much of a saint was he in his last life to get to be such an asshole in this one? To get to tell you how incredible you were every day? He couldn´t comprehend it in the slightest.

And yet you were here with him, in his arms, feeling so comfortable in his presence.

He was getting way too soft and you were the sole reason.

“How can you be so perfect? Fuck I love you” he mumbled, not realizing what he just said.

“Huh? What was that, babe?” you asked, turning to face him.

“I said I love you, idiot” he repeated himself, louder this time.

Before he could regret and realize his words though, your lips were already on his.

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mistabullets · 4 years

Text

Twilight (Kinktober Day #5 - Corruption)

Characters: Takuto Maruki x Reader

Word Count: 3.0k

Summary: You remind Maruki too much of someone.

Content Warning: n/s/f/w, afab reader, fem pronouns, corruption, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, teacher/student relations, doctor/patient relations, angst, dubcon/noncon cw, mind manipulation/alteration cause of maruki’s persona, older man/younger woman, dubious ethics, maruki calls you by the wrong name, p5r spoilers

Note: I went to town on this. I’ve been wanting to write something with Maruki forever and finally got the inspiration I needed

It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.

It had started out simple - his relationship with you started out strictly professional. You were one of the seniors who had endured Kamoshida’s abuse, although not to the extent some other students had. You still held on to your high hopes and ambitions despite the pressure of exams weighing you down occasionally. Sessions with Maruki-sensei were relaxing. Unlike your parents and teachers, he listened . He didn’t brush off your complaints and invalidate them, he wouldn’t go off on tirades about how you needed to do better. He truly listened - it made you happy to be heard for once, even if you felt your problems were infinitesimal compared to your peers.

You frequented the nurse’s office. While you had friends who were probably better company than the school’s therapist, you found comfort in his words. You never grew bored or tired of his little lectures - he was researching something about cognition and how to mend the heart of its emotional labors. While he threw in complex words you couldn’t quite grasp, you tried your best to follow along and ask questions if you couldn’t wrap your head around a certain concept. And while Maruki was happy to grant you little tidbits of his knowledge, there was something gnawing at him, something he knew he shouldn’t admit.

Your mannerisms and speech patterns, the conversations you two shared, and your upbeat and quirky personality reminded him of Rumi. Every time your eyes glued on him, inquisitive and attentive, he was reminded of when Rumi would pause her studies, just to listen to him babble about two dots he was able to connect. Then he would recall her touch - lingering kisses, careful caresses, the act of becoming one, the noises that spilled from her lips, the heat that she would engulf him in—

But lately, he would visualize your face; contorted in pleasure, pleading with him oh-so-sweetly, and brows knitted as he speared your virginal walls.

However, he was the adult here. He knew it was wrong and he kept those thoughts locked away from his students. For him to fantasize about such things with a student more than a decade younger was unprofessional. For him to lock the doors after you left and pump his cock fervently to the thought of you was disgusting on his behalf. He tried to bury those carnal desires deep within - and he masked them for quite some time, believing he could simply get over it. His heart still belonged to Rumi and no one could replace her. Certainly, he wouldn’t throw that all away for some replacement, projecting her onto you, right?

But it all came to ahead.

The school was out for the day; most students had already gone home for the evening. Just when he was finished organizing paperwork, he heard his office door slam opened and closed. He glanced up, ready to offer whoever came in through his door some snacks and juice. But he was greeted to the sight of you, tears cascading down your puffy eyes. His chest tightened - he hated to see his students cry… but he didn’t want to see you like this. Usually, he thought of you as resilient and independent but he supposed you needed a shoulder to cry on, every once and awhile.

“Oh my, what’s the matter, L/N?”

He offered you a seat on the couch and sat beside you, offering a box of apple juice. You thanked him in a choked whisper, trying your best to collect yourself. Thank god Maruki had the patience of a saint, giving you ample time to compose yourself and reassuring you it’s okay every time you hiccuped a weak sorry .

You sniffled, “I-I don’t even know where to begin…”

“Take your time,” the counselor reassured.

A moment of silence. The clock ticked. You let out a shaky sigh and swallowed harshly, “T-This is all confidential, right?”

Maruki hesitated for a moment but nodded, “Yes. What happens in this room, stays in this room.”

“Okay… well, t-this is embarrassing. But I trust you the most right now,” you swallowed down your pride, willing the courage, “There’s… this student. We’ve been talking and we, uh… did some things.”

He raised his eyebrows when you paused, hearing you take in a deep and uneven breath. He could hear how broken your pride was - without considering it, he placed a hand on your upper back, rubbing it soothingly, reminding you to go at your own pace. It was welcomed. “Go ahead.”

“I… I really thought he liked me b-but…”

“He broke your heart, huh?”

You nodded, “I… I can’t go back in time. If I would have known… h-how cruel he is… M-Maruki-sensei, what should I do? My heart feels so heavy…” you buried your head into his chest, soaking his dress shirt with fat tear droplets. Awkwardly, he held you there, contemplating how he should properly respond to this situation. He furrowed his brows - he was a damn therapist and couldn’t even give you any advice on the matter. Hearing your cries reminded him too much of Rumi’s - the harrowing tears unstoppable as she was reminded of her trauma. He wanted to make them stop, make them disappear somehow. Life was so unjust, he pondered, forcing you to deal with inevitable heartbreak which would some way or another, define you. It was the seed of mistrust, the loss of innocence, and the beginning of life’s hardships.

He pulled you into his embrace, muffling your pathetic wails into his chest. Maruki noticed a faint throbbing in his head, a distant voice telling him, you can save her, let me help… he clung to that voice, asking himself how he could help, how he could be useful .

And then a flicker of kaleidoscope flooded the peripheral of his vision.

There was a ringing.

And your tears ceased.

“M-Maruki-sensei…”

You forgot why you were crying.

“L-L/N? Are you feeling any better now?”

Oh, right? You confessed your feelings.

“S-Sensei… I…!”

You lifted yourself away from the shirt you just soaked with your tears. Without hesitation, you pressed your lips desperately against his; you tasted coffee from his mouth and wanted more.

Maruki was registering what was occurring - a student was kissing him and he needed to put an end to it, he reasoned. However, before he could push you away, a hand reached down for his crotch. You pulled away from the intoxicating kiss, brain fried with overwhelming love for the man before you. “Takuto… a-are you hard?”

And for a moment, he was reminded of his first time with Rumi - her sweet voice whispering his name, worried about pushing him over the edge, “Takuto…”

Takuto…

“Takuto?”

And he snapped. He didn’t care anymore if this was wrong. He just needed you . He gained control and pushed you back into the couch, pouncing you like an animal. Experienced lips found yours and his tongue easily slipped into your mouth when you let out a gasp. He feverishly rubbed his clothed erection against your soft thigh as his kiss deepened and you were already moaning against his mouth. He needed you out of your uniform; he needed to be out of his clothes. God, he needed you so bad, he wanted you—

“A-Ah, please slow down, t-this is my first time.”

Oh right, you never specified if you were still a virgin or not. “S-Sorry…! Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good, L/N… I mean, Y/N. Just let me take the lead.”

You nodded and assumed kissing, albeit much more calculated and less desperate. Maruki guided you as he promised. He stripped you of your pesky uniform, discarding them to the floor of his office. All that remained on your body were your simple bra and simple underwear which did not match. Maruki was addicted to the little noises you made under his kisses - you whimpered and sighed his name just like her . He ghosted his lips on the ample flesh of your breast and the experienced hand went unclip your bra, exposing the perky buds. His eager lips suckled and nipped each nipple, his slender hands fondled each mound with gentle calculation. He admired the quick rise and fall of your chest and your heavy pants; he wondered what kind of noises he could draw if he touched you down there. Would it be like Rumi’s?

“D-Do you like this, sensei?” you asked curiously, nervously spreading your legs apart as the older man settled in between them, groaning at the maiden heat of your core. He rutted against your clothed sex, relishing in the mewls you released and wishing he would strip off your panties already. God, you were particularly dripping - he couldn’t tell if it was your essence or his pre-cum that sullied the front of his trousers. And he didn’t care either.

“You’re doing so wonderfully, Y/N. You’re already so wet, my god… I’m going to take off your panties.”

“O-Okay…” and you helped him wiggle out of your underwear. He threw them to the floor, on the pile with the rest of your abandoned attire. While you were exposing yourself to him, you didn’t feel nervous - you trusted Maruki to handle you with care. The counselor gulped when you spread your legs for him, showing off your pretty pink pussy. He steadied his breathing and sighed, nestling him and observing it. Hesitantly, he brought a finger to collect your slick, rubbing the slit up-and-down. It was maddening, overwhelming all of your senses as he experimentally touched and observed your womanhood like it was some sort of specimen. Only when you bucked your hips against his hand did Maruki realize he was making you impatient. He couldn’t help but smile at your eagerness, “Patience, I need to prepare you so you can feel good.”

It was fucked up - how he was so willing to discard his ethics just to be able to relive the feeling of being with her; to fill the void in his heart since her memories were wiped clean. But wouldn’t it be more fucked up to deny your feelings? Sure, you may be confused, but… wouldn’t fall deeper into despair if he rejected you? Not only would you have to suffer through one heartbreak but two. If this helped relieve the stress of that one boy, so be it. If he could help you in the slightest, even if it means tossing morals and logic out the window, so be it. He’ll make sure you’re happy too .

After exploring every inch of your core, his index finger aligned with your entrance and pushed. Oh, did it burn but it was pleasant to have him inside. Maruki leaned down to pepper kisses on your throat and jaw, easing you into the thickness of his finger. When he buried it to the knuckle, he inserted his middle finger and sunk that into your tight heat. You hissed and the older man apologized, reassuring you that it would feel good here soon. You believed him and once you stopped trembling, the discomfort molding into a strange sensation, you told him you were ready. With careful precision, he pumped his digits inside of you slowly - he curiously scissored the canal, preparing you to take something bigger than his fingers.

When he curled his finger against a particular area of your wall, you jolted and cried out. It was just like Rumi’s first reaction, “Ah… I found your g-spot. Good, good… I’m going to go faster and touch that again. You may feel funny at first but I promise, it feels wonderful.”

Before you could question Maruki what he was about to do, you wailed as electricity shot throughout your synapses. You writhed and trembled, your head was flooding and your stomach was taut with a strange feeling. However, you couldn’t ask what this feeling was - not when the counselor kept assaulting your g-spot, particularly finger fucking and rendering you a whining mess. Your hands found purchase in the cushion of the couch, tensing when you felt your pussy throb around Maruki’s fingers. You called out his name and he leaned down to silence your cries with his lips - the faculty should be long gone now but he wanted to be safe. You continued moaning into his mouth - then the strange coil in your stomach exploded and you arched your back, wailing and crying. He continued his ministrations, easing you down from your climax.

“T-Takuto… I-I feel so warm…” you panted, once you came down from your high.

“You just orgasmed. It was beautiful, Y/N,” he said.

“I-I’m glad…” you sighed, your body slumping against the couch. As you were washing up to the shore of your post-climax, you heard the rustling of belts and zippers. You glanced down to see the hard erection of your therapist, the pink head glistening with some fluid of sorts. Trepidation overrode your tranquility.

After seeing you come undone with just his fingers alone, he wanted to see you come undone with just his cock. Your reaction reminded him of her too, when she first offered to blow him. Her eyes had widened in surprise, not believing his cock could have this much girth to it. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought you were her reincarnation. Not hesitating a moment longer, he reached for his pocket to tear open a package of condom (better safe than sorry). He rolled the latex over his length before spreading you open to rub himself with your juices, coating himself with plenty. He wished he had a bottle of lube, just to make sure you were prepared but you were particularly dripping on the couch. You watched nervously, chewing your bottom lips as the head of his cock aligned with your entrance.

Maruki had his manners though. He gave a chaste kiss, littering more to your neck and collarbone before placing his forehead against yours. A hand reached to hold yours. Your free hand went to hold on to the back of his shoulder as he gave another kiss. “This may hurt… just relax, breathe in and out, and tell me when you’re ready, okay? … Are you sure about this?”

You nodded, giving him a demure smile as you took a gulp of air, preparing for the intrusion.

And he pushed in his bulbous head inside and you whimpered pitifully. You squeezed his hand until your knuckles turned white. Carefully, he pushed further in and knocked the wind out of you - you cried out and he paused, whispering sweet nothings and apologies. Once you were calm, he continued, and finally, his heavy balls rested against you. “Good girl, now just tell me when you move… on your cue,” he praised, leaving more ghost kisses on your vulnerable skin. You shuddered, adjusting to the painful thickness impaling your insides. However, the pain was quick to fade to only mild discomfort - it was bearable now.

“T-Takuto, nngh… y-you can move now.”

He smiled gently and carefully moved out before slowly thrusting back in. His rhythm was slow and tactful, giving you time to adjust to the feeling of sex. The initial discomfort swirled and spiraled into intense pleasure. When you moaned for more, you received more. Maruki picked up the pace - and his kisses became harsher. His head was buried in the crook of your neck and he nipped the side of it, leaving behind a red-purple bruise. That made your nerves sing and made you mewl, “T-Takutooooo~ Go harder, go faster, p-please…!”

Groaning, the older man readjusted your legs, pressing them against your shoulders so he could fuck your sweet pussy even deeper. You moaned, back arching as Maruki started to pound your oversensitive cunt. He was impossibly deep, you swear you were going to break apart on his thick cock. You continued crying and singing how good he felt, how happy you were that he was your first, and how you were wanted more. Your thighs smacked together, his balls hitting your ass deliciously, and his groin swiveled against your needy clit. His big cock was wrecking your insides and rearranging your guts, and his pace was growing desperate. He would ram the entirety of his length deep inside until the tip kissed your womb before switching it up and jackhammering into your tight walls with abandon. It made your toes curl, made you dig your fingernails into the meat of Maruki’s shoulder, and god, were you about to orgasm again?

Yes, you’re cumming again, Maruki thought as he panted against your sweat-slicked skin, relishing in your virginal tightness. He released your hand to quickly rub your swollen clit - he rubbed and rubbed ferocious circles, groaning when your pussy gripped onto his cock like a vice. Losing himself to your unbearably warm cunt, he began singing a name.

“Rumi, Rumi, Rumi…! I love you…! I’m gonna cum…!”

But rather than question the name that didn’t belong to you, you held him closer, telling him you’re going to follow him over the peak. “T-Takuto, I-I love you…!”

And the two of you exploded. He spilled himself inside while you milked his cock for more.

And while he was crying out someone else’s name like a mantra, you were praising him, seemingly not minding this. Once he finished spending the last of his seed inside of you, he collapsed on top of you. He was exhausted and didn’t seem to realize he was murmuring that stranger’s name again in your ear. Instead of shrinking into the couch out of hurt, you clung to him, peppering kisses to the side of his neck.

“I love you, R̼̗̗̹̻̄ͭͦ͌͜u̶͙̱͌ͩm̺̠͉̥͖͖ͯ͢i̖͕͚͗̽̓…”

" Y/N…"

You smiled. You loved how your name left his lips.

“I love you too, Takuto…”

You glanced out toward the window.

It's twilight now.

#my writing #scenario #takuto maruki #maruki x reader #persona 5 x reader #persona 5 royal #persona 5 royal spoilers #dubcon cw #corruption cw #mind manipulation cw #loss of virginity #persona 5 #takuto maruki x reader #kinktober 2020 #not sfw

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siennahrobek · 3 years

Text

Future Past

19 BBY

Obi-Wan’s farewell to everyone he had left was rather numb.

He felt numb, even though he knew everything was breaking inside. It was all just movements and motions, barely thought provoking as he strode through the facilities of Polis Massa and later, Bail Organa’s ship. He felt like he was choking on air and nothing at all, breathing was difficult.

He only had a few minutes with Leia, and he had a feeling that he may never see her again. He almost wished he wouldn’t. He would love to, of course, because he loved her so much, but if he did, that probably meant she was in grave danger. He would go the rest of his entire life without seeing or talking with her again in exchange for her being safe and happy. That’s all he wanted.

That was all he had ever wanted for those he loved.

He wondered if he would ever stop failing.

Luke was set within a hospital cradle bed while Obi-Wan said his goodbyes to the tiny girl, the little shining light that should have been his family. Bail had assured she always would be, even if she never got to meet him again. Obi-Wan would be forever grateful that he had a friend in someone like Bail Organa.

Cradling Leia in his arms, she had paused from her constant wail and screeching, rather attempting to reach up and grab his beard. She had gotten a fistful but had not pulled too hard and he let her. Perhaps it was the start of a bad habit, Obi-Wan didn’t know, but he figured this would be the last time with him. Her hair was already a little mop upon her head, dried off with a soft towel. The color reminded him of Padme, especially when she had been younger. When Obi-Wan had met her during her teenage years and reign as Naboo Queen.

Rocking the child gently, he wrapped her up within part of his cloak, although a bit tattered and dirty. She didn’t seem to mind, one hand grasping his beard. She had taken his pointer finger with the other, tightening as much as her little grip would allow her.

He nearly tried to tug it away, but Leia’s face just scrunched up in determination as she held even tighter. Obi-Wan just found a chair to sit in. Perhaps this goodbye would be slightly longer. It was okay.

“I didn’t think babies much look like anyone in particular but you seem to look so much like your father. I know everyone would say your mother,” he started quietly. “But I know, I think. Perhaps I didn’t spend enough time with babies; I wish I did. Now…now they are all gone,” he whispered, lowering his head closer to hers. “Just you and Luke are the only younglings left. I am so sorry that you don’t have anyone else. But Bail will give you a good life, he will always do his best. That you can count on.”

Leia just gargled, blowing out little raspberries in his face. Obi-Wan just chuckled. “Anakin would have loved you so much. So would Padme. Once upon a time, you had wonderful parents, my dearest.”

One of her hands left his beard and traveled up to his cheek, patting it gently.

Something shifted on the ship and Obi-Wan could feel presences coming forward quickly. “I must leave you soon, darling,” he murmured and kissed her forehead. She didn’t have much strength in her tiny hands but what little she did, she tried to bring him closer. “This is my farewell to you; I know you will change the galaxy; it has always been your destiny. How you will do it is completely up to you. You will be beautiful and stronger than anyone else, don’t let a single person tell you otherwise.”

Leia just stared at him, her dark eyes wide and curious. Her fingers moved and curled around his singular pointer finger.

“May the Force be with you, dear Leia, always,” he whispered, projecting the one feeling he knew he wanted her to feel for the rest of her life. If she was to associate his presence with anything, he wanted her to feel this, know what he felt for her.

Complete, unadulterated and untainted love.

***

Leaving Polis Massa was harder than Obi-Wan had expected. Yoda left with little fanfare, a few words of wisdom and the notification about his old master’s presence, with more lessons to be taught. Obi-Wan had always been for learning, he was a seeker, not a saint. He loved to learn and to teach, to see and explore and study.

But for some reason, this felt more like an obligation.

He wondered what it would be like, feeling his presence and hearing his voice again. Qui-Gon Jinn’s. Obi-Wan had thought about him often but tried his very best to keep those memories happy and bright. To remember him in the best light he could.

The goodbye to Bail was a bit bitter, as he was taking away one of Obi-Wan’s loved ones, but he trusted Bail to treat her well. He didn’t think he could trust anyone else more with her. He seemed to understand, at least to some extent, and consistently reassured him of that his love and care for her.

They set up a contact system for the two, just in case. Obi-Wan hoped with all of his heart that it would never be the case. “If anything happens, contact me, Master Jedi,” Bail Organa insisted even going as forth to squeeze his shoulder as for reassurance.

“I will,” Obi-Wan promised, quietly. “Hopefully, that will not be necessary.”

Bail glanced at him, sympathetically and pressed a case in his hand. “There is some currency in there. It was a rush job, getting wuipipi and the transition isn’t exactly great, but it was what I could get on such short notice. If I can, I can try to send you more later.”

“Don’t worry about it, Bail,” Obi-Wan shook his head, keeping his voice quiet. A makeshift slung was created and looped around his neck and shoulders, baby Luke snuggled up closely to his chest. He shifted from foot to foot, hoping to keep the child asleep for at least a while longer. “We shouldn’t attract any more attention to ourselves than necessary. I will make do.”

“You always seem to have a way of surviving, Obi-Wan,” Bail nodded. “But if you need anything, just, try and let me know. I will always help you.”

“Thank you,” he dipped his head. “I should leave before anyone tracks us here. It has been quite some time.”

“May the Force be with you, Master Jedi,” Bail took a step back and bowed lightly.

Obi-Wan nodded, unable to risk such a gesture with Luke to his chest. “And with you, Senator. Be safe.”

He took a few more steps back. Obi-Wan turned and walked to his ship, or, rather, General Grievous’ old ship. He would get to a planet to sell it so he could receive passage to Tatooine. It would be quite the undertaking his imagined.

Bail had watched him leave, even after he had left the station, Luke and a few other supplies tucked away.

The next couple of weeks were spent selling the little ship and finding passage to the planet he needed. He had to work extra hard to find a buyer that would give him a fair amount, away from the new Imperials. His heart cracked a little more every time he saw the blank faces of the clone troopers, now in shifting armor. It was changing. Everything was changing.

He accepted them as family. The jedi had accepted them as family. They had tried so hard. Perhaps it wasn’t enough, but they had tried. Obi-Wan could eventually understand them wanting to shoot down generals, him especially, for how many had he brought to war? How many had he sent to their deaths with his plans in war. How many were sacrificed in the name of the greater good. He could understand their seething hatred for him. He was the one who had done that.

He had been the one who led them.

He could accept that.

He would have gratefully and happily given his life in exchange.

If that was what they had demanded.

But they had marched on the Temple. There were few warriors in the sacred place. In their home. There was the elderly, who had spent a lifetime helping people, who had no part in the war and never had. There was the injured and sick, helpless to fight back. There was no reason to murder them. There was…there was the children, the younglings, the babies.

He couldn’t imagine the clone troopers they had trusted so much to have gone to their home and massacred all of their children. Their babies: those who didn’t do anything wrong, nothing to them. Who didn’t know better.

The youngest baby at the Temple had been three months old.

She had been even smaller than Luke in his arms.

He had seen her, or, at least, what was left of her.

The thought of it nearly made him throw up and his throat gagged at the thought. Tears swelled up in his eyes and suddenly, they were streaming down his cheeks, steadily.

He tried to stop, he wanted to stop. There were other people on the ship, being smuggled across the galaxy. It wasn’t there were many; as there wasn’t, but there was enough to notice. He choked back a sob, trying to stay as quiet as he could.

He could feel their stares.

A warm hand barely brushed up against his cheek. Trying to will the tears away, he blinked several times and glanced down. Luke was awake, bright blue eyes staring up at him, wide and curious. He murmured something unintelligible and reached up again. Obi-Wan lowered his head down to grant Luke better access. The baby just giggled and waved his hand over the older man’s face, apparently liking the texture.

After so many hyperspace trips of crying and wailing from the cold, it was nice to have a moment of quiet.

“Isn’t that a rather darling boy,” an older Mirilan woman cooed, leaning over to glance at the bundle against Obi-Wan’s chest. “You and the missus must be very happy and proud.”

“He’s not mine actually,” the words tumbled out of Obi-Wan’s mouth before his mind could catch up. “He’s my brother’s, but he and his wife are…they can’t take care of him anymore. We are going to a planet with more family.”

“I am so sorry,” the woman said, sympathetically. It laced her voice into something that made his heart crack. He hadn’t felt that from someone else in quite some time.

The woman was pleasant and even helpful for the rest of this leg of the trip, even snapping at other passengers when Luke’s wailing got too loud, in their defense. She scooted closer sometimes, her presence bringing some comfort to the baby; perhaps because she was a female. Obi-Wan knew that babies tended to bond with females closer due to the nature of their relationships.

When they parted ways, she gave him a little knitted hat for Luke…and then even one for Obi-Wan. He hadn’t even seen her make it, but he took them gratefully. They had fit perfectly.

The weeks were long and difficult, hopping from one smugglers ship to another, doing his very best to avoid the imperials but, eventually, he got himself to Tatooine. There was some investigating he had to do, in search of Anakin’s family. He had known that his mother had been freed not terribly long after Anakin had left; a reason why when Padme sent one of her handmaidens to free her, she hadn’t been able to be found.

Ben had picked up a few things from Quinlan, as his old friend was into more investigative and shadow work. He had even done a few of them with him. Ben wondered if the Kiffar was even still alive. Everyone else he loved was dead.

Although Shmi had passed away a few years ago and not terribly long after, her husband, Cliegg, her stepson and daughter-in-law still held up their moisture farm out in the deserts. Ben had eventually learned this, but it had taken some time. He found refuge wherever he could but unfortunately, most places to stay temporarily were around, above or connected to bars. And there were a lot of bars around the planet, especially in the city.

He supposed they had to do something to pick themselves up on such a wretched planet.

It had only been a couple of days since he and Luke had finally arrived at the planet of his family’s origins. Or at least, what was left of his family. It was the cheapest place, but it wasn’t a beautiful hotel either and it was, of course, above a bar. Luke didn’t seem to mind the noise, even trying to clap with some of the music sometimes and the heat didn’t seem to bother him. It was the cold that he really hated.

Ben had been scouting the bar, Luke strapped to his chest, playing with a little toy he had made during their travels. He loved that thing, for reasons Ben couldn’t quite understand.

He wasn’t sure how it had started or who started it or why but of course, with his luck, he ended up in a bar fight.

A bar fight.

With baby Luke strapped tightly to his chest.

Although he certainly disliked being the warrior that he was, Ben was grateful for his education, capacity and competence in the martial and combatant arts. The bar had ended up in an uproar and Ben had restrained himself from pulling out his lightsaber. For the moment he did, he would reveal himself as a Jedi. The destruction of the Order was too new, the bounty on Jedi head too high, for him to make that risk just yet.

The Empire may not have gotten to Tatooine yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Ben had been extremely careful when fighting off brawlers. None of them could particularly fight well so taking them down or avoiding their blows was probably the easiest thing Ben had done in years.

He had nearly been the last one standing. Any others had fled.

Apologizing to the bar keep, he tried to get away, but the Rhodian just laughed, loud and hearty. Ben didn’t quite understand but he wasn’t one to look a gift Tooka in the mouth.

Eventually, he had gotten enough information to buy a steady eopie and start his travels to the Lars homestead.

His heart ached. He knew he was dreading the hours to come.

And honestly, he nearly turned back.

He didn’t know these people. He had never even met these people before. He wasn’t even sure if Anakin had met these people before. To put Luke in their hands may…may have been safer from the Empire, but would it be safer with them? Were they good people? Would they teach Luke well or would they teach him to be resentful and have hate in his heart?

It had taken hours to get to the homestead, even on the strength of the eopie, but Ben had just mulled over this continuously. His heart was breaking, and his chest felt like it was going to be ripped open. Luke was fairly quiet, only babbling softly once in a while and trying to grab at anything near Ben that he could, generally his hair or his beard.

It was sunset when he had finally saw the homestead.

And he nearly turned back.

Giving Luke away was amongst the hardest things Ben had ever done and all he could give him was projecting the strongest feeling he had for the boy and once in a while, throughout the years, small little hand carved wooden ship toys, that he would leave on his grandmother’s grave.

***

The Lars couple, Owen and Beru, were good people. Even Ben could feel that.

Owen just hated him.

He wasn’t exactly subtle in his feelings either. No matter what Ben tried to do over the years, to help, to protect, anything, Owen lashed out at him, blaming him for the death of his stepbrother.

Stepbrother, Ben thought. How could a man be so angry and hate him so much on the behalf of someone he didn’t even know. Ben had spent over thirteen years with Anakin, training and raising and loving him. If Owen had met Anakin, it must have been very brief, and probably only once.

Ben tried not to be resentful.

He found an abandoned little hut cave out in the Judland Wastes, far enough for Owen’s liking but close enough that he could keep a feel for any dangerous the Lars may face over the years. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He didn’t mind. He never needed much anyways.

He had always wanted a peaceful place out of the way to spend his time meditating.

It took Ben quite a bit of time to open up to hearing Qui-Gon’s voice.

It took even longer for Ben to accept his tutelage.

But, like everything else Qui-Gon had ever asked of him, he did so.

18 BBY

It had taken Ben bare a few months to start protecting the Lars and surrounding areas and farms from Tusken Raiders and Jabba’s men. The Tuskens, although ritually and historically furious at the offworlders (even though technically many of them were born on the planet now) taking over their planet and taking their water, had been easier to work with. Once he had figured out some of their language, it was easier to communicate. He always had a knack for languages, he knew. Not only did he learn to be fascinated with them and cultures in general, but when working with and travelling with someone like Qui-Gon Jinn, one had to learn to apologize and ask not to be killed in nearly every foreign language of every planet they had been on.

Because if there was one thing that Qui-Gon Jinn very often did, it was making trouble.

It was exhausting but in the end, Ben had learned a valuable skill and found an enjoyable hobby of learning new languages.

Learning the Tusken sign language wasn’t too difficult, but what had really gotten them to be more open to negotiating was simply a test of strength and prowess. Ben, as much as he was loathed to admit it, was a warrior in the end. And to that point, he could take down near anyone on the planet just with his experience, knowledge and training.

The Tuskens had learned that quickly and ended up leaving him alone.

But it didn’t protect Luke.

That would happen a few months later. One of the Tusken tribes had been having a terrible time with a krayt dragon, a native beast to the planet and one that was said to be even force-sensitive in some cultures. Ben didn’t know if it was true, but the Tuskens were losing people and had resorted to taking others from outside the tribe as sacrifices.

This, of course, had put Luke in grave danger. Whether it had been that year or any year in the future. The Tuskens at first, were skeptical, with his offer to become the next sacrifice, but in the end, his manipulation worked.

The Krayt dragon was a bit bigger than Ben had heard from the stories, but its ferocity was no small thing. But, in the end, Ben had always had a small talent for bonding with beasts of all kinds and in the end, the krayt dragon was no different.

He had sent her on her way with the quiet request to leave them alone.

He wouldn’t reveal what had happened between the two of them, or how the communication went, but he came back in one peace, telling the Tuskens that the dragon would leave them alone, but they had to leave the locals alone as well, for if they didn’t, they would be responsible for their actions. This in turn, protected most of the people around the Lars homestead, including Luke and any friends he may have in the future.

Sometimes, when Ben meditated out in the middle of nowhere, he could feel the rumbling of the dragon under the shifting sands.

14 BBY

Once upon a time, all Ben wanted was to sit in a quiet cave and meditate.

Now, five years later, he just wished he could be back. Even if it was the war, as horrible as that time was, the Jedi would still be around, he could still feelthem and he would have the loyalty and care of his troops, even if it did end up being fake.

Tatooine, at least with its terrain, wasn’t the worst Ben had ever encountered. Yes, the sand got everywhere but it never seemed quite as course and rough and irritating as Anakin had made it out to be. The storms were terrible, don’t get Ben wrong, and he disliked them quite passionately. Sand stung at his eyes, whipping at his skin mercilessly. It was a pain.

But lying in the sand when there was little wind, just a gentle breeze, not enough to stir the land, he could feel some peace. Sinking into the soft grains and able to let everything else melt away.

He just wished it could have been sand in the Jedi Temple, surrounded by loved ones and the light of the Force.

11 BBY

He was too late.

He was always too late.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was even surprised anymore.

Because it seemed, in the end, he would always to be too late. He would always be not quite fast enough, not quite smart enough, simply not quite enough. Never quite enough.

It wasn’t exactly the Force that gave him the warning, but it did give him awarning.

Let’s just put it to rest that he now believed the krayt dragons were force sensitive.

Plenty.

Ben’s eopie was old now but she did her very best to get to the Lars homestead as quickly as she could. She gave it her all, that was for certain. Ben remembered him cursing himself for letting Owen force him to live further away, further from Luke, further from the homestead. If he had lived closer, perhaps things would have ended up differently.

The Empire had come to Tatooine barely the year before and Ben had done a fairly good job of keeping out of the way.

But somehow, for some reason, they suddenly had it out for the Lars family.

And whoever sent them, they sent clones.

Ben felt only sympathy for the soldiers as he cut them down in defense of Luke. Owen and Beru were already gone, sprawled over the floor, bleeding and glassy eyed. He had let go of his bitterness and anger quite some time before. It was no use. What was done was done. No one could change anything. And revenge, even being not the Jedi way, would do nothing for Ben. It wouldn’t bring the Jedi back. It wouldn’t bring the younglings and babies back.

There was no satisfaction when he fought them.

Although, honestly, it wasn’t much of a fight.

For the first time in years, as Ben bundled shocked Luke up in his cloak and robes, grabbing some of his things, worrying over the fact that more may come, he had ended up contacting Bail Organa.

Ben knew Luke didn’t remember much of that time and in all honesty, neither did Ben himself. It was like going through some slogging motions, but Bail had come on his word and sent him a nondescript space craft.

Ben had sold it and bought a different one. Just in case.

Everything had changed now, and he knew things were never going to be as simple as it had been on Tatooine. No matter where they went, no matter where they would go.

Luke was eight or nine, Ben had thought, musing to himself. Was it ironic, that it was around the age Ben had started teaching Anakin?

Was the outcome to be similar?

Or was Ben to lose yet another Skywalker?

He supposed, like nearly all things, only time would tell.

Present Past

Ben

His head is full.

Awakening was a cloggy mess and a sluggish, laborious process, like trudging through the impossible terrain of the Dagobah swamplands. His feet felt as if he had to relearn rudimentary functions and relearn them in a hurry. The Force pressed against him, light and warm and impatient. Taking the largest and longest inhale he was capable of, he forced himself to open his eyes and then sit up. Step one complete.

Rolling his shoulders and arms indistinctively, he noted they felt sore but lighter than usual, cleaned of sand and grime. The cracking of joints he had been so used to hearing every time he moved, especially after sleep, had ceased significantly.

Looking down, he caught sight of his hands, encased in lack gloves. He hadn’t worn gloves with fingers attached much anymore, he thought absentmindedly. He wondered where they had come from. Bringing them closer in his sight, he studied them further. These were standard issue GAR gloves. And attached to the standard issue GAR gloves was standard issue clone trooper vambraces. These had not worn these in years, certainly not by him. He still remembered the day he had to sell his armor pieces which included the vambraces. His finger trailed up one of his arms through a groove in the plastoid, up to the scratched and slightly faded paint in the middle. His breath caught as he lightly traced the open circle symbol.

Taking a deep breath to fill his lungs, he attempted to stand, keeping a firm grip on the cot and tried to steady himself. His legs were a bit weak and his head a bit dizzy – adding to the full feeling in his mind, but it only took a few minutes to regain his balance and equilibrium.

Even sixteen years later, the medical bay of a venator was still familiar to him as he looked around at his surroundings. Now, what did that say about him? Taking a tentative step forward, his feet slowly started to move and took him to the lavatory, where he filled a cup of water and guzzled it down. Running a hand through the water from the faucet, he raked it slowly through his hair and down his face.

He didn’t want to look up. He didn’t know why. But he did anyways.

There was not a time he could remember having seen himself with so much color. Color in his hair, color in his skin, color in his eyes. His hair had brightened, no longer bleached by nearly ten years under the twin suns of a desert planet, a mix of blonde and brown and ginger. His greying and stretched skin were once again flush with pigment and peach colors. Eyes that were usually tired and dull and grey had a stone blue color come back to them. The wrinkles on his face had lessened considerably. Taking another deep breath, he stepped back to study himself. Amor parts were stuck to his body, not just the vambraces but the pauldrons and gorget and greaves as well. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed this; the mix of soft robes and the protection of the pauldron, the vambraces, the greaves. He should have worn them when he had fought Grievous, he mused.

He was dressed for battle, for war. It was not quite how he was during the beginning of the war, but more of the middle of the fighting, a bit into the skirmishes and conflicts. Hands trailing down the armor and robes, they came down to his belt and the clip that was attached there. His lightsaber wasn’t on his belt. He wasn’t particularly worried.

He sighed, unsure of what to make of this.

In the mirror, it was him, for sure. It looked like Obi-Wan, but he knew he was Ben.

Quinlan

Quinlan wondered how this invasion had gone through the first time.

He felt rather out of place throughout the entirety of the incursion. He was present for the briefings, barely putting in his two cents, generally when it came to anything resembling sneak attacks or espionage. The Resolute and the Negotiator had both broken through the Separatist blockade with surprising and remarkable ease, swiftly rendezvousing with General Tiin’s venator and his forces. He was on his own ship, calling most of the shots as the most senior available general present, and directing the battle within the space around the planet. Although Master Tiin portrayed mostly calm during his calls with the other leaders coming to help him, he looked determined but still a bit rattled and definitely tired. General Krell was on the surface, getting battered down by the local militia. His communications kept cutting in and out, but he demanded reinforcements.

That would come in the form of the 501st, much to Skywalker’s displeasure.

Quinlan could understand, to an extent. He had worked with some clones before, but he didn’t have his own battalion or legion or squad. He would work with whoever was on hand and whoever could work on his current mission, if anyone. But he did know that many of the generals were rather protective of their respective troopers. Not only did generals often get used to the type of troopers and personalities, but troopers themselves often got used to the type of leadership style their general had and often tailored their ways and plans around that. Switching up leaders and troops didn’t always work out incredibly well, especially with invasions and long campaigns.

Commander Cody would leave Quinlan, taking much of his forces of the 212th down to the surface with him. Not to reinforce Krell and his side attack, marching for the Capitol, but rather to assault from the other side and box the Umbarans in. It was a good plan that Commander Cody had come up with, although by the look on his face, General Krell clearly wasn’t entirely convinced. Quinlan apparently had a lot more faith in the commander than Krell did, which seemed rather odd considering Quinlan probably had a lot less experience with the clone troopers.

Just as Master Windu had claimed, Anakin Skywalker himself would lead fighters to pick off the forces in space and if needed, provide direction for the bombers, if necessary, on the surface below.

Anakin himself would lead much of the space fighters as well as the bombers for the surface below. Quinlan had heard plenty about how great of a pilot Anakin was and how much he loved to fly. He found it rather amusing since, once upon a time, Obi-Wan himself had felt the same way. It was almost interesting on how things changed.

Quinlan felt uncomfortable and odd in the position he was in, standing on the bridge of his best friend’s ship, trying to help and order out calls that would bring them closer to victory. He was used to small forces, sneaking around with more missions that included investigating and espionage; it was something that he was good at now. Undercover, intelligence. He was usually the one giving the Generals advice and plans; next and vital places to hit or defend. He wished Obi-Wan was awake.

His friend was much better at this sort of thing.

“Let me know when Obi-Wan wakes up?” Anakin asked gruffly as Quinlan escorted him to his fighter. They had talked a bit on what would happen as time went on after the briefings and breaking easily through the blockade, and Skywalker hadn’t been exactly intently keen on leaving his master to fight in space as much as it was fairly obvious that he was eager on flying.

“Focus on the mission,” Quinlan answered instead, trying to sound like he could give good advice. Somehow, he always felt like this was easier with Aalya. Maybe it was because she wanted to hear his advice and actually tried to listen to him sometimes. “Keep your attention in the here and now. Obi-Wan is safe and he would want you to be too. At least, as much as you can be in this scenario. If you worry too much, it could put you and your men in jeopardy.”

“Fine,” Anakin huffed.

“I’m sure you will be one of the first people he will want to see when he does wake up,” Quinlan pointed out and then paused briefly. “And figures out that he has time traveled.”

Anakin shifted uncomfortably as he glanced at the Kiffar master. He looked rather uncertain, most likely about this entire thing. “If that’s what happened.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I’m just saying that it might… not be the case,” he pointed out, a bit slowly, watching Quinlan like he could get all the answers that way. Quinlan couldn’t really tell what the knight was thinking, for someone so passionate and emotional, sometimes he could be hard to read. Maybe because there always seemed to be toomuch emotion there. Did Anakin not want Luke to be right?

“Luke is telling the truth,” Quinlan answered and looked for Anakin’s reaction. There was very little to work with, he just kind of stared. “However,” Quinlan shot back, gravely. “It is not a bright future.”

He looked away, his brows furrowing. “Well, if it is time travel… then we can change it,” Anakin suggested in some form of insistence, but he didn’t seem too sure on what to think about this. Quinlan thought back to their earlier conversation how their friend may have changed. It wasn’t exactly something either of them wanted to think about too hard. “Obi-Wan won’t be on the run again.”

“We will try our best,” Quinlan agreed carefully. There were no absolutes, no guarantees. He didn’t want to make the future worse but with what he had learned from Luke, he wasn’t sure if that was possible. It was, deep in his heart he knew it was, but he couldn’t quite imagine them changing things so poorly, knowing what they knew, and it coming out even worse than the future that Obi-Wan and Luke knew.

“Is he still with Obi-Wan?”

“Luke?” Quinlan asked before his brain could catch up with his mouth. Of course, that was what he meant, and Quinlan knew it. His mouth just ran off with him. “Yes. I figured if he just stayed there, it would keep him out of trouble.”

Anakin hummed but didn’t seem completely convinced. They had arrived at the docking bay were fighters and their pilots were doing last checks before they would head out and join General Tiin’s forces. Anakin’s togruta padawan shouted and waved him over. Anakin glanced at her with a gesture before turning back towards Quinlan. “That is my cue. See you at the end of this, Vos.”

“May the Force be with you,” Quinlan nodded.

“And with you, master,” Anakin winked.

Ben 2

Regaining his complete composure and erasing the wrinkles within his equanimity and clothes alike, Ben glanced around the medical bay just to sate his curiosity. The door wasn’t locked, medicine and tools, even ones that could conceivably be used as a weapon were not taken away or padlocked and sealed away. Pulling on his boots and making sure his greaves went over them, he simply just walked out the door. The venator and star destroyers were not completely different but there had always been noticeable differences. Whoever was doing this certainly did a good job of restoring the old Republic ship. If Ben didn’t know better, he would have even thought that this was his own flagship, the Negotiator.

It even feltlike the Negotiator.

He nearly felt dreadful for feeling like he missed it. He walked down the halls, they were mostly vacant, although Ben couldn’t say he was terribly surprised. Whoever had set this up did a remarkable job with the ship itself but finding any clones, especially ones that would be willing for this little charade would have been more than just a little difficult. There was also the little obstacle that the clones looked quite a bit older now than they had during the war. All the same, he avoided those that were through the halls, although there weren’t many. They were even dressed in clone trooper armor, much to Ben’s bitter surprise. The armor type itself was a rare find these days.

Often finding himself running his hand along the smooth walls, Ben could only feel mournful. It was a terrible time, the war, of course. He abhorred what they had to do, even though he knew it was right. To protect. He hated what they had been forced to do, he couldn’t stand that he had to lead people such as the clone troopers to their deaths. There was no choice on any end and then, once it was all said and done and the jedi and cloens had done their part, they had been just disposed of.

And no one had even cared.

The Jedi had been exterminated, murdered by those they tried to protect and those they had loved as family.

The clones had been brainwashed and enslaved, stripped of their minds and free will and forced to kill the people that cared about them and loved them as family. Then slowly, as the programming ate away at their mind and psyche, they were killed off on desolate planets as canon fodder and sacrifices.

Tears swelled up in his eyes, his feelings bubbling up in his chest and mind, pressing, pressing, pressing against him in such a terrible friction that he couldn’t get away from. He had tried not to think too hard on what he had lost for some time, there was no use on thinking about it so much. No use on dwelling on things one could not change. No matter how much he wanted to. If he could change anything, what he would give.

Ben hadn’t even realized he had stopped, leaning against the wall, his forehead cooling against the metal of the hallway barriers. He took deep breathes but it didn’t seem like enough. Nothing felt enough.

Sometimes he regretted forcing Boil to leave them. Luke had loved him and having another person around had done wonders for him. Boil was a friendly face, despite how grumpy he often acted during the war, and his skill and loyalty was somethings Ben had always admired from him. He remembered the clone’s desperation, begging him to stay, giving all the reasons he could be useful.

As if usefulness was the reason Ben would have wanted him alone.

Ben knew that it was much too dangerous. Vader would just take another loved one away from him and Luke was in danger enough as it was. But he couldn’t keep Luke away like he could with Boil. He hadn’t been able to subject Boil to the life he was forced to lead, running from and fighting off someone as the likes of Darth Vader.

He still regretted it sometimes though. It had been so nice to have someone else around.

Ben hoped he was happy with Rex. Happy wherever he was, with whoever he was with.

“Sir?” an achingly familiar voice asked, uncertainly.

He sighed and turned, still leaned against the wall. In front of him was a clone trooper, mostly within armor sans his helmet, which was hanging on his belt. With a fairly standard haircut, his face was void of tattoos, but he sported a small scar near the hairline. A bit of scruff was starting to come in around his chin.

“Hello there, trooper,” he greeted, pleasantly. There was no need to be mean to any of these actors or constructs. It was an incredible likeness, he noted. Whoever or whatever this was, the resemblance was uncanny. “May I inquire your name?”

“Seven, sir,” the trooper saluted, perfectly. “But most brothers call me Sev. You can, if you want. O-Or not, that’s fine too. I don’t have much of a preference,” he rambled, shrinking back and a little with a slight flush to his cheeks.

“Thank you, Sev. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

He didn’t remind Ben at all of Alpha-17, but his name had made his mind call back to him. Ben wondered what may have happened to the old captain. Was he stripped away of his free – and very strong – will and forced to become nothing but a droid made of flesh and bone, bowing to the whim of a government and military that used him like he wasn’t even a person? Ben had a hard time thinking the programing and brainwashing would even work on Alpha-17, just because of who he was, how independent and intense he could be. But then again, Ben mused, it had completely erased Cody’s steadfast loyalty and determination, it had taken everything from one of the strongest people Ben had known.

The trooper hesitated; eyeing Ben like he wasn’t sure if he should speak. “Are you alright, sir?”

“Just a little tired,” he admitted. “I’m not entirely sure where I am.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that. Sev certainly seemed to have an idea.

Sev straightened and brightened a little. “I can help you sir! I know this ship like nobody else! Don’t get me wrong, I fight a lot, I do my part! But I don’t sit still very well so when I’m not in the field, I’m going around the ship. Sorry, I’m kinda rambling again aren’t I. I can take you to the bridge, sir, if that is where you want to go. I mean, I’d imagine you would want, considering we are in the middle of a battle, but you know, ya never know…”

Although he continued to ramble, Ben’s hearing faded. In the middle of a battle? How did one construct that? It seemed a little extreme in attempt to convince him.

“That would be nice, Sev. Thank you,” he announced suddenly, breaking whatever sentence the trooper was in the middle of. “I would love your help, mind escorting me?”

The soldier nodded, eagerly and Ben straightened, launching himself to stand next to the youngster. He offered his arm. “I’m just a bit unsteady, would you mind?”

“Of course, sir!” Sev nodded and wove his arm through Ben’s so the older man could lean on him if wanted or if he fell, Sev could easily catch him. He took a careful step, just to make sure that Ben could move with him. Ben wasn’t sure if he had surprised the trooper or not but their steps in time got quicker to a normal, but abit brisk, pace.

Few soldiers that they had passed, as limited as there were even, batted an eye, although many of them had their faces covered in helmets. He wondered, although a bit absentmindedly, where one had gotten all these actors to play their parts in such armor.

He wanted to reach out into the Force, if only to try and feel the unwavering and constant calm he knew that had once practically oozed, the sense of loyalty that made him truly believe that they would always be by his side, no matter what they had gone through, no matter what they would go through. Once upon a time, he had taken such comfort in knowing he had such good men watching his back, and his sides and he, theirs.

Closing his eyes briefly, he imagined him feeling it, but he didn’t reach out. He couldn’t be disappointed like that again when he didn’t feel it, when all he would feel was the murky, cold harshness of the dark side, smothering all good things.

“It’s good to see you up and at ‘em sir!” another soldier greeted as he passed. Ben opened his eyes and trailed him. He sounded like a trooper too.

He tried not to think too hard on it.

“Oh wow! General, you are up! You gave us just a tad bit of worry there,” yet another clone they passed spoke as he slowed his gait. “We weren’t that worried, we had complete faith in Helix and that you would wake up.”

He sounded like a trooper too.

Something felt caught in his throat.

“Are you alright, sir?” Sev asked, shooting him a concerned glance.

It felt so real. He could almost feel the trooper’s concern in the Force. Ben pulled back. No, he wouldn’t go through that again. Even if there weretroopers here, even if Sev was somehow a clone from back in the war days, there wouldn’t really be anything to feel if did reach.

He wanted to reach.

“I am fine, thank you,” he replied politely.

It was mostly silence from then on to the bridge but Sev had pause to swipe his card for the door open so they could get inside. Ben had stopped and took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever was on the other side. He didn’t believe he would like it.

***

Quinlan 2

“Which system are we currently in, Admiral?”

Out of all the things Quinlan had expected to hear at that very moment, Obi-Wan’s voice was not anywhere near the top of the list. In fact, for a moment, he had even thought that it had been just him hearing things, maybe some wishful thinking. But no, looking over – everyone looking over – Quinlan’s childhood friend stood at attention nearing the front of the bridge, gazing out at the space battle before them.

“Obi-Wan!” he yelped, wide- eyed as he reached for him. Everyone turned to look at him, surprised and shocked.

Obi-Wan shifted away from him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Hmm,” he hummed, dryly. “Fascinating.” Then he turned back, no longer interested, towards the admiral and other troops at the helm. He looked tired, even more so than when he was asleep or in his unexplainable coma, but he held himself the way Quinlan had always seen him carry himself during the war, or when he had been with politicians, even before the war had started.

Next to him was a young trooper, face and armor barely marked or scuffed up. Either he was extremely new, or he just kept his armor nice and clean. It could have been either, if Quinlan was being honest.

“This is Seven,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing to the clone that he was attached to. It was a matter of fact, as his tone had been thus far. There was no room for debate for whatever reason. “Harm or touch him, I will take off your heads.”

That…was not a threat that one heard from Obi-Wan very often but by the way he said it, Quinlan had believed him. He was, in fact, quite good at relieving appendages. The stares had gotten even wider and incredulous. Even Seven’s expression was shocked as he stood still with the general. Quinlan was impressed; he figured most would have tried to flee by then.

But then again, Obi-Wan was threatening for Seven, not at him.

“Hey buddy,” Quinlan lowered his voice, as if trying to placate him. He kept his hands a bit casual but open where Obi-Wan could see them. He knew that something would happen when Obi-Wan woke up, although he hadn’t been sure what and he had thought that he wouldn’t have woken up now, of all times. He was probably just confused. “Look, Obes. It’s me, Quinlan Vos, your friend.”

“I know who that is,” Obi-Wan scoffed.

“Alright cool,” Quinlan nodded. “So, you were in this unexplainable coma for a bit, not super long. Not even a day really, but it did kind of freak people out.”

“I would request your hallucination end, please,” Obi-Wan interrupted, his voice cold as steel his eyes flashing in reflection of that. “I am aware of what is happening, and I am telling you, it is not necessary.

And wasn’t Obi-Wan just full of surprises today. Time travel, new padawans, and now belief that this was a delusion or mirage.

“This…this isn’t a hallucination, Obi-Wan,” Quinlan sputtered, trying his best to keep his disbelief under control. It was rather uncharacteristic of him but the thought that his friend didn’t think any of this was real, it broke his heart more than he would dare to admit. It was such a contrast between Luke’s sure thinking and Obi-Wan’s intense cynicism and skepticism.

“Oh yes, I’m sure,” Obi-Wan just hummed, his words biting on sarcasm, but he didn’t even glance over at Quinlan. “This is very real, Sidious. That is fine. You probably used this battle thinking you could use it to torture me and one of my great many failures. But the joke is on you, emperor, I will move forward to save as many lives as I can, even as this is an illusion.”

“You think…you think I am a Sith,” Quinlan’s response ended up falling a bit flat, somewhere between an observation and a question. He wasn’t completely in on all of the Council’s theories and findings but knowing one of the Sith’s name was something that higher level shadows knew, especially those who were investigating it. It appeared, from how Obi-Wan was acting, he knew exactly who that person was.

That was going to change everything.

“Hmm. Well, Vader would certainly not care for this type for mind manipulation,” Obi-Wan pointed out plainly, tightening his grip ever so slightly on his clone companion. “He is much rather the type to just torture and kill me. Especially me. You understand. So yes, Sidious.”

“Why is he me, specifically?” Quinlan asked. He knew who Vader was and the fact that he did made what Obi-Wan said all the more horrifying. What could have possibly been done for Anakin Skywalker to absolutely loathe and abhor Obi-Wan, someone he was generally fairly possessive of?

“My first wartime assignment with Master Vos was the hunt for Ziro the Hutt, which you should know, since it was public record,” Obi-Wan listed, calmly. He seemed a little irate, however, like he didn’t want to explain something that shouldn’t have to be explained. “And I remember any other times I’ve worked with him after that. It was not on a planetary campaign such as this,” he paused, his brows furrowing as he seemed to think more about what he was saying. “…what system is this trooper?” Obi-Wan suddenly asked, his question turning kind and soft as he directed it towards one of the nearby clones.

The clone glanced between the two of them. “Umbara, sir.”

“Master Vos,” Obi-Wan replied confidently, still continuing with the bite of sarcasm. He would have been nearly proud if his friend hadn’t been disillusioned by what was happening and thought that this wasn’t real. “Had not been present at the invasion of…” he stopped abruptly and stared at the planet through the viewing board, his arm dropping from the clone trooper he had been hanging onto.

“Obi-Wan?” Quinlan questioned, taking a small step forward.

“Umbara,” he whispered, breathy and horrified. His pupils dilated and his brows scrunched up into something of dread, like this was worse than he was imagining. Something terrible happened here, Quinlan could see.

“Sir?” Sev questioned, nearly poking at him to get his attention.

“Where are my troops?” Obi-Wan seemed to drop from his trance just as quickly as it had come and asked instead, his voice low and demanding, his gaze sweeping along the entourage of clone troopers at their stations.

“Obi-Wan?” Quinlan tried again.

“Where is Commander Cody and the 212th? Where is Lieutenant Waxer and his platoon?” Obi-Wan barked, his lip curling in the demand, eyes flaring into something of pressure, importance, and panic.

“On the surface sir,” a trooper replied quickly, sensing the urgency. “They’re launching a strike against the capitol. They intend to box the natives in alongside General Krell with the 501st once the latter take the airbase nearby that is supplying the capitol.”

Obi-Wan’s face completely paled, nearly devoid of color as he seemed to fall into that trance again. It lasted even less time this round as his diminished face did something odd, nearly darkening alongside his eyes, which had turned absolutely stony and cold. “Krell.”

The name had sent shivers down Quinlan’s spine. It wasn’t the name itself; he knew, Quinlan barely even recognized the name aside from his position in this invasion, but the way Obi-Wan had said it? Quinlan suddenly wanted to rip the besalisk’s head off. Which, even for Quinlan, that was rather extreme. He quickly realized that the feeling was coming from Obi-Wan. Something happened with General Krell and Obi-Wan did not appreciate him for it.

“Sir?” the trooper who had answered him, queried.

“Get me General Krell,” Obi-Wan demanded, his lip curling. “Get communications up with him immediately.”

“Sir, we can’t,” the brave trooper shook his head, biting his lip a little. It wasn’t exactly fear emanating off of him; Quinlan had yet to find a trooper that truly feared for themselves when it came to their general, but it was something else. Fear for the situation, perhaps. “The local militia has cut off communications, we can barely get anything through, barely a few words, much less consistent transmission.”

Obi-Wan cursed loudly in a language Quinlan wasn’t completely familiar with. The other troopers looked vaguely uncomfortable and glanced away. Perhaps they recognized it.

“Obi-Wan,” Quinlan stared, as he stepped even closer. “Calm down. We can figure this out, whatever it is,” he said, trying to placate his friend when he…he noticed something was not quite right with this. He paused and straightened himself, looking around, curiously. This…this didn’t make sense. Where was… “Wait. How are you up anyways?” he asked, his brows scrunching up together in confusion. “I thought Luke was supposed to be with you?”

His friend stiffened and for the longest moment nothing happened. It was as if time itself had just completely shut down. Obi-Wan’s head swiveled around slowly towards him until finally, Quinlan abruptly found himself pinned to an open wall.

Everyone around them had jumped but didn’t dare make a move.

“How do you know that name?”

His voice was low and deadly. Quinlan hadn’t heard that since…since Anakin had been kidnapped when he was a teenager. It had not been a pretty time and Quinlan had nearly been the only other person who could keep Obi-Wan from completely destroying everything in the way of him and his padawan. Quinlan hadn’t thought he would ever hear that tone again.

“Obes….” Quinlan struggled out. Obi-Wan wasn’t choking him, per say, but his grip was enough that Quinlan didn’t dare to even try to move away with his friend’s armor digging into his chest. He didn’t actually think Obi-Wan would do anything to harm him and schooled his body to quiet himself. “Calm down, he appeared…. he appeared with you.”

Quinlan wished he had better words to explain.

“What have you done with him?”

“Nothing, Obi,” Quinlan stressed as he even leaned forward into his space. He stared straight at him, serious as he had ever been with this childhood friend of his. “I swear nothing. He hasn’t left your side since we found you.”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a long moment. He seemed to believe him and found something in his gaze so let him go and cursed again, although less loudly this time around. He looked back at the troopers and then surveyed the battlefield of space in front of him. “Umbara. Boil. Waxer,” he muttered to himself as he came to some realization. He straightened again and took another quick glance around before spewing out some words and orders that Quinlan didn’t quite understand. The others on the bridge certainly did and they took it completely to heart, using the communications to lay out a different plan of attack and defense than what was used previously.

Apparently, the plan must have been a good one.

Quinlan wondered if it was the same one Obi-Wan had used the first time.

No one dared to move when he stormed off the bridge, the only one immediately following being Seven, the clone trooper that had brought Obi-Wan in. The jedi had given the trooper a gentle tug and he had assumed that meant he had wanted Seven to follow him. Quinlan guessed he was probably right.

It was only moments before Quinlan ran after him.

“Obi-Wan!”

Said man did not stop, just storming through the halls, projecting a cloud of determination and fear. The trooper he had brought with him was no longer led around, just followed dutifully, keeping pace with his general.

He finally caught up but hesitated to touch him. Even though Obi-Wan was covered, from his feet all the way to neck, he didn’t want him to lash out.

“Stop!”

Obi-Wan did and spun around, blue grey eyes flashing. “If you truly aren’t a Sith Lord, you will let me go save my kid,” Obi-Wan snarled, his eyes flaring in such resolve that Quinlan hadn’t seen since Anakin was a teenager and still adored his master. His hiss held such vitriol, shoulders rolling into some kind of subtle stance, waiting for a fight.

“Of course, Obi-Wan,” Quinlan said, softening his voice. Obi-Wan eyed him warily. “I’m sorry I lost your padawan, I told him to stay by you for you when you woke up but apparently, he had other ideas. But if you are going to go after him, you need to calm down,” he insisted, gently, keeping his hands out where they could be seen. “You know how you get when you are all worked up before a conflict.”

Obi-Wan paused, mulling this over for a moment. Quinlan didn’t move while he closed his eyes momentarily, taking a few deep breaths. It was a start, he suspected. It wasn’t Obi-Wan’s completely usual mediation, as he would generally rather find a quiet place – he was fond of gardens and caves – to sit and stay, to calm and meditate. He exhaled.

“That feel better?”

Opening his eyes, Obi-Wan glanced at him, his expression smoothing into the calm and pacify. “That was sound advice,” Obi-Wan hummed, although Quinlan knew him, he was wary of the ulterior motives.

“I would like to come with you, to find your padawan.”

“Absolutely not,” Obi-Wan snorted, turning away and starting back towards what Quinlan assumed would be the docking bay. “I cannot trust you.”

That hurt, Quinlan thought but he told himself it was only because he thought this whole thing was fake and staged by an evil Sith. Quinlan wasn’t entirely sure how that would work but then again, Obi-Wan was the one from the future, he would surely know better than Quinlan would.

“You can trust me,” he insisted, pressing forward. “I know who Luke is, he told me.”

Obi-Wan stiffened and his stride had skipped a little.

“We met in the future again, after the fall of the Order on a tiny planet at a café,” Quinlan explained easily what he had seen in Luke’s memories. He ahd seen several but it Luke had seemed to make sure Quinlan had been able to see his and Obi-Wan’s reunion after the fall of, well, everything. He hoped this would help convince Obi-Wan that he was real, that he knew this and could help. “It was by chance, but it was almost sixteen years after the Empire rose.”

His intended target had slowed his gait a little more as he looked down and away. Quinlan ushered the soldier accompanying them away quietly. The trooper looked a little hesitant as he glanced at his general but eventually did what he was told.

“How…no one knew that,” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked a little.

“Obi-Wan, I am here to help you,” Quinlan insisted, stressing the phrase. “You can trust me. Here,” he unclipped and offered his saber, pressing it into Obi-Wan’s gloved hand. “Since I’m pretty sure the kid took yours,” he gestured to his friend’s belt.

Obi-Wan looked down and cursed once again, shaking his head. He was full of such colorful language, Quinlan would have loved it and teased him about it mercilessly if it hadn’t been for the circumstances. He took the saber and hooked it to his belt, carefully.

He looked at Quinlan and studied him, staring intently. “It’s so hard to tell,” he confessed. “I don’t want to lead the Sith to Luke, but you act just like Quinlan, you are doing things that a Sith probably would never do, you know things that only Quinlan would know or, if Luke had actually talked to him. And if he had, then why would you need me to lead you to him?”

“I’m not a Sith, Obi-Wan. I am just Quinlan Vos, always have been and this time, always will be,” Quinlan asserted.

The next thing Quinlan knew, they were tucked into their respective Jedi starfighters, making last checks to get to the planet surface. A little red and silver astromech droid spun over to them, screeching and beeping at him. Obi-Wan just stared.

“Hello Arfour. It has been quite some time, hasn’t it?”

The reply was slow and a bit mournful.

“Would you mind accompanying me on a mission? Just to the planet surface, your flying is much better and often fancier than mine,” Obi-Wan replied, looking down at the droid as his gaze softened. Quinlan wondered when he had lost the droid, to see it as some kind of familiar face. “I have lost someone quite dear to me and I need to find him.”

Quinlan couldn’t actually make out the droid’s beeps and whirs from where he was standing next to his own ship, but he could hear some sounds coming out. Obi-Wan just smiled, faint and tight and nodded. “I would appreciate that, Arfour.”

The droid got settled into the nest and port of the starfighter and Obi-Wan jumped into the cockpit of his ship. Quinlan quickly followed suite in his own.

Space never really ceased being cold.

To his credit, Quinlan had waited until they got into a lull of the battle. Shots were still being fired but they hadn’t been in the thick of it while he asked.

“Hey Obes, you mind asking me askin’ you a question?” Quinlan asked as he spun around to avoid some fire that chased in his direction.

“I imagine that no matter my answer you will ask nonetheless,” Obi-Wan just replied, rather dryly.

Quinlan took that as permission. “Look, I know it is a war zone and all, but why are you so frantic? He’s an older teenager and with you being around, I’m sure he has had plenty of training, enough to definitely hold his own no doubt. And besides, he’s got a bunch of the 212th around him, I have no doubt they will protect him as much as they can. They’re quite the bunch of guys you got there, buddy. I kinda like them.” In honesty, Quinlan had met very few of the 212thattack battalion at this point but he had met Commander Cody several times and rather liked him.

There was silence from the other fighter.

“Look buddy. I already know you went through this already.”

There was another moment of silence. Quinlan nearly thought that he wouldn’t actually answer but eventually Obi-Wan’s voice came over the commlink and communications, just one between the two of them. “Luke is friends with Boil. He knows Waxer dies during the war. I don’t know how he figured out this invasion is where it happened.”

“Are they your troops?” he knew the answer, really, but it was enough to keep the conversation going, at least for a moment.

“Boil and Waxer are some of my best.”

Quinlan didn’t doubt it. Obi-Wan did not just give out praise that high and blatant lightly. And if Boil had met and befriended Luke, that also meant he had survived the war. At least some of the clones did.

“Well, I suppose we should save them, shouldn’t we?”

There wasn’t much talk after that, as the two of them were more focused on not getting shot and blown away from enemy ships, avoiding them even more so as they breached the atmosphere, even taking out bombers and enemy ships on their way.

Quinlan had gotten a brief message through and even a short response with a place where the two jedi starfighters could land. Obi-Wan had nearly flown out of his cockpit once he had barely touched down. Commander Cody approached, having waited for their arrival with confused concern.

“General Vos, is there-,” the Commander started, his voice thick until he stopped, both verbally and physically once he caught sight of Obi-Wan. “General Kenobi! You’re up, sir, I…”

“Where is Lieutenant Waxer’s platoon?” Obi-Wan ignored him and walked up, although Quinlan had saw a flash of grief and sorrow in his face. He still thought this wasn’t quite real, he realized.

He could feel the hurt thumping from Commander Cody but to his credit, he took in stride. “My apologies sir,” he replied, rather stiffly, but otherwise completely cool and professional. “They had been at the southeast corner when, last I heard, they had received intelligence about natives coming up on their flank, trying to appropriate a sneak attack on them,” his voice turned mournful and wavering as he tried to keep Obi-Wan’s gaze.

Ben stared at him for a brief moment, his breath becoming quicker. His head whipped around, as if looking for the battle. “No,” he whispered. “It’s already happening.”

“Sir?” Commander Cody’s voice shifted. “What has happened?”

The jedi just spun around towards the southeast. “Commander, I need you to stay here. I trust your orders and plan will pan out; you know what you are doing,” he said quickly as he started towards the direction. Quinlan shot after him.

“General! Where are you going?” Commander Cody called after him.

“It’s a trap!” Obi-Wan yelled back. “Those aren’t Umbarans! It’s the 501st!”

The men they find are jittery and a just a tad bit slow.

They were on their way back to rejoin with Commander Cody’s forces and although jumped and pointed their blasters at the movement that was Obi-Wan and Quinlan barreling through the terrain, they didn’t fire.

They seemed to fear to.

When Obi-Wan demanded for the appearance of their leader, Lieutenant Waxer, a different clone appeared. That was rather apparent by the look on Obi-Wan’s face. “Where is your platoon leader, Freefall?”

The clone saluted easily but Quinlan could tell his hand was shaking. “He’s not here, sir. We…we nearly shot our own men. If it hadn’t been for the little jedi…” he drifted off, his eyes and voice a bit dazed at the notion.

Friendly fire, Quinlan realized.

Somehow, he doubted this was poor and unfortunate coincidence.

“Where is he?” Obi-Wan pressed, edging on the side of desperation. He looked on the verge of near shaking the clone as if answers would just fall out of him. “Where is your Lieutenant?”

“Lieutenant Waxer told us to hold the ridge,” Freefall explained, trying to quicken his words to appease his general. “To protect Commander Cody’s flank. He and a few others went with the 501stand the commander.”

“The commander?” Quinlan questioned.

“The little Jedi,” Freefall pointed out with an unsure glance at him and then looked back at Obi-Wan. “We assumed he was a commander.” He hesitated and winced, clearly not wanting to speak what else was on his tongue. “Is…is he a General?”

“NO!” Ben cried, the sound tearing from his throat in some mix of emotions. “He doesn’t hold any rank! Where did they go?”

“They went back to the air base where the 501st had made their base.”

“Why?” Quinlan asked but for some reason, he feared the answer.

There was a hesitation so long that Quinlan nearly thought they wouldn't answer at all. Freefall and a few of the surrounding soldiers glanced at one another, something of fear and a touch of sympathy. "We think…they are going to arrest General Krell."

Quinlan blinked. He was missing something.

One of them continued. "He, General Krell, set this up, he told the same thing he told us to the 501st. We almost killed one another. The commander… the little jedi, he saved everyone."

Once again, Obi-Wan's skin paled into something greying and ashy. "No," he muttered under his breath, loud enough for at least Quinlan and Freefall to hear. "He's going to get himself killed."

Quinlan wasn't entirely sure if Obi-Wan's fear was completely founded. For some reason, he felt as though Luke stood, he better chance than he was giving the boy credit for. Then again, these were fairly extraordinary circumstances and Obi-Wan was worried, which was probably overreaching his usual calm and faith.

“Obes,” he said quietly, barely touching his friend’s arm. “How long have you been training Luke?”

Ben stared at him.

“Obi-Wan,” Quinlan repeated, a little more forceful. “How long?”

“Since he was nine,” Obi-Wan choked out.

Wasn’t that just fascinating.

“Is he any good?”

Obi-Wan nodded. Good, he had some faith then. His worry, coupled with the extreme circumstances were just clouding things. Quinlan could work with that.

“Then he has a chance, bigger than you probably think.”

“Krell has double lightsaber staffs. Luke hasn’t even seen that before.”

Quinlan suspected that Luke hadn’t seen barely any lightsabers before, but he didn’t say anything to that. Skywalker had always been extremely talented with a blade. Although it wasn’t guaranteed his son would be the same way, he speculated that it was the case.

He has a chance,” Quin repeated. “Let’s go, okay? Let’s go to the airbase and find him.”

Freefall gave them a speeder. Obi-Wan had even let Quinlan drive without saying a word. Finding and getting to the airbase wasn’t difficult at all but it was eerily quiet. As Quinlan skidded to a halt, Obi-Wan had jumped off before the engine had stopped and jogged into the airbase.

It was dark.

Quinlan had a bad feeling about this.

He caught up with Obi-Wan as they pushed through, going through levels and the doors of the base into an open room where communications and ships alike were held. They both had stopped near in time together.

It was so quiet.

Obi-Wan stood silently, looking and watching, almost in shock but Quinlan moved around to take a peek. There were a few bodies of troopers sprawled on the ground, most of them missing an arm or a leg or worse, a head. It wasn’t a massacre, exactly, Quinlan thought. There were only a couple, as horrible as it was, but over all, it was incredibly messy. The wounds and killing blows had been made from a lightsaber, that was for certain. It certainly wasn’t Luke who did this, even Quinlan knew that.

“Quin.”

Quinlan barely recognized his own name coming from Obi-Wan’s lips. He hadn’t called him that seriously since he had woken up. He hoped that Obi-Wan was coming to realize that this was real, that he had time traveled and it wasn’t a dream or hallucination or cruel Sith trick.

He looked over to where Obi-Wan was kneeling and jogged over to his side.

Obi-Wan hadn’t touched it and Quinlan surely wouldn’t.

It was an arm, thick and burly. It wasn’t a human’s, that was for sure. If Quinlan had to guess, it was Krell’s.

“It’s Krell’s arm,” Obi-Wan answered his unasked question and then carefully used a nearby prod to pry open the hand. A lightsaber tumbled out. “And one of his sabers.”

“He’s a bit like you,” Quinlan muttered, vaguely amused.

Even if Obi-Wan had heard him, he didn’t dignify it with an answer. “They are not here. Everyone is gone. There aren’t nearly enough bodies for this to be the entirety of the 501st.”

“That begs the question,” Quinlan added. “What happened and where did they go?”

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amlovelies · 4 years

Note

“time passes slower without you” or “zero fucks given. next please” for Chargestep please 😁

Five word prompt

so sorry this took me so damn long to write. work has just not been my friend lately, and I’ve been trying to give myself more grace about getting things done. Anyways, I hope this was worth the wait!

Tether

pairing: Julia Ortega/f!sidestep (Cynthia Basri)

warnings: angsty and mental health stuff, mild spoilers for retribution

words: 1k

read on ao3

It’s another session full of half-truths and awkward silences. You can’t fault Dr. Finch for trying, she is trying, but you know it’s futile. You’re not even sure why you keep coming. Actually, that’s a lie. You’re here because of Ortega. She asked you to do it; she went out of her way to make it possible. It matters to her, because you matter to her. You shouldn’t. It would make things so much simpler if you didn’t, yet even knowing that you can’t bring yourself to disappoint her. You can’t bring yourself to show her who you are, to show her why she shouldn’t care, why she should hate you.

She’s waiting for you as you exit Dr. Finch’s office. She’s waiting with her sly smiles, the ones that make you can’t seem to get enough of. She’s waiting with her wandering hands, the only ones that have touched you with any measure of kindness. She’s waiting for you to get better, to open up to her, to love her like she loves you.

How disappointed she’ll be when she realizes her waiting was for nothing. Add it to the list of your crimes against her. It’s crueler than anything Retribution has done. Bruises can fade and heal, but she’ll never forgive you for letting her hope, for letting her believe.

You grab coffee afterwards, and she gives you time before talking. This patient Ortega still takes some getting used to. Your memories of her are always of impulse and caprice. The mature and calm side of Ortega so at odds with how you once knew her to be, and it worries you. What else has changed? You once accused her of loving a ghost, but was that a projection.? This foolish infatuation of yours, how much of it is memory and how much reality?

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asks breaking your train of thought.

You take a drag of your cigarette to buy yourself time to answer. “Nothing important,” you answer with a shrug.

Her brow furrows and her lips purse as she looks at you. It’s not the first time she’s looked at you like that way. At first you believed it was only pity and regret, but now you can see something else in her gaze. A shiver runs down your spine. As many times as you may call her an idiot, you know that Ortega isn’t a fool.

Not for the first time you wish that you could see inside her mind. if only to silence the doubts that echo in the back of yours. She wouldn’t sit here with you if she suspected you were Retribution, would she? The old Ortega would never have the patience, but you can’t be sure with this new Ortega. What if all the caresses and sweet words are nothing more than a ruse?

You shake your head trying to banish the thought. She’s too much of a hero for that. If Ortega suspected you were a danger, she would never let you walk away. When you look up at Ortega now all you see is concern shining bright in her brown eyes. You jump a little with surprise when she reaches out to take your hand, but you allow it. Like a tether you let it pull you back. Pull you away from the swirling maelstrom of your thoughts. Pull you back to this small café and the Los Diablos sunshine.

“Where did you go?” She asks.

“No where I want to be,” you admit as you lace your fingers with hers.

She squeezes your hand and says, “you’re not there anymore, Cynthia. You’re safe with me. I will always do everything I can to keep you safe.”

Her phone chirps and, with an apologetic glance, she releases your hand to pull it from her bag.

“It hasn’t been an hour already, has it?” you wonder aloud.

“You know what they say, time flies when you’re having fun.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you respond with a roll of your eyes, “but things do move too quickly when I’m with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the only person I can’t read,” you say with a shrug. “Everyone else I see the moves a few steps ahead. It takes forever for things to happen. I’ve already seen it play out three times in their mind, but it’s different with you. I have no warning. And you can catch me off guard in a way that no one else can.”

“No one else who isn’t epileptic,” she says with a chuckle.

“Right,” you say with an exasperated huff. “What I mean to say is time passes slower without you. I feel like I’m constantly trying to catch up to you.” She doesn’t need to know how the years stretched out at the farm. How each hour fractured and multiplied and never seemed to end.

“And here I was thinking I moved too slow. Ten odd years to get you in bed is hardly a breakneck speed.” Ortega says with a laugh pulling you out of your memories the way only she can. For the second time that afternoon pulling you back into the present.

“Idiot,” you say your voice full of fondness.

“I have to go back to headquarters; will you be okay?” she asks as she rises from her seat.

“I’ll be fine. I’m just a little raw, but it’s nothing another smoke won’t cure.”

“If you say so,” her eyes search your face, and she seems satisfied by what she finds there, but she still lingers.

You don’t have to read her mind to know she wants to kiss you goodbye,

You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t let her kiss you in public. You shouldn’t let yourself indulge, but there are many things you shouldn’t be doing, and none of them feel as good as Ortega does.

You nod your head, and she dips forward to press her lips against yours. It’s brief and almost chaste, but still enough to cause your heart to thrum in your ears.

And then she is gone. The minutes pass with agonizing slowness as you light another cigarette. It’ll be enough to get you home where you can lose yourself in Eden. It’ll have to be enough.

fallen hero tag list (let me know if you’d like to be added/removed✨) @lord-king-saint, @roses-and-roo, @lilyoffandoms, @thenshe--appeared

#💜 thank you!#sorry again for the delay #fallen hero #julia ortega #chargestep #ask #five word prompts #oc: cynthia basri #lovelieswrites #fanficiton #ship: you'll be her ruin #fic: cynthia basri #if: fhr

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binniedeactivated · 4 years

Text

saint. || soobin🌪 (10)*Finale*

congratulations for making it to the part 1 finale guys! thank you all so much for supporting this au! I am grateful beyond words! ♡

��┊𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 . ೄྀ࿐ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: 𝖘𝖔𝖔𝖇𝖎𝖓 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: 𝖘𝖒𝖚𝖙/𝖆𝖚 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙; 2195

you never really noticed how much breakfast solved your morning grumpiness but it did. you were much more relaxed and motivated when you were not worried and being taken over by hunger. you were able to actually pay attention and do your work with such ease. you thought maybe it was worth adding that into your daily routine once in a while. throughout you were surrounded by a bunch of females who were talking about how they were ranked on the list as it if mattered anymore. you wished they stop talking about it because to you at least, it didn’t matter anymore. you hated soobin for making something like that and you were happy you said what you said to him.

anyway sister abigail was choosing random people to do math equations on the board today and you knew this would go completely go wrong for you. you knew math formulas and expression, but you couldn’t solve an equation. it was always for you which is why as soon as you felt as if you were about to go next you quickly asked her if you could go to the bathroom. she obliged and you were happy to have gone.

you were kind of surprised soobin wasn’t in the hallway like he normally was. creating trouble and walking around as if he didn’t have classes to go to. you push open the door to the bathroom. there was someone sitting on the floor which you found very odd, and...disgusting. she looked insane. you don’t even think she went to the school, maybe she snuck in and needed a place to stay. you couldn’t go into another stall without addressing her. her clothes were ragged and her hair looked as if it hadn’t been brushed in days. you approach her hesitantly while she sits with her knees to her chest. she kind of scared you with that look of crazy in her eyes.

“hey, are you alright? do you need somewhere to stay tonight?”.

maybe you could call your mom and they could’ve arranged something until she got back on her feet. you couldn’t just leave her here.

“what do you want? why are you even talking to me?”. she grumbled. you looked closer into her eyes.

“mia?”.

“what?”.

you were baffled at her appearance. you couldn’t believe she came to school in this condition she looked so strung out. it was terrible.

“what happened to you?”.

“it’s not like you’d understand. shit like this happens to you when you refuse to be a saint”. she assures with a tear fleeing her eye.

“mia it doesn’t matter if you’re a saint or not. if you need help you need help”.

she blinked a couple of times before she began crying in her hands. you sit down with her, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. you felt horrible for her and you hadn’t even known what happened. As she was crying you could see her now dirty school skirt lifting up a bit. words couldn’t describe how sorry you felt at the fresh wounds that slit across her thighs.

“mia? have you been...?”. she quickly clutched the bottom of her skirt and pulled it down. she was ashamed of what she had done. you pursed your lips. no human being should ever have to experience that kind of pain. absolutely no one.

“I want to help you. can I help you?”. you says and mia looks up with you with her teary blue eyes.

“why the hell would you want to help me? soobin must’ve broken up with you huh?”.

you stand up, giving her a hand to help lift herself off the floor.

“me and soobin aren’t dating”. you say truthfully. “we should head to the nurses office to get you some painkillers”. you hold out your hand for mia to hold. she reluctantly clutched it figuring she had no choice. you guided her down the hallway and your mind was blown on how she willingly let people see her look like this. it wasn’t like mia to ever look ungroomed.

“what do we have here?”.

“hey i was wondering she can get some pain meds? she’s having a bit of a headache right now”. the nurse nods putting a hand through mia’s tangled hair.

“are you okay honey?”. she asks. and mia just nods knowing she was broken beyond repair. she was given the tablets and glass of water and she took them gratefully. you tell the nurse thank you and wish her a happy rest of her day before you let mia follow you back into the bathroom.

you place your bag on the sink and position her in the mirror where she could see herself clearly. she knew she looked like a wreck, she hadn’t had the strength to do something about it. you reach into your bag and take out a brush, slipping it through mia’s hair carefully. she flinches.

“what are you doing?”. she snaps.

“I’m brushing your hair. I refuse to let you walk out of the bathroom like this”.

she turns around and continue going down each strand, brushing out the knots at the ends before brushing from the top. you did this until her hair was as silky and flowy as you remembered it. mia touches it, forgetting how much better she looked with it done.

“you like it?”. you asks and mia nods. she looks into the mirror like it was her first time seeing herself. you grab a napkin and wet it, wiping the tear stains off her cheeks. “whoever they were must’ve really hurt you mia”. she holds her head kind of low while you dip into your bag and grab some mascara and lipstick. you never wore much makeup but you carried it because...well that’s just what girls did in high school .

“i’ll never be the same person again”. she swallows. you twist open the mascara and grip the cap tight. you gently drag the mascara brush up her eyes lashes with care. “who’d ever hurt you like this? this is insane”.

“you’d be surprised at the things people do when they’re desperate”.

“what did they want from you?”. you question finishing up her other eyelash. mia gulps and stares into your eyes with the most serious look you’ve ever seen. you gulp.

“mia you have to tell someone you can’t just harm and neglect yourself like this”.

she shakes her head slowly, remembering what the boys told her.

“I can’t”.

“why can’t you? anything is better than this. look at your thighs. you can’t go on like--”.

“I have no choice you don’t understand”. you sighed. you take out the lipstick and swab her lips with the pretty maroon color. you use your fingernails to get the excess around her lips before you were finished. you turned her around to the mirror where she could see herself. she stared and you could tell she didn’t know how to feel.

“you look beautiful mia. and if you let me help you we can get you through this”.

she presses her lips together.

“why are you being nice after I’ve done what i’ve done to you? it doesn’t fucking make sense”.

“well--”.

“I clowned you in front of the whole school i fucked up your history exam I tripped you in gym class and not only embarrassed you but you were also injured. I tried to take soobin away from you and talked down on you as much as I possibly could to get him to hate your guts. why are you being like this?”.

“The bible says to love your neighbor like you love yourself. yes those things happened but i forgive you. the only thing that is important right now is making sure that whoever it is pay for what they’ve done to you. you don’t deserve this”.

mia toys with fingers before grasping you in her arms hugging you with the small pocket of joy she had left.

“do me a favor just put that one on this wall”. Michael says to kevin. he nodded, taking the polaroid picture and stapling it to one part of the bulletin board.

“we should spread them out more”. kevin says in a matter of factly tone. “true”. and together the both of them took their time taking numerous polaroids and stapling and taping them shamelessly to every wall they could find.

“this bitch is so pathetic”. kevin utters laughing to himself. he was proud of the work they were doing. it was more fun than any arts and crafts project he’d ever done.

“she is. I hope she sees this shit”. michael replies. the both of them take a step back and look at it all together. in their eyes, it looked great. but when the bell rung and everyone made their way out into the hallway they stopped at every wall in complete horror. thousands of polaroids of the pictures mia took of herself, cutting herself and bleeding. under each one wrote,

‘mia is an attention seeking cunt’

some laughed. some were shocked, and some just plainly walked by them as if they were normal everyday posters. but after mia hugged you, you slipped her your number and made your way upstairs to your class. to your misfortune you didn’t see them.

but as soon as mia worked up enough courage to step out of the bathroom and become herself again she was reminded of who hurt her. she was reminded of the boys who could give less fucks about how she feels. she was reminded that she was an absolute psychopath for slitting her thighs the way she did. she was stared at. and normally mia wouldn’t mind being stared at when she was among her friends but it was different when she were alone and much more vulnerable.

where were her friends?

she walks through the crowd holding her head low to avoid eye contact. she’d do anything to not be able to look into people eyes and see what they thought of her. she knew she was a lunatic. she knew she was disgusting. because in the religious community, self harm was bizzare.

michael throws his hood on and ties it tightly so that his face went unseen. he catches up to mia who was still trying to innocently make her way past the hallway. he grabs them hem of her skirt and pulls it down before he makes a clean getaway. mia shrieks, gaining back the attention she was starting to lose.here she was, in the middle of the hallway with her scars out in the open for everyone to see. she quickly pulls her skirt back up with tears gushing out of her eyes. she runs outside of the school building and everyone stares in utter shock.

══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════

the housekeeper clutches the blankets and snatches them off the bed. she jumped back a little when she saw the blood stains that danced along the bed sheets. she quickly reported it to her manager as she was mandated. he took a glimpse for himself. it was unusual that guests ever left a mess and when they did it would be food, shoes, maybe clothes that they forgot.

but it was never blood so this was a serious problem. and it called for investigation.

#choi soobin #choi yeonjun #choi beomgyu #choi soobin au #txt au

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herstarburststories · 4 years

Text

Brutal (Dean Winchester x Reader)

✾ A/N: More Dean x reader content, but angst this time! Reposting because I had to edit a few things. Gif's credits on it. Based on the song ‘from the dining table’.

✾ Summary: Unlike her boyfriend, Dean Winchester, the reader wasn’t raised as a hunter. At first, it seems like a hard but worth it job. Unfortunately, you didn't have in mind how brutal all of it could get.

✾ Words: 3k.

"YOU ARE NOT YOURSELF ANYMORE, DEAN!"

The discussion over a delicate subject at the dining table was blossoming into something bigger. (Y/N) was on her feet, shouting at her boyfriend with a shaking voice; a manner that was very uncommon. You were used to Dean being stubborn, and you were not behind him in this aspect which caused a few disagreements here and there. That certain argument, though, was definitive in every meaning of the word.

"I HAVE ALWAYS MADE IT FUCKING CLEAR WHAT THIS LIFE WAS, (Y/N)!" Dean snapped back, anger dripping from his words like venom. He was hurt. How could you say that he was becoming a cold-hearted person? You, of all people. "IF I DON'T KILL IT, IT KILLS ME! THIS ISN'T AN APPLE PIE LIFE, AND YOU KNEW IT WHEN YOU DECIDED TO STAY HERE!"

"I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT VAMPIRES OR POLTERGEISTS OR WENDIGOS, DEAN! FUCK!" Your usual efficiency with words was starting to tangle with desperation. Dean didn't even see the problem, for God's shake. How could you keep this up? "I'M TALKING ABOUT THE PEOPLE! I SAW YOU KILL FIVE POSSESSED PEOPLE TODAY!"

"DEMONS!" He groaned and slapped the table. You jumped in surprise, making him regret getting out of control and coaxing a softer, calmer tone from his mouth. "I killed demons, not people."

"The demons were possessing them, and you killed them off without any regret. You didn't even take a minute to consider other options."

"What other options?" he questioned, obviously upset. What the hell were you doing? Becoming the devil's advocate all of sudden?

"Using the demon-killing knife to stab a non-vital part of their bodies? Maybe an exorcism?"

"None of those options would end the problem permanently. Do you have any idea how many sons of a bitch came back from hell to get Sam and me? It's them or us, (Y/N). And I will always choose us." Dean was aware that you weren't raised in this life like him and Sam, but this conversation was becoming frustrating and confusing. You were training to be like them. You went to hunts with them. You... You supported him. At least, you did last time he checked. "The human is long gone when they get possessed. Dying is the best thing that could happen to them after that."

You were supposed to be an easy case that turned out to be more complicated than previously expected, what meant both of them staying a little longer in the city, you catching feelings for Dean and vice-versa. After all you had seen, you knew that normal life was a long lost memory that you didn't wish to visit, leave alone live in. Hauntings, traveling across the country, having no banal responsibilities-- that seemed like the kind of dangerous fun you had been looking for your whole life. Then, you came with them. Killing things had never bothered you-- they weren't actually alive, for starts. Until you saw how cold Dean looked when he killed off possessed people-- the humans that were still in there somehow. And he kept doing it as if it were the only option. Of course, this job and violence walked side by side, but not unnecessary lethal choices. Dean certainly shared his portion of brutality, which wasn't tiny, but you would never picture your boyfriend as uncaring. Not until you watched five bodies piled up together, burning. What about the chance that those people should have gotten?

"Are you even listening to yourself, Dean? What if Sam had thought like that when you became a demon!?" Apprehensive, you tried to make him understand what was wrong.

Dean clenched his jaw before his answer came out, "Those are two different things, (Y/N). You know that."

"I..." You flinched, taking a deep breath and letting it out. You shut your eyes before opening them with a determinate glare, locking your gaze with his green one. "I can't. I said I would stand by you through anything, but I can't let this slide. Not like this."

"Because I killed a few demons?" The older Winchester grinned wryly. He was furious, scared by the possibility of you leaving him, and injured by your words. What else could a wounded animal do besides attacking? "I survived, (Y/N). I've killed many others, and I'm not fucking sorry for it. They had it coming. You knew that was my life, and you chose it. What are you going to do now? Play the coward? It's a dirty, fucked up job, but someone has to do it, and you knew that."

Offering a sad smile, you walked towards him and lifted your hand to claim his cheek only for him to pull away from you. Your heart ached, but you needed to do that. Stick to your morals and beliefs.

"I love you." And you did, you truly did. Unfortunately, blood was as normal as water in his mouth, and you couldn't help but remain nauseous after what you tasted. "But there is a better way. Maybe not perfect, but another decision. And if you can't see that, if you can't see why I find it wrong to just rush around with the knife in every situation--" Your voice almost broke. "Goodbye, Dean."

You turned around, passing away from the man you loved before another speech stopped you.

"I bet you regret leaving your home to run away with me now."

You didn't take two seconds to reply, and you desired that he could understand how hard it was for you too. "I would never regret you."

No ray of sunshine licked Dean's face to wake him up. Fortunately for the Winchesters' disorganized sleeping routine, the bunker prevented the sun from invading the window-- a perk of living almost under the land in a bunker.

Instead of a normal reason to emerge from his rest, Dean's eyes fluttered open from an annoying migraine. Perhaps he went a little too hard on the alcohol yesterday, but that was the last thing that mattered. Besides, even if it was an abnormal sensation, he wouldn't trade it for sake of 'drinking like a normal human being', as (Y/N) had teased him so many times before.

(Y/N).

It took two seconds after recovering consciousness to think about you.

“Where are you?” he said in a whisper, playing with himself to the silent walls. Dean laughed with his own brand of self-deprecation-- a learned cruelty to dilute the tug of his emotions before the eldest Winchester had to get up. He knew exactly where you resided and why you were there. He decided against feeding his masochism for once, not glancing at your side of the bed.

To face the light fixtures above him only made his current situation more depressing, just like the hints of paint that (Y/N) had once thrown there. Dean Winchester knew pain like no other; hell, purgatory, an emptied childhood, watching his mother seal a deal with a demon, living with the fact his father had gone to hell to save him, being right in front of Sammy when he died, all the bloody deaths he’d lived through again and again-- the list would go on. He could probably drown in an ocean of his deceased loved ones’ blood and swim there for hours until he reached its edge.

Most of the time, the life of a hunter was synonymous with tragedy.

Therefore, Dean was very experienced when it came to suffering. He even shared a last name with a rifle, for God’s sake. Destruction was stained in his bones. This time, it was a different kind of torment.

His heart had been broken before, sure. He wasn’t in his early twenties, neither was he a saint. Dean was aware that a break in relationships could be devastating.

But again, this time, it was different. (Y/N) had not only broke his heart. You ripped it out and threw it in the trash as you walked out the door without looking back. His trust was in your pockets, and the beliefs clinging to the divine sensation of your touch that left with you.

Dean Winchester was hopeless. Deciding not to mourn for a bit, he closed his eyes from the melancholy. It wasn't a hard job to fall asleep once more. People in his job were always heavy-eyed.

Forty minutes passed by the clock until the Winchester roused again. This moment felt missing without you snuggling up to him or kissing his neck between foolish giggles or even pushing him out of bed when you felt like playing the prankster.

There was no valid reason to remain where he was, glaring at a stupid ceiling that held nothing but an old light you installed together and memories. The yellow and blue paints still held firm where you’d spattered them, jumping in the bed together with your hands drenched in the colors from a gouache paint container just because you’d found the tins somewhere in the bunker. You and Dean became a tangled mess of greens, dirty with paint and kissing. How many sexual encounters happened here, he thought, glaring at this ceiling that looked like three-year-old Sammy’s art project.

The green-eyed man never thought he would feel nostalgic about a stupid ceiling. He had to get out of that room.

Finally raising from the mattress, Dean yawned as he padded towards the kitchen. He didn't mind checking what time it was, knowing he needed an alcoholic getaway. The Winchester sat down, sharing a bottle of Whiskey with his shadow. How distracting it was to make his throat burn when an unpleasant thought attempted to take control of his head.

If he had dared to look through the room, Dean would have noticed the clock's arrow pointing at 10:50 am.

By noon he was already drunk, which took a lot of effort since his tolerance to drinks was a bar high set. Dean groaned, displeased. The buzzy feeling of befuddlement hitting him certainly helped, but he could still affirm that he had never felt less cool. His body was starving for something that wasn't there anymore. Dean's feelings were all over the place, and he didn't have the energy to pick them up at this point.

"I can't believe you are drinking already." Sam sighed, making himself known by Dean in the kitchen. In response, all he got was his brother holding the glass up and drinking all of its bronze liquid. "It's barely noon, Dean. You-- Wait. Are you drunk?"

"Don't start, Sam." He groaned, holding his own cheeks with fingers as his hands slid down to his chin. The gesture was a habit of Dean's when he was fed up with something.

The younger one offered him an indignant glare, which was soon replaced by empathy and sorrow as he watched Dean. His brother was broken. (Y/N) running away from them had really taken him down. Part of Sam was hurt as well-- after all, you were his friend and confidant. But, in all ruthless honesty, he couldn't speak out and point fingers at you on that. Not about the whole situation, at all.

Yet, if Sam was feeling abandoned by his friend, he could only imagine what Dean would be experiencing. You had been a hint of happiness in the middle of misery and combat for Dean. It had been so long since Sammy saw his brother like that, so very long. Suddenly, it disappeared like smoke. And the worst part was that he understood your side. Deep down, the long-haired man knew Dean did, too.

Trying to knock sense back into his brother, or at least a bit of normality, Sam spoke, "You can go out and buy some whiskey. Your bottle was the last one."

"Yeah, right." His voice was impassive, almost serious for such casual conversation. He got up, going to the table to grab Baby's keys.

"Hey, Dean..." Dean turned around to face his brother. Sam’s expression was cautious, voice soft when he continued: "If you want to talk about it, I'm here. It could help."

"I'm pretty sure you heard the screaming yesterday, Sam," Dean replied dryly, an unsettlingly wry smile surfacing. His walls were up. It was an old defense mechanism. "There is nothing to talk about. She left. The sooner we can accept it, the sooner we can move on."

"Move on? You want to move on?" he questioned suspiciously, eyebrows arching to match his inquiry.

Dean didn't answer. He only picked up the keys.

"Dean--"

"Yeah, I think we are out of eggs, too," Dean interrupted. He didn't need to talk about it. Not now. "Whiskey and eggs, got it."

Any other remarks from Sam were ignored as he walked through the door, trotting in direction of his beloved Impala. An old song on one of his cassettes was the soundtrack to his five-minute ride to the nearest store.

Dean went searching for eggs and whiskey, adding a lemon pie that smelled better than himself-- not that it was difficult considering he hadn’t showered since yesterday. The store’s cashier swiped his credit card and offered a polite farewell that was replied with a nod. Everything seemed so normal in the most boring ways.

In the parking lot, a familiar face appeared for the first time in a year. It was Thomas-- a hunter that Dean, you, and Sam had come across during a job in New Mexico.

"Winchester!" The blue-eyed man smiled, making the scar near his lips more evident. Being thrown out of a window left marks sometimes. "It's been too long, dude."

"Cavill." His lips curved into a small smile as he greeted his friend. Laying his green eyes on him, Dean couldn't avoid noticing a familiar shirt. Fuck, he must be hallucinating or thinking too hard about foolish subjects. "Where have you been?"

"Burning bones, decapitating vamps. Same old, same old." Thomas waved his hand, banalizing the supernatural routine as if it were nothing but another Sunday. For them, this was true. "I saw (Y/N) yesterday. She seemed fine. Separate hunts to take different cases?"

His blood burned through an emotional fever in realization. It felt like the boil was intense enough to melt his bones if he remained in front of the other men for too long. Thomas had never been subtle about finding you attractive, and neither was his constant flirting when your cases collided. It didn't help that you and Dean weren't together back then, even though the tension was obvious for anyone. The Winchester gripped his grocery plastic bag harder, offering him a sarcastic smirk.

"Something like that." He reached the car door and pulled out his keys. The familiar red flannel, your meeting with him-- it was so obvious it was basically written all over his face, and sadly, Dean could read it well. Fuck, he wanted to drop his purchases and punch that smile off Thomas’ face. That man probably had more of what was once his. “Gotta go. See you around.”

Sliding in the car to leave this conversation before his treacherous mind could reach more detestable conclusions, Cavill answered, "If you need help, give me a call.''

Dean mumbled something but didn't care enough to give him anything beyond a nod while the Impala finally drove away from Thomas.

At that moment, he wished a bit harder that Ellen was still alive or that another bar like hers existed. The hunters’ bar was full of people who understood that death was a part of the job. Somewhere he could swallow barrels of alcohol, play darts and tell bloody stories about his world-- about the quintessential things he did to get despair out of his system to the point that he felt comfortable on his own skin again.

So, that was it? You didn't just leave him and Sam, but you also accused him with all certainty you had of being a cold killer, and then you slept with the first man who showed up? Who was also a fucking hunter? Why the fuck didn't you tell him how you felt sooner? He wasn't an angel-- he would be even more of an arrogant asshole than he already was if that was the case, but you knew it all along. He didn't deserve anything good in his life. He should've seen it coming.

Dean pursed his lips, deciding for another ride to a normal bar. Home and all the beautiful, tragic ghosts inside could haunt him later.

It didn't take him long to park near an establishment. For once, he noticed the strong grip he held on the steering wheel, knuckles strained whiter than usual. He let out a tired sigh, glaring at the entrance of the place before grabbing his phone.

No calls from you. No text messages from you. Just the feeling of being a thirteen-year-old boy again, just like when he was waiting for Mary to send him a sign that she was all right.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Dean put it back in his pocket and made his way to the bar. No 'welcome' board light was shining yet, and he doubts anyone but he and the owner would be there. Once he got in, two guys were sitting in a table far away, and a girl was entering the bathroom. The bartender stood behind the bar, watching some game on the small television the place provided.

"Whiskey. No ice." His words came out harsher than he expected. The guy didn't seem to notice or care, simply nodding his head and turning around go get his client's order. One more time, Dean took his phone and stared at it. There was nothing but a text from Sammy that he quickly replied to, frowning in disappointment. It was rare for you to be the first one to break after a fight, but that was more than a stupid argument. You had left. You had fucking left. And he was the only one to blame.

Such a miserable routine kept its course. Dean would drink, check his phone, and hurt himself with his own thoughts. The night came with lurking shadows, and he couldn't care less. It seemed like the ghosts had replaced the bunker for his company. He didn't want to believe you would come back because hoping and being destroyed again was too much to bear with right now. Dean couldn't even breathe properly at the thought that he would never, ever see touch you, tease you, or be with you again. You had him wrapped around your finger since the very first day until you cut your hand off and left him. You left. How could you have left? But then, how could you had stayed if you had it all in your mind before?

Someone sat beside him. Still, it didn't catch the Winchester's attention until he heard her voice. For a flash of a second, he thought it was you. Dean looked up instantly, only to find himself incredulous.

The woman in front of him looked so much like you. She could easily be mistaken for your sister. Hair, eyes, voice. Everything but the lips were so similar. The unknown girl kept her gaze on Dean despite his strange reaction to her. Repeating her former words, she asked, "What are you drinking? Seems good."

Yeah, she wasn't (Y/N). You could tell what he was drinking from miles away, just because you knew exactly what he enjoyed. In addition, you’d seen his preferences so much that you’d memorized it all without even trying.

She looked like you, though. A lot. The earlier jealousy mixed with a dangerous quantity of alcohol and anguish made his decision. Move on, just like he told Sam. You didn't call him. You weren't coming back. That was your choice. He had to shut up the little hopes in his mind.

Putting up his best sultry smirk, Dean pushed the glass on the table towards her as he answered: "You tell me."

Two hours later, he was tilting his head to the side, watching the woman in his sheets peacefully taking a nap after a long run. Her hand covered most of her face, pillow carpeted with her messy hair.

"Wake up, (Y--)" Dean restrained himself from finishing that sentence. He almost said your name. It was hard enough to keep the woman's name, which he had forgotten by now, on his tongue during sex-- he wasn't going to give in at the end of it. Clearing his throat, the hunter started waking her up again. He needed to go.

In any other point of his life, he would've considered that night a success. A hot girl was sleeping beside him after he had a great amount of old whiskey. Sammy sent a text about a new case, and he had pie waiting for him in the car. At any other moment, that would be enough to put him in a good mood all day. In any other age, that would be considered a good day. No one died, he had sex and food and was about to hunt a thing and blow whatever it was up.

But you hadn't called.

It was probably a good thing in a messed up way. It was tranquil. There was no arguing, no fighting, no hurting from either side. That kind of hurt was quite similar to being comfortable, in a tremendously distorted way that he didn't wish to feel, like not putting medicine on the wound and just allowing it to heal by itself-- yet, occasionally scratching it. The idea of a comfortable silence was so overrated. Dean would rather be screamed at by (Y/N) by now than whatever this option was.

The woman woke up and left a note with her phone as she abandoned the room. Crumbling the paper, he threw it away and touched his face. A deep breath was taken.

He had work to do.

Maybe one day you'll call me

and tell me that you’re sorry too

But you never do

200 notes · View notes

chimaerakitten · 4 years

Audio

(via https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2eF2BW8QhNO2UesloUNkuk?si=SfOWQO6CTQy28MPE0ndjMA)

so, now that I am officially free of both finals and my work on the TQT title sequence animation, I thought it would be a good time to turn to my other bit project for this fandom, Chi’s crazy-long chronological playlist. I started this. One week after ROTT came out. ONE WEEK. I thought I’d get it done and written up in two or three days. It is now. December the 15th. Two months. TWO MONTHS, THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS

Bellow the cut: A writeup explaining the position of each song + a little bit more commentary on it from me (spoilers. everything is spoilers all the way through ROTT below the cut):

This is a mix of some pretty typical fanplaylist fare (there is. A lot of Bastille on here) some Queen’s Thief must-haves (can you really have a Queen of Attolia playlist without Achilles Come Down?) and my own really weird music taste (Filk like Tin Soldier and Courage Knows No Bounds)

Some of the ones I’m most proud of are Monster by Starset for the Mede camp scenes in ROTT (I mean, it starts with “Under the knife I surrendered” It’s kinda perfect) Laughter Lines for Relius and Teleus (I have it on good authority that that caused a lot of heart pain for other fans) and Soft to be Strong for Irene and Relius.

without further ado, the song list:

“Eddis”—Warriors

“Thief!”—Second Child, Restless Child

The Thief

Whatever it takes—“I can steal anything”

Tin Soldier—“Nobody would mistake you for anything but a tool, Gen.”

Centuries—“His name would be carved in stone on a stele outside the basilica, and mine would be written in the dust.”

Everybody Wants To Rule the World—“He doesn’t want the queen…He just wants the pass through the mountains so that he can invade Attolia.”

Patron Saint o’ Thieves—Eugenides and the Sky God’s Thunderbolts (I will be honest. This one was chosen based on title and Vibes, tm, not lyrics)

The Only Exception—“But if there hadn’t been one that I loved, I wouldn’t have landed myself in the king’s prison.”

Thief—Before braving the temple of the Aracthus.

Come Wayward Souls—Inside the temple.

History Has Its Eyes On You—The answered prayer for silence.

The Queen and the Soldier—“You are more beautiful, Your majesty... But she is more kind.”

I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)—Walking to Eddis.

Stand By Me—“Oh, It’s you, Eugenides.”

Family—Helen, Eugenides, and the Minister of War.

“Destruction”—Dread Sovereign

The Queen of Attolia

Run Boy Run—The chase through the palace.

Icarus—Eugenides, caught.

When the Chips are Down—“I still think tradition might hold the best solution to my problems with you.”

Achilles Come Down—Eugenides, after returning to Eddis.

Heroes—The Secret War and the expectation that Eugenides will die soon.

Burn It Down—Burning Sounis’s navy.

Sit Still Look Pretty—“It was her fiancé who gave her the name shadow princess.”

Heroes and Thieves— “She pulled the bedclothes up as far as they would go and suppressed a perverse wish to have her old nurse come to chase away the darkness, perverse because she didn’t know if she wanted the shadows to be empty or not.”

Thousand Eyes—The plan to take Ephrata.

We Remain—“There’s an easier way for a man to become king,”

Black Water—“She reached up to push the wet hair out of her face, wondering when she had sunk so low that she had begun torturing boys.”

Simple Song—"I watched you walking between the rows of cabbages and then dancing under the orange trees. I was above you, in one of the trees.”

She’s Always a Woman—"Eugenides had accepted gladly and read carefully, trying to see whether Attolia could be the monster in human guise she was accused of being, or only a woman who ruled without the support of her barons.”

Queen of Peace—“Just asleep,” Eddis reassured her.”

I’m Not Calling You A Liar—“I sometimes believe his lies are the truth, but I have never mistaken his truth for a lie.”

Losing My Religion—“You made a mistake,” Attolia agreed. “You trusted your gods. That was your mistake.”

Pompeii—The vision of the volcano.

All I’ve Ever Known—“Love I am not familiar with.”

Love Love Love—"Who am I, that you should love me?

A Healing In This Night—“And she believed him.”

The King of Attolia

Bow to the Crown— “He dropped to his knees before his queen and lowered his head almost to the floor.”

Shut up and Dance—"Her queen danced like a flame in the wind”

Carry Your Throne— It was not a kiss between strangers, not even a kiss between a bride and a groom. It was a kiss between a man and his wife.”

It’s Alright—"If it was embarrassing to wake like a child screaming from a nightmare, how much more embarrassing to be the reason your husband woke screaming.”

Believer—“like a god revealed” and the fall of the house of Erondites.

I CHOOSE YOU— “He was very likable—Eddis would have married him.”

Hunger— “I did not say that I am afraid. He is, though, I think. Afraid of his own desire for power.”

Soft to Be Strong—"I have learned that there is a flaw in your philosophy. If we truly trust no one, we cannot survive.”

Gold—Eugenides on the crenellations.

True & Destined Prince—“He is an Annux, a king of kings.”

“Knife Dance”—Human

A Conspiracy of Kings

Things We Lost In The Fire—The raid on the villa.

Constellations—Sophos and Moira in the dream library.

Welcome Home, Son—“I didn’t want a choice; I wanted to stay right where I was and build walls and share poetry with an avid audience and enjoy a swim with friends, but I didn’t want it to be my choice.”

Words as Weapons— “Eugenides looked me in the eye as if I were a complete stranger and said, “The simplest way to end a war is to admit you have lost it.”

Share Your Address— “You made a proposal in your previous letter. Perhaps it was only hypothetical?” “It was not.”

I Love You—“When I was working in the fields, I knew how unfounded my hopes were,” he said. “I was a poor excuse for an heir of Sounis when I made the proposal and then became even less than that.”

Iron—“I will go to Melenze. And hope to delay the Medes long enough to find some other solution to their imperial expansion. Of course, that assumes the king and queen of Attolia intend to honor the laws of hospitality and allow me to travel safely to the border.”

Young Volcanoes—“Just what makes you think you can get away with that?” he asked the young man standing over him with a butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth expression incongruous on his scarred face.”

The Fates—Sophos’s naïve speech before the first vote.

Handmade Heaven—Shooting Hanaktos and Akretenesh, lifting a hand to the sky for a lightning bolt that will not come.

I Bet My Life—"There is no reason I can see that I would not be honored to join Eddis to you.”

Flaws—“Eddis stared at him for a long time, knowing that forgiving someone because you have to is not forgiving him at all.”

For The Dancing And The Dreaming—“Are you certain that you want to be my wife?” “Absolutely,” said Eddis, quietly. “Eternally certain.”

Blood Brothers—"He had been saved by the men Eugenides sent, though he did not yet know the ferocity with which the king of Attolia had stripped those men from other posts, the capital he had expended, the secrets that had been revealed in order to send help to Sounis.”

Thick as Thieves

I’ll Believe In Anything—"If there had been any alternative, I would have taken it, but I could see none, and there was no time for hesitation.”

You’ve Got A Friend In Me—“Head wounds bleed, but we can stitch it up, I’ve done it before, don’t be afraid. Kamet, I wouldn’t tell you this if it weren’t true. I swear to you, I am not going to leave your dead body beside the road to Perf. I didn’t come all the way to this godsforsaken cesspit so that I could go home and tell my king I failed him.”

Desert Song—Costis and Kamet crossing the empire, eating caggi.

Empire—"It would be possible, I supposed, for an outsider to see disruption and think the empire might collapse, but it was too all encompassing, too well sewn together to come apart. As each smaller nation was absorbed, it was integrated into the whole, enjoying all the benefits of being in the empire.”

Fell In Love With A Girl—Kamet’s story of Marin the dancing girl.

Foreigner’s God—Kamet’s encounter with Ennikar while Costis is in the well.

The Hell If I Go Home—Kamet trying to leave in Sukir.

Stray Italian Greyhound—“If you had told me in Sukir, I would have let you go.” / “Costis,” I said, using his name for the first time since he had told it to me, on board the riverboat at the start of our journey. “Costis, I’m sorry.”

Poet—"I began this narrative in the palace of Attolia but have only recently neared its completion. I will eventually send it to Relius, when I am sure it can be delivered without interception, and I hope he will be satisfied with my account, as I would be honored to have it added to his library.”

All This And Heaven Too—“Immakuk and Ennikar,” he said. “Where?” I snapped my head around to scan the dock, and he nudged me with his elbow. “Idiot. Us,” he said.”

Return of the Thief

How Far We’ve Come—Exordium.

The Great Escape—Pheris finding a place for himself.

The Heart Is a Muscle—“Someone loves me very much, even with all my faults”

I Will Wait—“His heart is unlikely to be in his work.”

Laughter Lines—Relius and Teleus saying goodbye.

Stole You Away—“Attolia says she leaves with you”

Poison & Wine—“I think they have to show their worst selves sometimes”

United at War—“Sounis will not run…nor Eddis.”

This is War—Arrival at Leonyla.

No Light, No Light—“All wars make men monsters, all wars and all men.”

Survivor’s Song—The Etisian winds came early.

Daniel in the Den—The ambush and the Mede Camp.

Monster—“Nahuseresh tells me I am not king. We’ll see if he really prefers the Thief.”

Natural—“Once, when I said he had saved me, you said I had saved him. From what?”

Tomorrow I Leave For Battle—Before the Naupent.

March of Cambreadth—The Naupent.

Courage Knows No Bounds—A pyre that burned for three days.

Bad Blood—The pardon of Sejanus.

Call the Names—The naming of Hector and Eugenia.

Here’s To Us—Dancing on the Roof.

I lived—Pheris, and the gods were pleased.

“Alyta’s Missing Earring”—Falling and Empire

final note: I did my best to have songs have at least one meaning in the pace they were put, plus more meaning when considering the series as a whole—for example, “Tin Soldier” appears early on in the context of the king of Sounis and the Magus using Gen as a tool, but if you loop back around to it after Return of the Thief, Gen being “weapon more than child” gains a whole new meaning. "She’s always a woman” is an Irene song in the context of QOA, but the more we learn about Helen, the more it applies to her, etc. etc. Not every song is like that, but I wanted to give the playlist at least a bit of re-listen value, in the spirit of the books’ reread value.

#TQT #QT #ROTT #return of the thief #the queen's thief #the thief #the queen of attolia #the king of attolia #a conspiracy of kings #thick as thieves #Spotify playlist

22 notes · View notes

songfell-ut · 5 years

Text

Chapter 2, bc this is happening

Yo. I’m charging ahead on this project because I’m a terrible mother and my kid is getting a lot of (educational) screen time during the day while my husband works from home and I get this written. It remains based on this comic by @lostmypotatoes. It’s so long that I split off the end and it’s mutating into Chapter 3. Lots of talking, with Stuff to come of it very soon, no worries.

Now featuring a cut! Thanks (what’s an easy nickname for you? “Lost”? “‘Tatoes?”) for the tip on how to very easily do that.

Lastly, I have login shenanigans to deal with, and have been chatting with Lost (?) using @ikustioa on my phone, so I suppose that’s my blogging/personal handle now. Anyway, here we go:

Three nights later, Sans woke with a jerk. Someone in the next room was sobbing. It wasn't a memory or nightmare, he realized a moment later, and it wasn't the priestess; it was a small child, crying so hard that it could barely breathe. Steeling himself, the boss monster slid out of bed and listened intently.

He heard a woman whisper something, and the child's sobs quieted as a familiar sound came through the door. It was the same humming that had de-powered his blaster the other day, though not the same tune. The skeleton took a moment to be sure that the glow in his eyes was out, then cracked the bedroom door open.

Frisk was kneeling, bare-headed, with her arms around a little boy of perhaps eight or nine years. In the light of one lamp on the worktable, Sans saw a dark patch of blood in the child's hair. Frisk glanced at the skeleton, giving him a wan smile, still humming. Sans closed the door enough that the child wouldn't see him.

The priestess waited till the boy had calmed down to the occasional sniffle, then leaned back and reached for something on the table. "I've got a treat for you," she said cheerfully. "Do you like peppermint?"

The child thought it over, and nodded.

"Wonderful, because that's exactly what this is. You'll feel better in no time." She held out a glass bottle. "You can have three big swallows, but only three, all right?"

Well played, Sans thought, framing it as something he got to have, not something he had to take. Sure enough, the little boy gulped it right down, smacking his lips as the young woman retrieved the bottle. "Good. Can you do something very important for me?" she asked. Nod, nod. "Can you lie down and count to one hundred? That'll make the magic work better. Let's go to my office."

The child went with her quite willingly. After a few minutes, the High Priestess re-emerged into Sans' field of vision. Her pleasant expression was gone, replaced with one that actually made him feel a little sorry for whoever had pissed her off. Then he remembered the blood on the kid's head. "Anybody you want me ta kill?" he asked through the door.

"Don't tempt me." Frisk jerked a sheet of paper from a stack on the desk, grabbed a pen, and began writing rapidly.

Sans checked the time. "God damn, what's that kid doing awake at two in the morning?"

"Being beaten." The pen scratched viciously across the page.

He decided to shut up. Frisk soon finished the message, blew the ink dry and folded the paper in thirds, then sealed it and marched to the outer door, where she woke up the guard on duty. Sans heard her reaming the guy about doing his job properly, serving a writ, and not letting a guy out of the castle. She came back in, only to return to the office.

This seemed to be typical for her, as far as Sans could tell, though it usually wasn't this dramatic or this late at night. If she wasn't off at church or giving him lessons, she was talking to someone who needed help and apparently couldn't get it elsewhere. He had yet to see her do something for fun, or sleep more than five hours at a time.

Meanwhile, his daily routine had been surprisingly low-key. The first day, after being flagrantly mind-controlled into agreeing to stay, he'd eaten some more, then slept for another dreamless twenty-four hours. The next morning, she'd let him have another pile of food, then started his apprenticeship by showing him the most common ingredients for potions and how to identify them by sight, as he couldn't smell and didn't have much sense of touch. Yesterday had been a review, emphasizing that a mistake could literally kill someone, and she'd given him a book of basic recipes, asking him to make a list of any ingredients he found that she hadn't already introduced.

It was kind of annoying to have homework, and he was starting to get cabin fever, but otherwise, the whole experience hadn't been too terrible. He was relieved and disappointed that she kept the veil on almost all the time, which reduced the distraction somewhat, though she persisted in having a fantastic shape, and he was really starting to enjoy the sound of her voice. When he could focus enough to ask questions, she was patient and encouraging, and let him use all the paper he wanted to write down the answers. She was obviously pleased that he cared enough to take notes, though not in a smug or irritating way; it just made her happy, and that made him...not unhappy.

It was also still novel to talk to a human who wasn't afraid of him. He hadn't seen many humans up here besides the little boy, and figured they were forbidden to come into her rooms unless they desperately needed help, or could sneak past a sleeping guard. That was fine with Sans, though he'd overheard one cleaning lady being so persistent that he really wanted to come out of the bedroom and tell her to piss off. Unsurprisingly, Frisk had asked him to not do that.

There were only a few real mysteries so far. One was a pile of letters she'd brought in on the second day and tossed into a basket of also-unopened envelopes standing by the roaring fireplace in her workshop. He'd caught her looking at the basket a couple of times, as if debating whether to burn them all, but she never did it, or opened any in front of him.

The biggest question was how she knew he could teleport, and the nature of his blue magic, even if was getting more red than blue these days. He had unthinkingly used the latter to grab a couple things yesterday, and his magic had almost immediately died out. He didn't know exactly how she was doing it, but her barriers weren't just blocking him in: they kept his power so muted that he couldn't have summoned a single bone. It seemed that he'd be allowed to use some magic to make the actual potions, and that was it.

Well, there was time to worry about that later. The injured kid had made him think of Kris again, which made him think of the book passage Frisk had quoted at him. He'd have to ask if she...wait, no, he didn't have to ask. She'd given him carte blanche to read anything he found in her bedroom or workshop. Sans tapped the nearest witchlight on, noting that it was much weaker than the ones Underground, and started perusing the shelves.

Fifteen minutes later, Frisk knocked on the door, waiting for him to grunt acknowledgement before she came in. "I'm sorry for waking you," she said, dropping into her chair with a deep sigh. "There's going to be hell to pay in the morning."

She did look like hell, with bags under her eyes and a smear of blood on her cheek. Sans put the book down and tapped his own face, and she got the hint, rubbing her cheek with the back of her hand. "Ugh. That poor child." She sighed again, curling up and resting her head on the arm of the chair. "I'll wash up in a minute."

"Didn't you just get back from a thing?" he asked, wondering if she was always this cavalier about bodily fluids.

"Yes. His Holiness decided we needed more midnight services, and I have to be there every other night." She rubbed her eyes. "Flynn must have followed me back here. People aren't supposed to know where I live, but word is spreading. At this rate, I'll have to move again."

Sans drummed his fingertips on the bedpost. She'd found an oversized stool to use in the workshop, but there were no armchairs big enough for him, so he spent most of his leisure time on the bed. "Bein' High Priestess sucks. How long ya been at it?"

"Three years. The last Thea was assassinated, and they had to find a replacement as fast as possible. Out of all the minor priestesses available, I was the only one who passed all the tests. It's been...instructive."

"Hm." That didn't surprise him. A human strong enough to block a boss monster's focused attack had to be pretty rare. "How old are ya, anyway?" he asked, suddenly curious.

Her eyes shut. "Twenty-two. I was educated in a convent, ordained at sixeen, High Priestess at nineteen." A mighty yawn was partly hidden in her arm. "Lucky me."

Sans didn't know much about humans, but he was pretty sure that was young as hell for so much responsibility. The problem was that she was good enough to handle it, which meant they'd pile on more and more until she went nuts. "Nah, it sucks ta be you. Any way you can get out of it?"

"Well," she mumbled, eyes still closed, "I can die, or marry, or go back to the convent and become the Mother Superior, which would also be until I die." Frisk yawned again. "The Feast of All Saints is next week. That's when the last High Priestess was murdered."

Something prickled up Sans' spine. "You spend all yer time doin' church stuff, kissing babies and healin' puppies or whatever. Why the hell would anyone wanna kill you?"

"I meant it when I said I have influence in the Church and at court. I don't hate monsters, which is inconvenient for several people, and I'm not quiet about it, which is extremely inconvenient for many more of them. Besides, my natural father is very wealthy, and his other childr—"

"'Natural' father?" he queried. "What, do some humans have unnatural kids?"

Her eyes opened. She looked lovely in the soft light, but troubled and sad, so much that he wished he hadn't asked. "I'm illegitimate. My father never married my mother, and our life was...bad. Very hard, for a very long time." The priestess rubbed her fingertips together, as if seeing more dried blood. "He was a very busy man, but he only has one legitimate heir. After his second wife died, he started tracking down his children born out of wedlock, and it's an open secret that he'll leave each of us a large amount after he passes."

"And whoever's left gets a bigger piece of the pie?" Sans guessed.

"Exactly. As far as I know, there were fourteen or fifteen of us, but magic runs in his side of the family, and most of his children became sorcerers. Almost all of my half-brothers have been killed fighting monsters. Two of my half-sisters blew up in an experiment that went wrong. There are only six of us left, including the—his heir."

Sans' eyes narrowed. "What is it with humans an' explodin' stuff by accident?"

He couldn't read the look on her face. "If we knew the answer to that, history would have taken a much better course."

Of course, that made him think of Kris again. It seemed pretty inevitable, so he might as well ask... "I don't s'pose," he mumbled, "there's a record of the humans who went t'the Underground on that last trip? Maybe what happened to 'em after they got back?"

Frisk raised her head a little. "That depends. We know exactly which nobles, sorcerers, and other dignitaries attended. Do you mean one of them?"

"Nah, this was a servant, I think. Prob'ly. I dunno." The skeleton felt his eyes lighting up again. "He was only 4 or 5. S'comin' up on thirteen years ago, so he'd'a grown up by now."

The priestess frowned. "No one that young was in attendance, so far as I know, and I've read every account that I could find. May I ask why you want to know?"

"Nah." Sans flexed his hand around the bedpost. "Forget it."

Frisk sighed, carving a design into the plush chair with her thumbnail. "Well, I'm afraid the answer is no. There's no record of the servants who came along, except the ones who were killed, and that didn't include any children. You'd have to check with each of the—" She sat up. "Wait. I know someone who was there—my mother. Do you want me to ask her?"

"Hell yes, I do!" Sans' hand tightened, splintering the bedpost. He guiltily released it. "Did she talk much about it? What all did she tell ya? Can I ask 'er a coupla things?"

The priestess laughed, quieting him with a wave of her hand. "Sans, please! She's been very sick recently, and I don't want to excite her too much. I will ask her anything you need to know, thank you. And yes, she talked about it to anyone who'd listen. She's the one who told me all about monsters, and what you're actually like."

Sans sat forward, but she forestalled more questions with another gesture. "First, her name is Rosa. Did you ever meet her?"

It did sound familiar. "I think so. Little, blonde, wore her hair up?"

"That's her. She would've been in charge of any children they brought along, but she never mentioned any of them to me." Frisk tapped her finger on the chair arm. "She did say there were things she wasn't allowed to talk about. She worked for the Duke as a nurse, and she would never disobey him."

He wondered for a moment if that meant the guy was Frisk's father, but was too excited to dwell on it. "What'd she say about us?" he asked curiously.

Frisk hesitated. "Well...she didn't talk very much with individual monsters, but she said the Queen was very kind and made sure to tell each of the humans how glad she was to have them visit. The King was also very courteous. He tried his best not to frighten anyone, and he thought it was rude that the servants weren't allowed to eat with the nobles."

Sans' foot started tapping. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he reluctantly stopped. "Who else?" he demanded.

The next moment, they both heard the office door open into the workshop. "Miss?" came a plaintive voice.

Frisk was at the bedroom door in an instant. "What is it, Flynn?" She closed the door most of the way.

Damn it all to hell. Sans grumpily listened to the child explain that he'd scratched his head and sorry, there was blood on the couch now. Frisk explained that wounds got itchy as they healed, and to please not scratch it, and that it would be much better to wipe his hands on the towel she'd put down than on the furniture. Then he had to be cleaned up again and a bigger bandage applied, and someone was sent for to take the boy somewhere he could sleep safely.

A thought stabbed at him as he listened to the proceedings: that was how she knew he could teleport and zip things around without touching them. King Asgore had insisted the monsters show off their powers in various amusing ways so that the humans would be less afraid of their magic. Sans thought it was a bad idea at the time, and look what came of it!

Frisk eventually came back to the bedroom, drying her hands on her skirt. "Let's cut t'the chase," Sans said quietly as she sat down. "Did she tell ya about any skeletons?"

"Yes." Frisk folded her hands and looked straight at him. "Two brothers, Sans and Papyrus."

Sans laced his fingers together to avoid accidentally destroying anything else. "And...?"

"She liked them very much," Frisk said calmly, "especially Papyrus. Sans was friendly, but she said he watched their every move, and it made them nervous." The priestess smoothed her skirt over her knees. "Papyrus was a joy to be around. He was very full of himself, but there wasn't a mean bone in his body, and he considered it his duty to welcome the humans as much as possible. My mother talked about him more than any other monster." She coughed. "Apparently, his spaghetti was terrible."

"...Sounds about right."

Frisk looked at him sharply. "I wanted to ask you about that, but...are you all right?"

Sans couldn't answer. He'd avoided thinking too much about home, especially the fact that he'd already been gone for a week when he got caught. It'd been easy to tell himself that he could always bust out of here if he needed to, or that the lady would let him send a message or even go have a quick visit before coming back here, but...

"Are you Papyrus' brother?" Frisk asked.

"Yeah," he ground out.

The priestess shook her head. "I don't understand. R—Mother said that Sans was shorter than any of the humans who came to the Underground, and the only boss monsters mentioned in the official histories are Asgore and Toriel. Can you tell me what happened? I wasn't sure if you were the same skeleton, you seem so diff—"

"A lot of shit happened, that's what." Sans lurched to his feet, and she had to tip her head back to look up at him. His sockets were glowing again. "Ya know what? I'm tired, an' you look like crap. Time for night-night." He jerked the door open, rattling the hinges. "Good luck cleanin' up. Blood's a bitch to get out. Trust me, I know."

She rose quietly, folding her hands in the style he recognized from the very first time he'd seen her. "All right, then. Good night, Sans," she said, and walked past him, out of the room.

He didn't slam the doors shut behind her, but it was pretty close.

Once she had control of herself again, Frisk wiped her eyes and resumed scrubbing the couch. She kept glancing underneath it, and as she threw yet another towel into the laundry basket, she decided, To hell with it, and pulled the couch aside. A nearly invisible seam in the floor showed where a board could be pried up to access her hidden safe. There was no lid, no lock, and no key, just a solid golden film that vanished when she pressed her thumb into its center.

The High Priestess surveyed the contents: several tight-folded papers, a bag of high-value dinar, a sack of silver ingots, a few pieces of jewelry, and a small box. She selected the box and removed its rosewood lid to reveal a tiny glass orb, something swirling around on its surface like smoke. She stared at it for so long that her knees began aching, but she didn't notice. Her vision blurred again, and she jammed the lid back on the little box, shoving everything back into the safe, re-sealing it, thumping the floorboard into place and pushing the couch back. Not today, she told herself fiercely. She didn't care what Sans said or how he acted. It couldn't be worth it. Nothing could!

The next day, after a late breakfast, Frisk quizzed him on the differences between various herbs and powdered animal bits and their uses; they looked over the list he'd made of new ingredients, going through the recipes and identifying how each item worked in each potion. That was the first time she demonstrated how to mix and infuse something, and the first time she warned him, "You have to be careful how you feel when you make potions. Intent is always important when you're using magic—you fully intend to cause damage, and I fully intend to protect, which is why we're good at what we do, yes?"

He shrugged philosophically, and she half-smiled. "Well," she continued, "it's similar when you're making something for someone else to take. If you're in a foul mood and you want to cause harm, or you simply don't want the person to get better, you might as well be concocting poison, or giving them water. Of course, your feelings don't matter if you're just throwing herbs into a pot, but these work as well as they do because you're putting a tiny bit of yourself into it. You have to make sure that it's a good bit."

"Pretty sure all my bits are bad by now," Sans remarked. "How's about I make some poison instead?"

Frisk shook her head, leaning over the table. "No one is all bad, Sans. Here." She took the glass stirrer out of the miniature cauldron bubbling away in the middle of their workspace. "I'll infuse it now. Watch."

He did observe closely as she bent forward, though probably not the way she'd intended; he just made sure he was looking at the potion when she glanced up at him. "Try thinking of someone you care for, and imagine it's for them." She opened her hand over the cauldron and, to his surprise, let out a low whistle, piercingly sweet.

A mote of light drifted from her palm and settled into the mixture. It seemed to sparkle for a moment, then resumed being a potion. When he concentrated, though, he could feel a little tingle of magic in it. "I won't ask you to try it till you have better control of your emotions," she said. "Right now, you're so angry that I don't know what would happen."

A different note had crept into her voice. Sans shifted his bony weight on the stool. "S'not like I can help it."

"Perhaps," she said. "You probably don't even notice it anymore. It's become a part of you, through whatever stuff has happened since the humans left the Underground. And before you ask, my mother is ill again. We can't speak with her until she's better."

There it was; he'd wondered if she was going to pretend he'd never snapped at her. "Well, you can only ask me so many personal questions before I get touchy, lady. Frisk." He tapped the worktable a couple of times. "Look, I know ya have a lot on yer plate, an' havin' to deal with me isn't much help. I just want t'know...is there any way to tell the others I'm not dead or somethin'? My brother's gotta be out of his mind by now, and I don' want someone comin' after me and gettin' caught."

Frisk shook her head, and his SOUL sank to the floor. "I'm sorry, Sans, but that's out of the question," she said, soft but firm. "Our King has forbidden any humans from coming within a day's walk of the entrance to the Underground, and let's be very honest—what would happen if a human came up to you out of nowhere and said they had an important message to give the monsters?"

Sans' jaw clenched so hard that the priestess put her hand out, not quite touching his arm. "Sans, please. If there was any way to—"

"Forget it, okay? Just...never mind." The skeleton glared at the windows facing out from the workroom. Like everything else in this damn place, they were too small for him to fit more than his head through. He'd gone through this in his own mind a dozen times: even if he could break through the wood and stone, he could sense the barrier set behind the wall to block his shortcuts. The one along the outside wall was heavier than the ones in the bedroom, which were permeable, purely there to track his movements. It was debatable whether this one could be physically broken with...something, but the moment he tried, she would know he was trying and stop him with a stronger barrier.

Hmm. What if...what if he waited till she wasn't here and couldn't get back in time to stop him? If he broke through when she was distracted, and far enough away – say, doing her church stuff in the middle of the night – then there wouldn't be much she could do. He could escape and decide later whether he wanted to come back or—

Wait. Come back? What the hell was he thinking? Why would he choose to be locked up by any human? No matter how pretty, and gutsy, and sweet and nice-voiced and...

Crap.

Anyway. He wouldn't come back. He'd have to be sure to grab his notes and a few books for Alphys; Frisk could always get more copies. He already had plenty to report to King Asgore, though he felt a little uneasy about letting ol' Gorey know that the most powerful barrier-making human was a determined sorceress whose SOUL could probably make you invincible. Actually, he felt a lot uneasy. Maybe he'd keep that to himself for now.

Too bad he couldn't bring her with him...

"...ans. Sans?" Frisk was touching his radius. She'd lifted her veil, large brown eyes turned up to his. "Are you all right?"

Sans studied her for a long moment, reflecting that Papyrus had always wanted a pet. The idea was more appealing than he'd have liked to admit; he had to dismiss it with a shake of his head, and shake it again to get it loose. "'m fine, kid. Remind me what this stuff was for?" After all, he thought darkly, he'd always told Pap no. Pets were too much trouble, especially if you got attached to them. Besides, what would they feed her?

A knock on the outer door startled them both. Before Frisk could respond, the door opened, and in strode a tall, thin man in dark robes, holding a box under his arm. "High Priestess. Honored guest," the man said in a cool, whispery voice, giving them a short bow.

"Dr. Serif? This is a surprise," the High Priestess responded, replacing the veil as she stood up. "I wasn't expecting you so early. Sans, this is Dr. Serif, the royal sorcerer. Doctor, please meet Sans the skeleton."

The man regarded Sans with mild curiosity. "I am very pleased to see you again, Sans the skeleton. Has Her Eminence been treating you well?"

"Uh...yeah," said Sans, nonplussed. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

The royal sorcerer bowed again. He was unnervingly pale, the effect enhanced by dark eyes and long black hair framing his face. "I helped transport you from your cell to this room."

"It took magic," Frisk said helpfully.

He'd figured as much; magic was the only way humans could do any damn thing. The boss monster looked at the box under the doctor's arm, which had a strange feel to it. He couldn't tell what it was, but he knew he didn't like it.

"This is for you, as we discussed, Your Eminence," the man said smoothly. "I will leave it in your office."

Frisk looked so uncomfortable that Sans glanced at the sorcerer, but nothing was visibly wrong. The man ignored them both, striding past the table and opening the door to her office. They heard rustling, and the doors closing as he stepped back into the workroom. "That will be all. Good day, my lady, Sans." With another bow, the doctor turned and left.

"Weirdo," said the ten-foot skeleton. He found he didn't want to look away from the door lest the guy come back and catch him unawares. He hadn't been threatening, but something about him was very off.

"He's...unique." Frisk sat down again. "Now, this infusion is almost ready. We'll leave it at room temperature for another ten minutes or so before we stir it again. In the meantime, you can add two drops of peppermint oil, mint, orange or lemon extract..."

The rest of the day passed without major incident. Frisk had to stop in the middle of concocting a burn salve and leave Sans to finish it, though she cautioned him not to infuse it yet. She rather envied him; she had to walk to the other side of the castle to go over her parish's monthly accounts, balancing foot-long columns of tiny numbers to check that tithes and alms had come in and gone out properly. They never quite did, though it had gotten better in the past year, as she had made it increasingly clear that she was not interested in stealing from the poor or turning a blind eye to it, even for a few hundred extra dinar in her own column.

The attempts at bribery were particularly insulting because she didn't need it. The realm's High Priestess was entitled to half a percent of the Church's total monthly income, and through the magic of frugality and compound interest, her personal fortune had grown to the point where she didn't want to use any of it. Life was so strange; as a small child, she had only eaten once every couple of days, and now she could decide not to buy her own estate and maintain a huge staff for it.

She was starting to wonder, though, about a rumor she'd heard regarding several hundred acres of land that would supposedly be up for sale in the next few months. They were principally wheat and barley fields, no more than two days' walk from the Underground's main entrance. That was food for thought, indeed.

Frisk eventually finished and stopped by the kitchens on her way back to her room. Sans was still wary of what he ate, and she took care to have more than one damned fork now when she tasted his food for him. She wasn't worried for herself: if she didn't have time to eat in the kitchen, she routinely paid several of the staff a bit extra to make sure that everything they brought her had come straight from the pot or the pan, with no chance for someone to add any surprises.

That had felt hypocritical at first, but she'd soon realized that she couldn't rely on people's consciences or sense of duty to keep her safe. Many, like the guard captain, were loyal for loyalty's sake, but many more of them needed external motivation, and she was helping the cooks and servers support their families. And she wasn't literally stealing from orphans to do it!

An overstuffed basket sat outside her chambers, and the guard hastened to open the door and push it inside for her. Frisk carried the tray to the table, setting it by Sans' elbow as he compared nearly identical recipes in two separate books. Then she dragged the laundry basket over, pulling a sail-like garment out end over end. "Here you are," she said around an armful of fabric.

The skeleton looked up, scowling at the interruption. "Wha?"

"This is for you." Frisk tried to hold up an enormous shirt, then an enormous set of trousers. "I had them measure your clothes when we washed them for you. They made you another set."

Sans slowly got up and took the shirt from her, holding it against himself. It was sturdy linen, almost as thick as the canvas shirt he wore now and much softer. The skeleton turned it this way and that, poking the material. "What's this for?"

Pause. "It's a shirt," said Frisk. "It goes on the top half of your body. Humans need it for protection against the elements, and modesty, but for you, it's principally so that you have a shirt on."

He acknowledged her smartassery with a respectful nod. "I mean, wasn't this a pain to make? I hope nobody expects me t'pay fer this. Not my fault if what I got on ain't pretty enough for ya."

"Oh, it was. Getting something that size made up so quickly cost me more than I paid for all the clothes I've had this year combined. But you're not a slave, you're my apprentice. That means you're working for me, and I'm keeping track of your wages. It'll take a while to pay this off—" Frisk stuck her arm through one of the trouser legs, flapping it to shake it out. "—but I think you'll manage it before you leave."

Sans had another odd expression. "Yer payin' me for the stuff I make? I thought apprentices were the ones payin' to learn."

"I consider the knowledge you'll bring back to the Underground to be your apprenticeship fee, and as this arrangement wasn't your idea in the first place, we're bending the rules," she said patiently. "I see you've made three sets of burn salve, two of which look useable, and you're almost done with a cough elixir. Fair market value for those is about ten dinar total, so minus the infusion I'll do for you, you've earned about seven already."

"Hm." He scratched the side of his head. "What am I payin' you for my food?"

Frisk laughed, shaking out the other leg. "The pleasure of your company." At his blank stare, she shook her head and uncovered the tray. "No one charges their apprentice for room and board, Sans." The priestess put down the trousers, picked up the fork and leaned in for a bite of baked fish.

The skeleton pulled the tray away, making her stab the table instead. "If I owe ya money, you're definitely not gonna poison me," he pointed out, and began shoveling it in.

"You're right," Frisk said gravely, trying and failing to hide her grin. "I'm glad you've had time to mullet over."

Sans pounded the table with his free fist, rattling the glass vials. "Might as well, just for the halibut. Right?"

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand. "That was weak. Think of a better one and let minnow," she said around it.

"You're right," he said, and waited for her to take a bite before he added, "We really need to scale back."

They had to stop laughing long enough to eat. By the time dinner was over and Frisk had carried the dishes out, both were relaxed enough to be sleepy. "Dunno why I keep wantin' to go t'bed, all I've done is read 'n catnap," mumbled Sans, trudging into the bedroom and flopping onto the mattress. "'m not even usin' my damn magic."

"You're eating human food, so your body is getting more nutrition and working harder to process it," Frisk pointed out, settling into her chair. "Mother said the humans all had to eat more to stop being hungry Underground." She tried not to burp out loud. "Besides, you're probably still recovering from the energy you spent being captured and then trying to kill me. Thrice."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that." The skeleton stretched all the phalanges of his toes, flexing them in turn. "Probably won't do it again," he added truthfully.

"Thank you." Frisk also stretched her legs out, Sans noticing how absurdly tiny her feet were as she got up from her chair with the recipe book. She reached down to dog-ear the page they were on. "Well, I—"

He whisked the book out of her hand and flipped it open to smooth the page out. "Use a bookmark, woman! What are ya, some kinda barbarian?"

"It's an old book! They're all creased anyway," she argued, trying to take it back. He held it over his head, roughly a mile out of reach. "All right, then, fine," she said with a smirk. "I'm going to take a bath. Read through and find five more ingredients to discuss when I get back." She shut the door on quiet skeletal griping, smiling to herself.

The next day passed in a similar fashion, at least outwardly. Frisk took careful note of everything Sans made, ignoring his suggestion to dock him the price of the ingredients when he screwed up; luckily, he was catching on fast, even if she wouldn't let him infuse anything yet. She also wouldn't tell him how much his new clothing had cost, saying only that she'd let him know when he broke even. What really got his attention was her adding, "If you make enough money, we'll send a few bushels of wheat back with you. No one can be upset that you were gone for so long if you come bearing gifts, can they?"

Sans was glad he didn't have facial muscles or anything similar to betray his inner turmoil. He'd had a lot of second thoughts last night about bashing his way out of here, due in small part to the new outfit and the possibility of bringing food to the Underground, but mostly because she was working her brain-magic on him again, being attractive and kind and easy to talk to like the terrible, sadistic person she was...not. She was not remotely terrible or sadistic, and that was the problem. He still didn't understand it, or how it was getting worse so much quicker than he'd anticipated. He just wanted to get away before she entangled him any further.

Then he'd started thinking of Snowdin right before he fell asleep, and for the first time since he'd been captured, he had dreamed of home. He dreamed their house was cold and dark, with no one upstairs and a single light on in the kitchen. A female form was silhouetted in the kitchen doorway, hands on hips, facing something slumped over the side of the couch. "C'mon, Pap. He's probably just out on another hunting trip," she argued.

"...IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER?" The thin, nasal voice hurt Sans' SOUL, and not just because he'd desperately wanted to hear it again. This wasn't his boisterous, indomitable, recklessly cheerful brother; this was a small, heartsick Papyrus, one Sans hadn't seen or heard in a long, long time. The last time it happened, at least Sans had been there for him. Now Sans was gone, too.

"Hunting animals, Papyrus! He's hunting animals. Not humans." The woman thumped the wall for emphasis, knocking little bits of plaster from the ceiling. Dammit, Sans had told her to quit doing that. "That's gotta be it. We don't eat humans, and he knows how bad the food situation is, right? So..."

"I DON'T CARE WHAT HE'S DOING. ...WELL. NOT MUCH." The skeleton heaved a sigh, raising his face from the couch cushion. "...UNDYNE, I...I CAN'T REACH HIM. IF HE'S ALL RIGHT, WHERE IS HE?"

And then something had seeped out of the darkness and gently enclosed Sans' mind, blotting out the dream like a sponge on spilled water. He had woken up knowing that it wasn't a dream, and was instantly enraged—he'd been so grateful that the nightmares had stopped, and too damn stupid to figure out that she'd set a barrier up against external influences, including dreams shared with Pap. He'd ponder the full ramifications of it blocking nightmares another day; the memory of his brother's expression had decided him. Agreement or no agreement, he was getting out of here tonight.

Of course, he couldn't pack up the stuff he needed before their lesson was done, or right afterward. He wasn't worried about giving himself away: as an accomplished bullshitter, he knew he was behaving perfectly normally. The moment dinner was cleared away, he called dibs on the bathroom, which had a nice, huge tub that he wanted to use one more time. When he was done and she'd gone in and locked the door – and after the usual stab of curiosity as to what she looked like outside of clothes – Sans quietly put everything he wanted into a satchel he'd found under the worktable, and stowed it behind the door in the bedroom, where he had to wait until she was done getting dressed.

The one odd thing was that after she emerged from her dressing room in her full priestess-y regalia, she went into her office and spent a few minutes doing nothing that he could hear, after which she was wearing a different brooch. She'd had a white one on the first day they met, but this one shone with a greyish light under her veil.

"Goin' so soon?" he asked carelessly. It was ten o'clock.

She smiled. "If my duties only included saying words and a few songs, I would sleep much easier. There's always someone to speak to before and after services."

"Gotcha. Well, have fun. 'm gonna read somethin' with a damn bookmark 'fore I go to bed—I forgot t'ask, mind if I try ta make a few things while you're not here?"

"Go right ahead. You'll pay for it if you burn down my workroom, so I'm trusting you to behave." Was he imagining a weird little inflection there? No, she looked totally wonderful. ...Normal. She looked totally normal. "Good night, Sans," she said, adjusting her veil.

"G'night, Frisk." He stretched out on the bed as she shut the door.

That was it, then. He might not ever see her again. It...wasn't a good feeling. In fact, it felt pretty bad. Time to quit feeling it, think of Pap, and focus on his plan of action.

The plan: well, for starters, it would be dumb to try breaking out immediately. He wished he knew exactly where the chapel was. He'd heard occasional church-type singing off in the distance, but that didn't give him an idea of how far away she'd be during the service, or for exactly how long. Instead, he watched the clock and fidgeted, as nervous as the first time he'd faced down a group of human sorcerers.

Maybe this was a dumb idea. Maybe he should just ask her to take down the barrier keeping him from dreaming with Papyrus, just for one night. She was too kind to refuse, and intelligent enough...

...to ask him for more information in exchange. Frisk knew he used to be a normal monster, and might think to ask if he'd always been able to speak across dreams; it wouldn't be too far a stretch for her to keep questioning how he became a boss monster. She'd also realize that if she let him communicate with other monsters, he could tell them several things that she would prefer they not know, including her identity and full capabilities. It was one thing for her to take a calculated risk and let him go back to the Underground with that information, or – much more likely – to make him forget it before he left; some humans had the ability to excise bits of memory like that. It'd be another thing entirely to permit a conversation that no one else could even hear. She was nice, not stupid.

So Sans waited until eleven forty-five, and then he sat in the workroom with the satchel looped around his wrist for another ten minutes, nerves humming. Then he got up, went to the double doors leading out of her rooms, and silently picked up a seven-foot decorative statue standing at the room's threshold, wedging it inward across the doorframe. He went back to the workroom, judged the weakest place in the outside wall, reared back, and slammed his fist directly between two of the windows.

Frisk had started to relax as the organist began playing and incense floated in the chapel air. She was opening her mouth for the first hymn when a warning note sounded in the back of her mind: the barrier to her workroom's outside windows was tingling, and then it suddenly burned away, the warning note sliding all the way up to a full-blown klaxon.

She gritted her teeth so hard that it hurt, controlling her expression with a supreme effort as the voice in her head screamed, Sans, you two-faced sack of fertilizer!

The only good thing about the situation was that she wasn't leading this service. Therefore, it was odd, but not completely conspicuous, when she stepped to the back of the choir, touched her new brooch, and vanished.

#frans this fic brought to you by ABC Mouse

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ranger-jedi-knight · 5 years

Text

A New Hero Ch 11

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887313/chapters/55650205 Tag List: @vixen-uchiha

I’ve done a bad. I’ve been forgettin to put TWEETS AT THE END OF THE CHAPS!! IM SO SORRY!! I’LL FIX IT BY STARTIN IT BACK UP!!! As you’ll see, I’m givin Gotham some love. It just seemed right to do it. Ok, so there’s goin to be a delay as my laptops charger port(n possibly also the cable cause fuck me apparently) failed finally where it won’t be seen let alone charge. So ya, I gotta use my phone for the majority of things(but on the lucky days that I can get my laptop to work yay! But ya), so sorry bout the delays. Here it is!

The batbois could only sigh as they swung around Gotham at night patrolling. The night was tough. They’ve each dealt with three muggings, a few robberies, drug bust each and Red Hood, Batman, and Robin all dealt with Penguin trying to rob the museum. Then Nightwing and Red Robin both talked about stopping potential rapists. So they were pretty tired after the fairly active night.

Don’t get them wrong, they know they’re lucky since this was one of the quieter nights in Gotham. They’ve faced worse nights. They’re all just glad that their patrol was almost done. Red Hood glared at the street as he watched two guys following a girl. He tapped Robin’s shoulder and the two started after the three.

Lana was absolutely tired. It was late. She should have been home hours ago sleeping. But no. She had to stay behind at school, then moved to a 24-hour cafe a few miles from the college(and her apartment a block from the college), for a group project and her group kept getting backtracked. She heard two people following her and took her phone out and raised it a bit to look behind her. It was two men in dark clothing with the hoods up. Her screen lit up showing the time. 1:32 AM.

She could only sigh at the reminder. She tugged her messenger bag’s strap up her shoulder as she walked. She soon stopped under a lamp, rolling her neck as she waited for the two men to reach her. She might as well deal with them so they didn’t follow her home. Her friends Bee and Cahaya were there waiting to do a sleepover, something she promised a week ago. They were saints for being ok to wait for her even though she told them it would take a while to finish the project. So ya, she didn’t want to risk them to the two perverts.

One man put his hand on her shoulder and started turning her while the other pulled out a knife to point at her. As he turned her to face them, she pulled her bag off her shoulder and swung it hard at the two. It hit the two men in the head and they stumbled back or to the side shocked. She then kicked the knife out of the shocked man’s hand and pulled the pen out from its place in her hair. The one that held the knife reacted first and she threw the pen as hard as she could and it caught his sweatshirt and pinned him to the telephone pole behind them.

The first man growled while the other one looked absolutely shocked at what she did. The first man then charged at her and she sidestepped him while grabbing his arm. As he went past her, she stepped behind him and twisted his arm up so that his hand was against the opposite shoulder blade. Lana grunted as she raised her right foot and kicked the small of his back, sending the man stumbling down onto his knees. She turned to the other one who threw the pen onto the ground.

She smirked as she pulled her fist back and punched the man hard in the nose. As the man fell against the phone pole clutching his nose, she rammed her elbow into his head dazing him. The first man wrapped his arms around her and picked her up. Her feet kicked out before he leaned over and her feet touched the ground once more. She threw her head back, hitting his nose, then rammed her elbow into his stomach and broke from his grip and kicked him hard in the crotch. He fell to his knees gripping there before glaring at her.

Jason was shocked. He and Damian had been staring as the girl, now identified as Lana Grayson, beat up her stalkers. When the man she kicked started getting up, they jumped down behind the guy and quickly take him down. While Robin tied up the two, he went over to Lana as she sagged a bit with a yawn. “Are you alright miss? That was quite the takedown you did before we came,” he said and Lana nodded and covered her mouth with her hand as another yawn left her.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” she mumbled out as she put her bag onto her shoulder once more. Red Hood nodded at the info.

“How come you’re out this late miss? You know it’s dangerous,” he asked this time and she just groaned.

“Classmates. We-*yawn*-had-have a group project for-*yawn*-class. Just...just finished it,” she answered rubbing her eyes. Now that the threat of being raped was gone, her tiredness came back full force. Thou she wished it waited until she was safe and sound in her dorm/apartment. Red Hood smiled as he watched Lana respond throu yawns, thou she couldn’t see it.

“Where’s your place?”

“Over-*yawn*-there,” she pointed to a complex still a mile away near the college and he nodded.

“I’ll escort you the rest of the way, miss. You look like you could fall asleep at any minute,” he offered and she nodded at that.

“Thank you-*yawn*-Hood,” she said before walking toward her place. Robin nodded and told the others what was happening, well giving better details that is since they did hear his voice just not the other persons, while Red Hood walked with her.

“Ok, understood. See you two back at the cave,” Nightwing said and the others grunted their responses. Red Hood stood in front of Lana’s building as she stood in front of the door opening it.

“Stay safe alright, miss?” he called and she gave a nod and smile before entering the building with a yawn. He stayed there until he lost sight of her entering the elevator and went back to Robin who had the two men tied to the light pole.

“Ready, Hood?” Robin asked and Red Hood nodded. The two then continued on and head back to the cave to meet with the others.

~~~~~~~~~~~~(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So Jay-bird, you ran into and helped Lana. Hmm?” Dick asked teasingly as they ate breakfast. Jason glared at Dick while Damian smirked to the side.

“Fuck off. All I did was make sure she got home safely after taking out her potential rapists. Damian helped with it,” Jason grumbled eating his breakfast.

“No need to get embarrassed, Jay-bird,” Dick said and Jason leveled a glare at him which had Dick’s smile lessening a bit.

“What’s to be embarrassed about, I helped her out as Red Hood, my job. But the thing we should be embarrassed about is how long it’s taking you and Babs to get married,” he retorted and Dick frowned with a blush, looking away. Tim and Steph snorted in response to that.

“Did you hear the news Damian? Mari’s class won the contest WE hosted,” Tim said and Damian smiled.

“Yes, I did. Mari called me to tell me the good news. For your information also, Mari asked for me to come to Paris for a few days to help finish a project they started last year,” Damian replied and his brothers nodded at that.

“Ah yes, the movie,” Jason responded and Damian nodded. “How are you helping them finish it?”

“Mari and her friends figured a good end would be for a person the main antagonist lied about showed up and exposed her,” he explained and his brothers nodded understanding. “Though, she also said she had a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Dick asked and Damian nodded.

“Yes, a surprise. She wouldn’t say who it’s for. Just that since I’ll be visiting it’d be hard to hide so she’s going to tell me. But I won’t be able to tell anyone else about it,” he explained taking his plate to the sink to clean it.

“Hope it’s a good surprise for the person,” Tim muttered.

“I’m sure it will be. This is Mari we’re talking about,” Damian countered which had the others nodding. “Now, I’ll be off, Ember and Jon said they have a surprise for me and I wish to get it over with as soon as possible.”

“Alright, brat. Have fun and don’t hurt them too much if you hate the surprise,” Jason teased out. “You know father hid the kryptonite. So Jon is safe until I locate it.”

“Well, Clark appreciates him hiding it,” Steph said and like that Clark came down into the kitchen smiling.

“I do appreciate it. And Damian, I know what the surprise is, I have a feeling you’ll really like it,” Clark said and Damian nodded to him before leaving the room to find his friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon @supersonsfriends

Looks like the surprise went well!! Welcome back, Rae!! #yess #thatwasnervewracking #sogladitwentwell #oldmentor *Damian hugging a dark skinned woman with her dark brown hair pulled into a braid, a rose hairpin holding her bangs back, a pink nose ring on the right side of her nose along with a lip piercing. Rea held him just as tightly. Jon and Ember(pale skinned with brown hair pulled into a bun, a scar over her right eye(gray eyes)) smiling at the camera while looking back slightly at the three*

Dick smiled at his phone and Alya smiled herself as she looked over his shoulder at that. “How sweet. Knew em back before moving in with Bruce?” she asked and he nodded.

“Ya, they were close. He didn’t know what happened to them when he came to Bruce. I’m glad they’re reunited,” Dick answered and Alya nodded agreement as she started working on the case they were assigned.

“I’ll be honest. I’m not sure how this case will end,” Alya said after a bit and Dick had to nod his agreement.

“Yeah. Cahaya’s attacker is slippery. Even with B’s help, I’m not sure if we’ll be able to do this,” Dick whispered looking around as he watched their supervisor Mr. Lingo work at his desk. The man was questionable, he seemed like the perfect fit for Liam Gravesworth, Cahaya’s attacker, to bribe into looking the other way and destroying evidence. Heaven knows he keeps trying to butt into their investigation and break their trust with Cahaya. The poor girl was so scared to tell Alya about the attack even though it’s been years. It took Lana and Bee’s reassurance for her to go forward to them.

They can’t blame her though. Liam was a businessman. Rich, slimy, and was able to buy basically everyone’s loyalty. Even Cahaya’s businessman friends had trouble finding any evidence. Even with Tim helping, they mostly only could find destroyed evidence. Tapes erased from the time and place it happened. Money trails carefully covered up. “Let’s talk elsewhere,” Alya mumbled out and Dick nodded agreement.

“Alright, come on,” Dick replied and the two left the precinct. Their coworkers were speaking Spanish to each other or mumbling it. Mr. Lingo apparently was obsessed with everyone speaking Spanish fluently and didn’t like it if someone had been ignoring the app. It was freaky for them. At least Gordon was looking into it himself. Once they had proof, Lingo would be gone.

They just needed proof that Gravesworth was bribing him.

But who knows how long that’ll take to get.

They sat down at a cafe nearby and Alya rested her chin on her interlaced fingers. “We may need to get someone on the inside,” she said and Dick nodded agreement.

“But who could do it. We need someone who isn’t well known. Do you know anyone that could do it?” Dick asked and Alya hummed in thought.

“Perhaps my boyfriend can help. He hasn’t met Cahaya yet so there’s a chance he could work well as a spy,” Alya said slowly and Dick nodded at that.

“He did a business degree correct?”

“Yes. He did a theatre and business, double major,” Alya said nodding and Dick nodded agreement.

“He could work. Contact him and ask. Once you know if he’s up to it, we’ll talk to Gordon,” Dick said and Alya nodded.

“Ok, sounds good. Now, I overheard you teasing Jason earlier. About saving Lana from rapists?” Alya asked giving Dick a small glare, daring him to lie.

“Ah, yes. She was out past 1 AM because of a class project. Two dudes followed her but she dealt with them and Jason and Damian quickly finished them off. Jason then escorted her home. She wasn’t hurt, don’t worry,” Dick explained and Alya nodded, giving a sigh.

“She’s probably right in not telling me,” Alya mumbled and Dick nodded agreement patting her hand.

“Yeah. You probably would have attacked them had she told you,” Dick said and Alya gave a light glare.

“Don’t have to say it. I already know that,” Alya grumbled and Dick laughed.

“Come on, we better get back before Lingo gets suspicious,” Dick said and Alya nodded, standing up.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t test me. Or I’ll tell Babs,” she said with a smirk and Dick sputtered.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” Alya said laughing as they made their way back to the precinct.

Mari-aculous @MDC_Designs

Can’t wait for the big surprise in a month!! #thisllbegreat #theyllbesohappy #onemonthleft #monthaway #surprise

Ok so here’s the next chap!! So ya, this was a kinda simple chap, wanted to go back to the others for a bit before the last chap of Paris. I hope you enjoyed it! Until next time u lovelies!!! -Love Willa<3<3<3

#fanfic #fanfic update #A New Hero #ANH #maribat #daminette #ml x dc #Alya Grayson #Lana Grayson #ocs #original characters #new chap #tweets #teasing #idk whatelse to tag

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longitudinalwaveme · 4 years

Text

Stormy Weather

Clyde Mardon sighed in exhaustion. His younger brother, Mark, had just called him and told him that he had been arrested for burglary-again-and that he needed bail- again.

“Mark, I can’t keep bailing you out like this. At some point, you’re going to have to take control of your own life.” He’d given Mark this speech about ten times before, but it clearly hadn’t sunk in yet.

“Maybe you’re right, Clyde, but I’m not smart like you. Can’t you help me out just one more time? Please?” Mark replied. Clyde groaned. He knew that Mark’s promises were completely empty, but the man was his brother, and he just couldn’t bring himself to abandon him.

“All right. But this is the last time. The next time you do something stupid, you’re on your own.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Clyde! You’re the best!”

“I’ll see you in thirty minutes or so. Good-bye.” Clyde grabbed his wallet, left his house, got into his car, and drove to Central City’s main police station. Upon arrival, he exited his car, walked inside, and found his ne’er-do-well brother locked in a cell.

“Hi, Clyde,” Mark said sheepishly. Clyde nodded to him and turned to the officers who were guarding the cell.

“Hello, officers. I’m here to post bail for him,” he said. The guards took Clyde to the appropriate office, and thirty minutes later, he and his brother were leaving the station together.

“What am I going to do with you?” Clyde asked his brother in annoyance. Mark smiled nervously.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding a bit embarrassed. The two brothers entered Clyde’s car as Clyde asked,

“What were you thinking?” Mark shrugged.

“Well, I lost this poker game and I really needed money….” Clyde groaned.

“So you decided to break into an innocent person’s house and steal their television set?” Mark nodded.

“Pretty much, yeah,” he said awkwardly. Clyde had to resist the urge to facepalm. “If you needed money, I could have gotten you a job,” he said as he buckled himself in.

“A job? No way, Clyde, that’s too much work. And besides, I’m too stupid to last more than a week in any job, let alone a smart person job like you have.” Clyde frowned. As much as he hated to admit it, his mother was right in calling Mark lazy and shiftless.

“Oh, Mark……” he murmured.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m a lazy bum. You’re right. But look, Clyde, nobody’ll ever be able to compete with you, so why bother trying? Stealing is much easier than attempting to find a job that could hold a candle to yours.”

“It might be easier in the short run, but if you get arrested enough times, you’ll get sent to prison and not just jail-and if you think that’ll be easier, you’re delusional,” Clyde told his brother. Why wouldn’t Mark listen? Why didn’t he ever listen?

“Can we just go to your place, please?” Mark asked, clearly trying to change the subject. Clyde decided not to press the issue further.

“Yes-as soon as you put on your seat belt,” he said. Mark complied, and Clyde drove back to his home in silence.

“Doesn’t it ever get lonely being out in the middle of nowhere like this?” Mark asked him as they pulled into his driveway.

“Not particularly. It helps me think.”

“What do you need help thinking for? You’re a genius!” Mark asked incredulously. Clyde paused, unsure of how to explain the concept to his attention-loving little brother.

“Well, as you know, I’ve never been crazy about all the attention I received when we were kids. It was nice to be appreciated, but I knew that a lot of the people who fawned over me wouldn’t have given me a second glance if I hadn’t been handsome and intelligent and popular, and I didn’t want to spend my entire life wondering if people liked me because I was a good person or because they liked the idea of being connected to a person who was always in the limelight, so I left,” he explained after a few seconds of thinking.

“You’re crazy! Why would you ever run away from everyone loving you?” Mark sounded so offended that Clyde might as well have told him that he ate small children.

“Because they didn’t love me-half of them didn’t even know me! They just liked the idea of my fame and the fame they thought I could bring to them through association.”

“I’d rather have everyone want me for the wrong reasons than have nobody want me at all,” Mark said longingly. Clyde laughed, although the situation really wasn’t very funny.

“What a pair we make. I have fame and I’d do anything to get rid of it, and you want fame but can’t get it-at least, not in a positive way,” he remarked. Mark smiled weakly.

“Wanna change lives?”

“Maybe if you clean up your act.” The brothers got out of the car and went into Clyde’s house.

“Nice place you got here. Very hermity,” Mark said, as though their conversation about fame had never happened.

“Well, it might not be the Ritz, but it has to be better than a jail cell.”

“Touché,” Mark said. An awkward silence ensued, and Clyde could only guess as to what his reprobate of a brother was thinking. Was he nervous about the jail term that he was almost certain to do? Was he mad that he’d gotten caught? Was he feeling guilty? As a boy, he had practically been able to read his brother’s thoughts, but now that they were, for all intents and purposes, strangers, he had no idea as to what his brother was thinking or feeling.

“So ...uh, what have you been up to?” Mark asked after about two minutes had passed.

“I’ve been working on a project that, if all goes well, could benefit mankind in endless ways. Unfortunately for you, the project is supposed to remain a secret to the public until I have completed it, so I can’t tell you more than that-and even if I could, I frankly don’t trust you enough to think that you wouldn’t try to use it for one of your hair-brained schemes,” Clyde replied. Mark laughed awkwardly.

“Yeah ...probably so,” he said, in a tone of voice that clearly indicated that he didn’t find Clyde’s accusations funny at all.

“I’m sorry, Mark, but nothing you’ve ever done has suggested to me that you’re trustworthy enough to give you access to such a valuable invention.” Mark frowned.

“Clyde, you’re my brother. I’d never betray you.” Clyde sighed.

“I wish I could believe that,” he said sadly. As much as he longed to be able to believe his brother, he knew that Mark had a habit of breaking promises when the chips were down. When he was desperate, almost nothing was off the table for him-possibly not even stealing from his family.

“Why can’t you? I’ve never once betrayed you before-never! I never even told mom and dad about that one time you broke curfew to go feed a stray dog!” Mark whined. Clyde frowned. It was true that Mark hadn’t betrayed him yet (unless one counted breaking his endless promises that he would never need money again), but his track record was not good and strongly suggested that it might happen someday.

“Mark, I can’t show you my invention, and that’s final. Now stop pestering me about it, or I’ll kick you out and leave you to find shelter somewhere else,” Clyde said firmly. Mark’s eyes widened in shock.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop asking about it. Sheesh.” Another awkward silence ensued, this one broken by the ring of the telephone. Clyde gratefully picked up the phone, only to wish he hadn’t when he heard his mother’s voice on the other end.

“Hello, Clyde. How are you, darling? And when are you coming back to Bridgeville? Your father and I miss you so much!” she asked.

“Hello, mother. I’m doing well here, and I’m not planning on coming back to Bridgeville in the near future. You see, I’m quite busy with a very important invention, and I need solitude to help me think and ensure that no one finds out about it before it’s completed-though I do miss you and dad. How have you been?” Clyde replied.

“Oh, we’re doing well, and we couldn’t be prouder of you. You’re every parent’s dream come true.”

“Thank you, mother. In speaking of parenting, I have someone else here who probably wants to talk to you,” Clyde said. He shoved the phone into Mark’s hands.

“Hel-lo?” Mark asked, looking confused. A few seconds later, he went pale.

“Mom? But you haven’t talked to me in years!” Another few seconds passed.

“Oh, so you were calling for Clyde. Why am I not surprised?” Clyde tried to ignore the death glare his brother was shooting at him.

“Well, I don’t really want to talk to you, either, Mom. And my name is MARK!” Mark yelled after about a minute. Then he angrily slammed the phone down. Clyde frowned.

“Did you even try to tell her that you got arrested again?”

“Why would I do that? She already thinks that I’m the world’s most humongous loser and that you’re a saint, so I didn’t see any need to make things worse.”

“She’s our mother. She deserves to know.”

“Know what? That I’m a two-bit thug? That I’m a moron? That I’ve done something else that she can use to compare me to you?” Mark screamed. Clyde winced. As much as he wished it were otherwise, his brother had a point. Mark and their mother were already about as distant as it was possible for two people to be, so it wasn’t like the secret would force them apart or damage their relationship, and hearing that her younger son had done something stupid yet again was unlikely to endear Mark to their mother, so telling her would have been pointless anyway.

“You know what? You’re right. Mom wouldn’t have done anything productive with that knowledge,” he admitted. Mark smiled, evidently pleased that he had gotten his older brother to agree with him, and then asked,

“So, you got anything to eat in this place? I’m starving.” Clyde shook his head. That was Mark for you-always thinking with his stomach. He lead his brother to the kitchen, where Mark eagerly opened the refrigerator-only to scowl in annoyance about thirty seconds later.

“What’s wrong?’

“Why don’t you have any meat?”

“Because I’m a vegetarian, Mark. If you want food, you’ll have to take what I have.” Mark made a face, but he made himself a bowl of salad anyway, which he proceeded to devour ravenously.

“You’re acting like you haven’t eaten in a week,” Clyde remarked.

“That would be because I haven’t,” Mark replied casually. Clyde’s mouth fell open.

“Exactly how much money did you lose in that poker game?”

“Every cent I had,” Mark replied sheepishly. Clyde had to resist a strong urge to facepalm. It was sometimes amazing to Clyde that his brother was still alive, given his utter lack of common sense. Mark got himself a second bowl of salad as Clyde tried to come up with a conversation topic that wouldn’t embarrass either one of them. He was about to give up when he heard a clap of thunder.

“What do you think about the weather we’ve been having lately?” Mark looked up from his salad bowl.

“It’s been wet-wet and stormy,” he said, sounding oddly pleased.

“And that’s good?” Clyde asked in confusion.

“Yeah. I love watching storms. Just imagine having that kind of power-the respect it would bring you,” Mark replied rapturously. Clyde frowned. It was definitely a good thing that he hadn’t told his good-for-nothing kid brother about his latest project, because the idea of Mark with that level of power was deeply unsettling.

“Mark, you don’t get respect from having power-you get respect for being a good person,” he said nervously. Mark laughed bitterly.

“Yeah, right, ‘cause mom and dad think you’re the best thing since sliced bread because you’re nice and not because you’re a combination of Einstein and some movie star,” he muttered sarcastically. Clyde took the words like a punch to the gut, as, if he was honest, he was fairly sure that his parents would still have worshipped him if he’d been a selfish brat (as long as he’d remained intelligent and handsome). Mark then took his attack a step further.

“Face it, Clyde, if you started acting just like I do, our parents would still like you better, because you’re clever and good-looking and I’m not. You have no room to be telling me that people don’t respect anything but being ‘good’,” he snapped. Clyde shook his head.

“Not everyone is like our parents, Mark,’ he said. Much to Clyde’s surprise, the anger drained from Mark’s face, and he sighed wearily.

“You’re right. Not everyone’s like them-because you’re not like them,” he said sadly. Clyde sat down next to his brother.

“Mark, when are you going to stop doing this to people-and yourself? You can’t use our parents as an excuse to ruin your life and hurt other people,” he said, as gently as he could given the severity of Mark’s behavior. Mark shrugged.

“I….I don’t know, Clyde. Screwing up is the only thing I’m good at,” he said. Thunder boomed, and the house shook.

“Well, with an attitude like that, of course it is.” Mark just stared at him in annoyed disbelief.

“What’s attitude got to do with it? I’m a lazy, stupid bum and we both know it. I can’t change the truth.” Clyde frowned.

“Then change who you are. If you change, the truth will change with you-and you’re not stupid. Foolish, yes, but not stupid. You have the capacity to be as intelligent as anyone else.” Mark didn’t look convinced, but he did drop the subject.

“You seeing anyone?” he asked, a smirk on his face. Clyde slapped his brother’s arm.

“No, I am not seeing anyone, and if I was, I’m not sure I’d tell you. You’d be more than likely to make fun of me until the end of time,” he said. Mark smiled “innocently”.

“I was just asking. After all, the girls were all over you when we were in high school.” Clyde rolled his eyes.

“We’re not in high school anymore, Mark. I haven’t even had a date in three years.”

“In other words, you’ve become super boring.”

“I’d rather be boring than headed to jail.” Mark shook his head.

“Touché again.” Mark finished eating his second bowl of salad as a third awkward silence fell over them. Clyde put Mark’s bowls into the sink as his brother stared out the window at the storm that was still raging outside. There was a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder, and Mark smiled. For a split second, Clyde swore that he saw his brother’s eyes spark with electricity, but when he looked closer, the effect had vanished. Clyde shook his head. He had probably just imagined it.

“Do you want to do something?” he asked after about three minutes of awkwardness.

“You have any beer?”

“No.”

“Okay. Um ...do you have any movies?”

“No. I don’t watch television.” Mark looked at him in surprise.

“You used to.” Clyde shrugged.

“I suppose I just lost interest.”

“Then how about cards? You have any cards?” Clyde smiled.

“Actually, yes. I’ve become a pretty good bridge player since I last saw you.”

“Great! Let’s play!” Mark exclaimed. Clyde left the room and returned with a deck of cards. The two played bridge for about an hour, and Clyde won rather handily.

“How did you get so good at cards?” Mark asked.

“I don’t think I’m good at cards-I think you’re just really bad at cards.”

“Maybe so. It would explain how I lost all my money on a poker game.” Clyde sighed.

“Yes, it probably would explain that,” he said, a bit exasperatedly. Mark yawned.

“Do you have a spare bedroom, or am I sleeping on the couch?”

“I’m afraid you’re on the couch. This house isn’t very big to begin with, and my lab takes up a lot of space,” Clyde replied apologetically.

“Oh, that’s fine. After jail, I can sleep anywhere.” As if to prove his point, he left the kitchen and collapsed onto the couch.

“Good night, Mark.”

“Night, Clyde,” Mark said drowsily. Five minutes later, he was fast asleep, and Clyde was struck by how young he looked. Logically, he knew he shouldn’t have been-Mark was only twenty-one-but his anger and greed made him look far older when he was awake. He gently brushed Mark’s hair out of his face and then went to his lab, where the weather wand awaited him. Although it wasn’t much to look at, the wand was his magnum opus. He had already spent a year and a half working on it, and it would probably take three years more to complete, but he was very proud with what he had already accomplished. If everything went as planned, the ability to stop devastating floods, tornadoes, and hurricanes, and perhaps to end world hunger, would be in humanity’s grasp. The wand would do the world so much good, and it was honestly an honor that he had been selected to build it. Clyde spent the next five hours working on the wand and then fell asleep at his desk. He woke up at 8:30 the next morning, left the lab, locked the door behind him, and went to the living room, where he found Mark still asleep on the couch. He went to the kitchen and ate breakfast, then went back to the living room and gently shook his brother awake.

“Good morning, little brother.” Mark blinked a few times, as though not certain of where he was, and then replied,

“Oh, yeah, you bailed me out yesterday. Thanks.” Clyde nodded and asked,

“Do you want to eat breakfast?” Mark smiled.

“I never say no to free food.” Clyde shook his head and grinned. It seemed that sleep had done them both some good.

“There are some leftover pancakes in the fridge,” he told his brother. Mark bolted out of the living room and into the kitchen, leaving Clyde to his thoughts. How had he and Mark drifted so far apart? Sure, they were as different as fire and ice, and obviously their parents’ favoritism of him hadn’t done their relationship any favors, but that had been as true when they were kids as it was now. How had they gone from being best friends to being strangers who were barely civil to each other? What had gone wrong with Mark? And, more worrying still, had something gone wrong with him as well? Why didn’t they like being with each other anymore? The two-minute exchange this morning was the most natural conversation they’d had in years-or would have for at least another six months thanks to Mark’s idiocy. Clyde sighed wearily and went to his bedroom to change clothes. Ten minutes later, he joined his brother in the kitchen, where Mark was eagerly scarfing down the last of the pancakes. Clyde frowned-he’d wanted to eat at least one of them-but he didn’t say anything. Mark wasn’t going to be here for more than a week, so there was no point in laying down a lot of ground rules for food.

“You’re a great cook,” Mark said.

“Thanks.” Clyde sat down next to his brother.

“Maybe I should grow my hair out. It looks good on you,” he added.

“Nah, it wouldn’t fit you. You’re too uptight,” Mark replied jocularly. Clyde flicked a napkin at his brother.

“I’ll show you uptight!” With that, Clyde tackled his brother out of his chair and the two started a rather childish but good-natured wrestling match that ended when Mark accidentally punched him in the eye.

“Ha! I got you good!”

“Yes, you did. It’s a good thing that you have a lousy swing, or that would’ve been really painful.” Mark crossed his arms.

“You’re just mad that I won.” Clyde smiled.

“Whatever makes you happy.”

“What would make me happy is you admitting that I cleaned your clock.” Clyde laughed.

“You’re something else, little brother.” He lead his brother out of the kitchen and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Mark, I’m glad that we’re getting along so well, but I want you to tell me the truth. Aren’t you even a little guilty or worried about what you’ve done?” Mark looked away pointedly.

“Clyde, we have a good thing going. Don’t ruin it by bringing up unpleasant things.” Clyde sighed in exhaustion.

“Mark, listen to me. I’m worried about you-and, for that matter, about the people you keep trying to steal from. Just tell me the truth,” he pleaded. Mark paused for a few seconds, then said,

“Fine. I’ll tell you. Yeah, I’m worried. After I got beat to within an inch of my life the last time I went to jail, how could I not be? I’m stupid, but I ain’t THAT stupid. I’m annoyed that I was clumsy enough to get caught in the act and really annoyed that I thought it was a good idea in the first place. I already knew from last time that I’m a terrible burglar, and I do feel a little lousy for trying to steal an old guy’s TV-even if the old guy had a gun. I’m just….all mixed up, you know?” Clyde groaned. On the one hand, it was good to know that his brother had normal human emotions and felt at least a little guilt, but on the other hand, it was very frustrating to deal with someone who had gotten into such an unpleasant situation and seemed to have no idea as to how he had gotten there despite it being perfectly obvious to anyone with so much as a hint of common sense.

“If you knew it was such a bad idea, why did you do it?” Mark shrugged.

“Because I knew that I would be prepared for what was coming if I botched it. I’d rather fail in a familiar way than in an unfamiliar one.” Clyde frowned.

“Mark, you were breaking the law! You were going to steal from someone!” Mark looked at the ground.

“I know, okay? It was a stupid idea, and I’m a creep for having come up with it, but what did you expect? I’m Mark Mardon, remember-lazy, stupid, selfish, pathetic Mark Mardon!” he said, growing gradually more hysterical with each word. Clyde just shared at him. He’d known for awhile that his brother’s self-esteem tended to fluctuate wildly, but he’d never heard him sound this angry at himself. After a few seconds, he blurted out,

“And how does any of that justify what you did?” Mark laughed, and his eyes seemed to spark again. Clyde drew back in alarm, as his brother seemed less than human. How had things gone downhill so quickly?

“Oh, nothing I do can be justified, Clyde. That’s why I don’t try to justify it. I just don’t understand why you expect me to behave well when I’m-what was it that mom calls me?-oh, yeah, a reprobate! I’m a criminal, a creep, a loser! I’m bad at everything-and that includes being good! I’ll never be anything but a bad guy, so why do you act like what I’m doing is a surprise?”

“Because you’re my little brother! I grew up with you, and I know that you’re more than just a “bad guy”-or would be if you would just try! I love you, and watching you destroy your life-and worse, hurt innocent people-is tearing me apart!” At this, Mark seemed to wilt. Instead of looking frightening, he now just looked defeated.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he muttered.

“Nothing- but we’re family. You don’t have to earn my concern.”

“You’re a saint, you know that?” Clyde shook his head sadly.

“No, I’m not. I’m just a man,” he replied quietly. If he was a saint, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

“Well, whatever you are, you’re the only one who cares about me.” With that, Mark burst into tears, and Clyde was left with the task of calming him down enough to continue having a rational conversation.

“There, there, little brother. There, there,” he said gently as his brother cried into his shoulder. Ten minutes later, Mark had finally calmed down enough to be comprehensible again.

“Sorry about that ...display,” he said.

“What, the angry yelling or the hysterical crying?”

“Both.”

“I forgive you,” Clyde said, unsure of how else to reply. After a few more seconds of the now terribly familiar awkward silence, Clyde noticed that his brother’s clothes had gotten rather wrinkled overnight.

“Uh, Mark? Do you want to borrow some of my clothes?” Mark shrugged.

“I guess so. Where’s the bedroom?” Clyde pointed him in the right direction, and he vanished, then reappeared about seven minutes later in pants that fit well and a shirt that was almost comically too large for him. Clyde frowned. He’d forgotten about the difference in their physiques. While they were both 6’1”, he was rather built and looked (according to his high school sweetheart, at least) like an action hero, while Mark was slender and looked like he might be knocked over by a stiff breeze.

“Clyde, I don’t think this shirt is going to work.”

“Definitely not.” Mark rushed back into Clyde’s room and returned about a minute later wearing his wrinkled green shirt.

“It’s not pretty, but it’ll do in a pinch,” Mark said. Clyde smiled.

“Besides, it’s not like you have anywhere special to go.” Mark laughed.

“Forget being a scientist-you should’ve been a comedian.”

“Why, so that mom and dad would’ve been angry at both of us?”

“Yeah!” Mark exclaimed, a bit too enthusiastically.

“What happened to you appreciating me?”

“Oh, I still appreciate you, Clyde. I just wish that you had a reason to need me the way that I need you.” Clyde frowned. There went his brother’s bizarre mood swings. Or ...or was it manipulation? He hated to think that his brother was trying to manipulate him, but it was entirely possible.

“Mark, are you trying to manipulate me? Because that felt a lot like a guilt trip,” he asked. Mark’s blank expression made it clear that the idea had not crossed his mind, and Clyde relaxed. Of course it hadn’t been an act. Even Mark would never sink that low. He laughed nervously.

“Oh, what was I thinking? Of course you aren’t,” he said quickly, before Mark could get more upset (or strangely affectionate). Luckily, Mark seemed to be willing to avoid another emotional display.

“Even I’m not stupid enough to try to manipulate you. You know me too well for that,” he said before vanishing into the kitchen.

“Mark, do you want me to stick around, or can I go back to my work?” Clyde yelled after him.

“If you trust me enough to not be afraid that I’ll botch something up, sure!” Mark yelled back. Clyde was pretty sure that the last sentence had been an attempted guilt trip, but he went to his lab anyway. He immediately went to work on the weather wand and was absorbed in the work until he had finished one of the main components of the wand, at which point he checked his watch and was alarmed to learn that it was 6:30 PM. The idea of Mark being alone in his home for such a long time did not sit well with him, so he rushed out of the lab, only just remembering to lock the door behind him as he left, and ran to the kitchen, where he found Mark sitting at the table, covered in blood and looking bewildered.

“Mark! What happened?” he asked. Mark relaxed noticeably upon seeing him.

“Oh, Clyde! I’m glad you showed up, because I have no idea where the first aid kit is-assuming you have one, that is.”

“What happened?” Clyde repeated.

“I had a little accident with the kitchen knife.” He held up his left hand, and, sure enough, it was dripping blood from a deep cut. Clyde sighed wearily for what felt like the fiftieth time.

“I’d ask you if you washed the cut, but seeing as it’s obviously bleeding, it’s clear you didn’t, so I’ll start off by telling you to do that.” Mark obliged, and Clyde went hunting for his first-aid kit. He found it by his bathroom sink about a minute later and rushed back to his brother, who had somehow managed to get his entire shirt wet while washing his hands. Clyde decided that asking about it would probably only frustrate him more and took his brother’s hand.

“One of these days, you’re going to kill yourself in an embarrassing manner if you don’t get some more common sense,” he said as he bandaged the wound.

“Don’t I know it.” Clyde sighed and stood up.

“There. You’re good,” he said brusquely. Mark smiled.

“Thanks, Clyde. You’re the greatest.” Clyde frowned. If Mark really thought he was so terrific, why did he never take his advice? Why did he insist on ripping his heart to shreds?

“Okay, new rule. No touching sharp things if I’m not in the room.”

“Got it,” Mark replied, clearly embarrassed. The rest of the day, and the following two days, passed in a blur. Mark didn’t have any more mishaps or bizarre emotional outbursts, and Clyde worked nonstop on his weather wand. However, on the fifth day, Clyde was awoken by someone knocking on the door and he opened it to find his mother.

“Hello, Clyde darling. How are you? I just couldn’t stand to wait any longer to see you, so I decided to come visit.” Clyde’s face went white. Of all the times for his mother to show up, why did it have to be today? She knew that Mark was still here and everything! This would cause nothing but needless trouble.

“Mom, I’m glad you’re here, really, but…..Mark is still here, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to have both of you in the house at the same time,” he told her gently. His mother scowled at the mention of her younger son’s name.

“I don’t understand why you put up with him. He’s a criminal, a no-good, selfish, worthless fool. You’ve bailed him out of trouble more times than I can count, and he’s still doing the same stupid things. He’ll never change, Clyde, and I strongly advise that you cut all ties with that shiftless parasite. You’re going to be world-famous, darling, and you can’t have a criminal brother ruining your reputation. He’s utterly useless, and if he won’t stay in the house with me, then throw him out. I’m not the one who’s squandered every opportunity I’ve been given,” she ranted. Clyde realized too late that his brother had entered the room, probably to see who the knocker was, and that he had heard every word.

“Go ahead, Clyde. She’s right. Throw me out if you want-I’ll never be worth anything! Isn’t that right, mom ?” Mark snapped angrily.

“Mark-” Clyde began.

“What? Was it not what it sounded like? Was mom not trying to convince you to kick me out?” Mark asked quietly.

“She was. But I didn’t agree to do it.” Did Mark really believe that he thought of him as worthless?

“Why? What was stopping you?”

“What’s stopping him is that he’s crazy enough to believe that you-a hoodlum who’s never given him or us anything but grief since you were old enough to walk-could change! He thinks that you appreciate what he sacrifices to save your worthless skin!” their mother exclaimed before Clyde could stop her. Mark scowled.

“Brought you nothing but grief, did I? That’s rich, coming from a woman who never stopped telling me that I was second-rate and that I should be more like my brother and comparing me to him in front of people. You’re as good at causing grief as I am!”

“Oh, so now it’s a crime to tell the truth, is it? You’ve never been anything but a parasite, taking advantage of our good will to avoid working or doing anything productive. If it wasn’t for your saint of a brother, you’d be dead by now, and we’d be happier and better for it!”

“You wish he was dead?” Clyde asked.

“Yes, I do, and why not? He’s not just useless, he’s an active threat. He deserves to die, and when he does, we’ll be free of a burden to our lives.”

“But he’s your son-my little brother. I know he’s far from a good person, as much as I hate to admit it, but I can’t wish him dead. I love him.”

“He’s not capable of love,” his mother spat. Mark’s eyes seemed to spark again, and Clyde went even whiter with fear.

“Maybe you’re right, mother. Maybe I am a monster,” Mark said, almost in a whisper. He shoved their mother violently out of the way and ran out the door. Clyde made sure that his mother hadn’t been hurt, then ran after his brother. He found him staring at the lake that his house was built near.

“I should kill you for what you did to mother,” he said angrily.

“What do you mean? I didn’t hurt her none-and even if I did, you heard what she said about me! I’m worthless, useless, stupid, selfish-I’m a parasite. She wishes I were dead! Do you know what it feels like to have your own mother tell you that she would be happy if you died? Do you? Of course you don’t, because mom loves you!”

“And why shouldn’t she? I didn’t run away from home, take up a life of petty crime, and refuse to get help! I didn’t flunk out of high school or make her worry sick about me! She’s right-I should stop helping you! The only thing you care about is yourself!”

“Clyde, she never loved me! Ever since I could walk, I’ve heard her complaining about how I couldn’t measure up to you, and when it became obvious that I never would, that I was a failure, she told me that I was a burden and never looked back. She thinks-she’s always thought-that I’m nothing compared to you, and I hate her! I hate her for it! I already knew I was a loser, but it hurts-it hurts so much-to know that she agrees. But if you think she’s right about me-heck, she probably is-I might as well kill myself, here and now. I’d be doing you a favor.” Clyde scowled.

“Stop trying to manipulate me, Mark. I’m tired of feeling guilty for something that wasn’t my fault, and I’m tired of playing your games!” Then, much to his surprise-and horror-Mark started walking into the water.

“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t swim!” Mark’s eyes seemed to spark.

“I told you. I’m killing myself. You can go tell mom that she got her wish,” he said, in a tone that was terrifyingly calm. Clyde grabbed his brother and pulled him as far away from the water as he could get him.

“Let me go! You said it yourself-I’m worthless! Nobody wants me. Nobody’s ever wanted a loser like Mark Mardon! So let me die! Between you and mom, you got me thinking about myself, and even if you’re wrong and I’m not a parasite, I can’t see any reason to go on. I’m too stupid to come up with a way to make things better and I’m probably too bad to change, and I don’t have anything to look forward to but being beat up in jail, so I might as well die. At least then I wouldn’t have to think about how my own mother hates me so much that she wishes she’d never had me. At least then I wouldn’t have to live with myself-pathetic, stupid, useless Mark Mardon!” Mark punched, kicked, and flailed, but Clyde held him firm.

“Mark, I’m...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that Mom was right about you. She’s not. I was just so angry at you for not listening to me-and that all came to the surface when mom showed up. I hate what you do to me, to other people, to our parents, and to yourself, but I don’t hate you, and I don’t want you dead. No matter what idiotic stunts you pull, you’re still my brother, and no matter how much you hurt me, I can’t let you go. I love you. I know you’re more than our parents say you are. You’re not worthless-if you were, you couldn’t hurt me so much. You’re wrong, Mark- I want you. I want you very much. Why else would I keep coming back for you?” Clyde told his brother through frightened tears. As much as part of him wished he could feel what his mother did towards his brother, he couldn’t. His brother was too dear to him. Why couldn’t Mark see that? Mark finally stopped struggling.

“You’re crazy, Clyde.”

“Maybe. But so are you.”

“Touché, big brother. Touché.” Clyde took his idiot brother back home, where their mother was still waiting.

“Why are you both wet?” she asked. Clyde sighed.

“Mother, I love you, but…..but…...Mark just tried to kill himself because he thinks he’s worthless. I know he’s a pain to deal with, I can understand why you don’t want to spend time with him-but telling him you wish he was dead is too much,” he said gently. His mother frowned.

“Well, if you want to take that parasite’s side over your own mother’s, I’ll leave. I know when I’m not wanted.”

“Mom-wait-” Before Clyde could continue, his mother stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her, and drove away. Mark winced.

“Sorry for making mom mad at you.”

“For once, Mark, that wasn’t your fault.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. That was Mom’s choice, not yours.”

Two days later, Mark and Clyde were sitting in a courtroom. Mark had just been sentenced to nine months in jail, and Clyde was no longer responsible for his brother. Before Mark was lead away, Clyde walked up to him.

“If you need me after you get out, you know where to find me, little brother. And please, learn from this, Mark. You don’t have to spend your life doing this.” Mark smiled weakly.

“You’re something else, Clyde. I may think you’re insane, but you’re a great brother. I can’t believe you’d stick beside me after all this.”

“What else are brothers for? Remember, I love you, no matter what crazy nonsense you pull. I won’t bail you out again, but I’ll always be there for you.”

“I...I love you too, big brother. Keep out of trouble.” Clyde shook his head wearily.

“Oh, Mark. Good-bye, good luck, and for goodness’ sake, keep your nose clean after this.”

“Bye, Clyde,” Mark replied as he was lead off. As soon as he was gone, Clyde left the courtroom and drove home, then collapsed on his couch. Dealing with his younger brother was like walking through a storm- and it would take some time before the tempestuous emotions Mark stirred up were quieted. However, emotional distress was not an adequate reason to stop working, and so he went to his laboratory and began to work on the weather wand once more.

Thank you for reading my story.If you (or a loved one) is considering suicide: National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255

You are not alone.

#flash rogues #mark mardon #weather wizard #abusive parenting #clyde mardon #trigger warning: suicide attempt #fanfic #@gorogues #dc comics

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