#did he stare at it in betrayal? throw it off a cliff? hide it in his drawers?

[kaeyachi]

One of the probable reasons as to why Kaeya didn't arrive on time for Crepus and Diluc when they were attacked was because he, and the knights with him, had no vision, and thus, cannot use a teleport waypoint.

Him receiving his cryo vision when he was supposed to get scorched by Diluc was genuinely the biggest slap to the face given to him by Celestia. It arrived just in time to save HIM.

Even now, the vision only heals and shields him alone as a manifestation of his desire to keep living from that fight... but he can't use it to help others.

[hermits-that-craft]

He’s nothing but a problem, he’ll leave you crying overnight

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27146512/chapters/66294634

Tommy lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling and willing himself to remain awake, listening to Wilbur and Techno argue outside his door. The first time Tommy’s heard Techno speak in over a week, and he’s screaming at Wilbur. Tommy can’t remember another time where Techno yelled, and he struggles to even place the concept of his older brother yelling at Wilbur. Their eldest brother.

“We don’t have to do this!” Tommy hears Techno’s voice break, as though it pains him to scream the words. “Tommy and I don’t have to fight a war for you when you’re ready to blow up our home!”

“Manburg isn’t your home!” Wilbur screams back, and Tommy buries his head in his pillows, tears springing to his eyes. “It isn’t his either! You’re a traitor, Technoblade! Just admit you’re going to hand us over to Schlatt!”

“Wilbur I’m your brother! ” Techno sounds heart broken, and Tommy chokes back a sob. “I came here to protect you, you, Wil! You and Tommy!”

“You came because Schlatt asked you to come here, don’t pretend to care about Tommy now!” Wilbur spits, and Tommy wishes that they’d leave, leave each other alone, leave him out of their arguments, leave Pogtopia and argue outside.

“Of course I care about Tommy!”

“If you cared you’d help me!”

“Stop,” Tommy cries, his voice barely audible in his room. “Please stop, please stop fighting. ”

“Of course I care, but killing innocent bystanders and civilians is-”

“And you haven’t before?” Wilbur snaps, and Tommy’s eyes widen, both him and Techno gasping. “Don’t act all innocent, Technoblade , I heard what you told Phil-”

“Phil?” Techno’s voice is quiet. “Why did you call him Phil?”

“Don’t try to deflect here, Techno-”

“Have you lost it? He’s our Dad!”

“He would betray us at the drop of a hat.” Wilbur spits, and Tommy curls in on himself, trying not to cry.

“Dad wouldn’t-”

“When has he been here, Techno?” Wilbur’s voice echoes through Tommy’s head, haunting him from within. “When has Phil ever come for us? He doesn’t care for us, he only cares about his little hardcore world and travelling. We only see him at MCC and you know it.”

“You’re lost.” Techno growls, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m taking Tommy, he doesn’t deserve to live with your paranoia-”

“Don’t you dare accuse me of paranoia-”

“Then what are you doing, accusing me of-”

Their voices mix in Tommy’s head, he can’t tell them apart anymore. Tears roll down his cheeks as he listens to them scream at each other. A sword is unsheathed, and the wall shakes as someone hits it. Tommy pulls the blanket over his head, childishly hiding under the blankets as his brothers tear each other apart.

“Dad,” Tommy sobs. “Dad please come back, please.”

Phil doesn’t return, not that Tommy expected him to. He listens as Techno screams in rage, as Wilbur screams in pain. As someone dies, hearing them respawn nearby. He listens as his older brother leaves, spewing profanities. He listens as his door opens, and his chokes back a sob as his eldest brother walks into the room, sitting on the side of the bed.

“He had to go Tommy,” Wilbur says, gently brushing Tommy’s hair. It would be comforting anywhere else, but in Pogtopia it’s fear inducing. “He was working for Schlatt. Don’t worry, we’re going to be fine without him. Who cares about the pig anyways?”

Wilbur sighs as Tommy sobs, getting off of the bed and walking to the door with heavy footsteps. Tommy pulls his head out from under the blankets, tears staining the wool and his cheeks equally. He looks at Wilbur’s silhouette, illuminated by the torches outside Tommy’s room.

“Get some sleep, Tommy. You’ll feel better in the morning.” Wilbur’s voice is soft, almost normal. Tommy can almost imagine that he’s back at home, in L’Manburg or the farm house, and Wilbur comforted him after a nightmare or a breakdown. Almost.

And Wilbur leaves, and Tommy falls into a fire filled nightmare, the screams that have haunted him since the war hitting him full force as Wilbur burns and blows up everyone and everything .

---

Tommy screams himself awake, fire licking at his brain as the nightmares fade from his mind. Wilbur runs into the room, pulling Tommy into a hug, gently patting his head. Tommy clings to his brother, tears staining Wilbur’s shirt. Wilbur hums to him, gently rocking him as he sobs into Wilbur’s chest. His sobs stop, not due to any lack of fear or sadness but due to him having nothing left to cry, no tears nor energy left.

“Are you actually going to kill everyone in L’Manburg?” Tommy’s voice is soft, broken from the crying. “Are you actually going to blow home up?”

“Of course not, Tommy.” Wilbur says, ruffling Tommy's hair. “I’m going to give the people what they want, I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

“Techno said-”

“Techno’s working with Schlatt now, Tommy.” Wilbur says, and Tommy’s heart stops. His eyes tear up, but none fall and Wilbur pushes Tommy away from himself, holding onto Tommy's shoulders. “We can only trust each other now.”

“No, Techno wouldn’t-” Tears slip down Tommy’s face. “Would he?”

“I’m so sorry, Toms.” Wilbur says softly, and Tommy breaks, sobbing the remaining tears away, and then screaming as Wilbur watches him shatter. “He killed me last night, I was lucky to have set my spawn nearby, he would have kidnaped you.”

Tommy breaks, shattering on the floor of his room. Wilbur doesn’t help him pick up the pieces, just smiling as Tommy screams in pain. He doesn’t hurt, not physically at least. It’s emotional. It’s more guilt than anger. He should have known, he should have stopped him.

“C’mon Toms,” Wilbur offers Tommy his hand, and Tommy grabs him, holding onto Wilbur’s hand like it’s his lifeline. “Lets go and make a new base now. One where Techno and Schlatt can’t find you.”

Tommy doesn’t notice the look in Wilbur’s eyes, one that would haunt him if he only saw it. If he only noticed the smirk on Wilbur’s face while he was crying. He didn’t even notice how Wilbur only mentioned that Tommy would be staying at the new base.

He should have known better.

---

“Techno,” Schlatt says from the podium, watching as Techno rides into Manburg on his horse. Tubbo’s eyes widen as he sees the exhausted look in Techno’s eyes. “I know that you don’t understand what we’re trying to do here, but this isn’t when-”

“Wilbur’s gone insane.” Techno says, hopping off of the horse. “He’s kidnapped Tommy. I need your help. I’ll do anything, just help me get my little brother back.”

“He kidnapped Tommy?” Tubbo’s voice is quiet, echoing over the shocked crowd.

“Why?” Nikki yells. “Why would he do that?”

“Techno, please tell me that you’re lying.” Eret says, walking over to the fellow king. “One king to another, please tell me that this is a lie.”

“Why would I lie about something like this!” Techno’s voice breaks, and the group stands shocked as all of his emotions come out. “My little brother’s been kidnapped and you lot are the only people who can help!”

“We’ll help.” Quackity says immediately, stepping down from the podium and walking towards Techno. “What do you need us to do?”

“Quackity, why would we-” Schlatt frowns, confusion on his face. “Why would we offer help to Techno? For all we know he’s going to take us to a trap.”

“I should have listened to him.” Tubbo says under his breath, horror written on his face. “Oh god, this is all my fault!”

“What do you mean?” Schlatt asks, frowning at the teen. “How is this your fault?”

“Tommy,” Tubbo’s panicking now, hyperventilating as everyone's eyes rest on him. “He told me that Wilbur had lost it, shit.”

“Tubbo just because you were warned-” Nikki begins, trying to calm the boy down. “-doesn’t mean that this is your fault.”

“You don’t understand Nikki! He wanted to run, to run away. I said no! This is my fault! I made him go back!”

---

Tommy sits on the cliffside, watching the waves hit against the cliff as Dream and Wilbur work on hiding their new base. Tommy pulls his cloak around him, clinging onto the naive hope that everything will get better. That Tubbo and Techno and Nikki and Fundy and even Eret will join the trio. They won't. Even so, Tommy clings to the hope, his eyes tired and empty.

He doesn’t want to be alone again.

“Tommy!” Dream calls out to him, and Tommy lifts his head, looking over at the adult. “We’ve built you a room, you should come in.”

“Okay.” Tommy’s voice falls flat, nearly disappearing under the crashing of the waves. “Coming.”

He stands, walking over to the hole that Wilbur and Dream had cut into the cliff face. He misses the glance that the pair exchange, walking into the room. It’s not small, though it is roughly hewn and the walls are made of thick stone. A pocket of granite rests on the far wall, and some diorite lies in the ceiling and the floor. A table rests in the room, made of oak, and a furnace lies against the wall, next to a chest with a crafting bench in the corner. A starter base, that’s what it looks like to him. A bed rests in a corner, and without a second thought, Tommy lies down on it, knowing that this room isn’t the one they were referencing, but being too scared to risk respawning in Pogtopia again.

That was the wrong thing to do.

Tommy stands, and Dream ender pearls behind the teen. Blood falls from Tommy’s lips and pain blooms from his chest. Dream pulls the sword from Tommy’s chest and the teen lets loose a scream, gut wrenching and heart breaking and painful to hear. Tommy falls to the ground, betrayal and fear written across his face. He looks at Wilbur who just smiles at him, and the universe turns him to dust.

TommyInnit was slain by Dream

Tubbo lets loose a scream, pain in his voice as he reads through the message that everyone received. Techno growls, throwing his axe into a tree in rage. Nikki lets loose a cry as Eret holds Tubbo together, Fundy punching a wall in the background. The Manburgians look as though fury isn’t an emotion, but something that they can wield as a weapon. Schlatt glares at the forest, but doesn’t move as Quackity lets loose a scream of rage.

“That bastard!” Quackity screams. “That fucking bastard!”

“We need to find him.” Techno glares at the forest, hopping onto his horse. “I’m going to see if he spawned in Pogtopia.”

“I’ll check spawn.” Eret says, and he offers his hand to Tubbo. “You should come with me, he’ll be more comfortable if you’re there.”

Tubbo takes his hand, silently thankful that he doesn’t have to stay with Schlatt or Nikki again. He doesn’t mind the group, really, he doesn’t, but he can’t deal with their constant ‘are you okay’s and ‘you should take a break’s. It’s as though the pair put aside their problems with each other to focus their energy on him, and Tubbo can’t stand it. It’s a nice sentiment, but he’ll kill them if they ask him again.

“Tubbo, are you-”

“If you ask me if I’m okay I’ll install a hack and fucking destroy your castle, Eret.” Tubbo glares at the ground. “What’s Dream going to do? Kick me out? He killed Tommy!”

“Why does it bother you so much this time?” Eret asks, curiosity in their voice.

“I don’t know.” Tubbo admits. “I guess I just thought that he’d help Tommy out.”

“Maybe he did.” Eret says. “Maybe he got Tommy away from Wilbur, we won’t know until we see him, after all.”

“I don’t think he killed him to help Tommy out.” Tubbo glares at the dirt, as though it was the dirts fault that his friend is missing. “But you know Dream better than I do, what do you think?”

Eret stares out towards the sunset, as the pair walk towards the secret entrance to the spawn chunk. Eret sighs deeply, adjusting their glasses onto their face and running their hands through their hair. “I think that you’re right.” They admit. “Dream doesn’t do anything to help anyone else unless it means that he can use it to his advantage.”

They enter spawn, and find it empty, as though no one had been there in a very long time.

---

“Tommy! Tommy I’m here!” Techno yells, running down the steps to Pogtopia. He doesn’t care that Quackity followed him, or that Nikki watches him with worried eyes. Composure be damned, his little brother needs him.

The trio race through Pogtopia, searching every nook and cranny for the youngest member of the server. Nikki screams her voice hoarse in the forest surrounding Pogtopia, and Quackity scours the nether without seeing hide nor hair of the teen. Techno tears the ravine apart, searching for the boy. None of them see him, and as Quackity and Nikki return to Pogtopia, to help Techno, they find him in Tommy’s room, gently holding onto something. They exchange glances, noticing how Techno’s communicator rests on the bedside table, his messages unchecked.

He doesn’t know that Tommy hadn’t respawned in a place that they can find him. He doesn’t know that Tommy could be anywhere. He doesn’t know that Dream didn’t free the boy.

“Techno?” Quackity’s voice is quiet, and he sinks down next to the man. “We couldn’t find him.”

“I should have taken him with me last night.” Techno breathes, and Nikki pulls him into a hug.

“You couldn’t have, Wilbur killed you.” Nikki says. “It’s alright, Techno. I’m sure Tommy’s alright.”

“He didn’t respawn at spawn, did he?” Techno asks, and the look on Quackity’s face, one of complete despair, answers louder than any words could. “I need- I could,” Techno’s voice is shaky, upset. “Dad. I need to tell Dad.”

“You can call him now,” Quackity helps Techno to his foot, pushing the crown further back onto Techno’s head. “We’ll wait.”

“Thank you.” Techno says, leaving the ravine that he spent months in. Nikki brushes tears from her eyes, and Quackity pulls her into a hug.

“We’ll find him.” Quackity promises. “We’ll make sure he’s okay.”

---

“Wilbur, please let me out!” Tommy yells, his eyes tired and empty. “Please, I promise I won’t leave this base I just hate small spaces please, Wil!” Tommy bangs his fist on the door, his eyes wide and pleading as he looks up to his older brother.

“I can’t let you out, Tommy.” Wilbur sounds sad, regretful almost. It confuses Tommy, making him wonder what the hell is going on with Wilbur. “I can’t let you get hurt. Schlatt wants to permakill you, I wont let him. So you have to stay in here.”

“Please Wil.” Tommy begs, watching helplessly as Wilbur seals the door with a layer of cobble. Tommy rests his head against the cool metal of the iron, tears falling down his face. “Please.”

---

“It’s been two days!” Tubbo yells, glaring at Schlatt. “We have to go get him, now!”

“We don’t know where he is, Tubbo.”

“Then let me hack!”

“Absolutely not!” Nikki says, standing up. “You’ll be kicked the second that Dream finds out!”

“I could do it.” Fundy says. “I’m good at coding, hacking can’t be too hard.”

“Fundy-” George goes to protest, before shaking his head. “-It’s too risky. Sure, you’ve got more protection from Dream than Tubbo has, but Dream isn’t dumb. He’d know that Tubbo taught you.”

“We need to find Tommy-”

“And we will.” Eret says, standing up from his throne. “But we first need to separate into search parties, to coordinate groups so that there's an even amount of fighters in each group. We will need people here to man the fort and make sure that Wilbur and Dream don’t blow everything sky high, and to be prepared to deal with injuries. We’ll need groups to search everywhere and everything, to be packs for weeks of searching.” Eret takes a deep breath in, their voice quiet. “It takes time to plan these sorts of things, Tubbo. We need to make sure everything is correct or else we’ll be wasting time.”

“We’re playing with his life!” Tubbo protests, and everyone makes noises of protest, except for one.

“I know.” Eret sighs. “But we have to trust that Tommy is strong enough to hold out until we can find him.”

“A few days could make the difference between life and death.”

“I know.”

“And we’re just going to hope that he’ll be fine?”

“It’s all we can do, right now.” Eret sighs, a sad expression on their face. “I wish it was different. I really do. I wish we were just looking for Wilbur and Dream to have a final showdown and then we could send them both off to therapy, to get them help. But it's a rescue mission, and we have to do this right.”

Techno stands, walking out of the room. Everyone stares after him, no one knowing what to do, why he would leave. Nikki walks to the window he was gazing out of and gasps, seeing something, someone she doesn’t know anymore.

---

“You called Phil.” Wilbur says plainly, sitting on the castle walls. Techno glares up at him, and Wilbur laughs. “Oh, don’t give me that look, we both know that you did! Is he coming?”

“Wil-”

“Did he even pick up?” Wilbur asks quietly, almost sadly. Techno looks away, not knowing what to say. The truth would make Wilbur think he’s right, the lie would only serve to hurt them all.

“No.” The truth is spoken, and it can’t be taken back. “He didn’t pick up.”

“I thought so.” Wilbur sighs. “He never comes for you, does he?”

“Don’t make this about me.”

“You’re always ignored, left behind by him. By us.” Wilbur puts him hand on Techno’s shoulder. “We’ve treated you so poorly that you’d betray us. And I just wanted to apologise for that.”

A notification buzzes on the pairs communicators, and Wilbur pulls it out, looking at it. His face pales, and he looks at Techno with wide eyes, as though whatever is said is terrifying. Their communicators buzz again, and Wilbur quickly runs towards his horse, offering his hand to Techno.

“Somethings slaughtering Tommy.” Wilbur says, and Techno takes his hand, leaving with his brother.

TommyInnit was suffocated trying to escape Dream TommyInnit was suffocated TommyInnit was suffocated TommyInnit was suffocated

“We have to go now!” Tubbo screams, pushing Eret. “We have to go help him! Give me my fucking keyboard I don’t care if I get banned!”

“You should!” Eret argues back. Nikki nods, while the room watches the pair argue, a mixture of horror and anger on everyone’s faces.

“Well I don’t!” Tubbo screams back, tears racing down his face, flushed red with anger. “I don’t care if I’m banned, Tommy needs our help!”

“Where will you go?” Eret asks. “If you get banned for hacking you realise that other servers won’t exactly want you on them, right?”

“Then I’ll go to a world by myself!” Tubbo’s voice breaks, his face falling. “Please Eret, we have to get him back.”

“Then we should follow Wilbur.” Schlatt says, walking towards the door. “Tubbo, stay here with Eret and Nikki, we’ll message you if we need you to hack. Quackity, Punz, Sap and George follow me.”

TommyInnit was suffocated TommyInnit was suffocated TommyInnit was suffocated TommyInnit was suffocated

It burnt as it forced its way down his throat. Swimming in sand and gravel and concrete powder, the only way to tell the three apart is through textures that he doesn’t bother to differentiate anymore. It’s too hard to move, anymore. It’s almost like he’s floating in the different textures, though it’s all he can feel. It burnt. It still burns. Tears spring in his eye, though he doesn’t have the energy to let them fall anymore. He doesn’t have the energy to do much anymore, just to let himself suffocate in the shit Dream put on him.

He used to struggle. It feels like he’s been there for years, struggling and fighting against the inevitable. Dream coming into his cell with a netherite sword and anger feels like it happened centuries ago, the fear gone. His eyes close, and he opens his mouth and lets more gravel fall into his lungs, waiting for the blissful moments between death and life.

TommyInnit was suffocated

Techno urges the horse to run faster, worry eating at his stomach. Who would spawn trap his little brother? Why would Dream fight Tommy if he’s already trapped somewhere? Why would Wilbur help him find Tommy?

Is Wilbur back?

The horse jumps over a tree, Wilbur leaning into the action. Techno takes out a crossbow, and a skeleton dissipates into a cloud of smoke. A buzz sounds from his pocket.

TommyInnit was suffocated

Schlatt runs, following the horse’s footprints deeper into the forest, a sinking feeling setting in his stomach. This feels too staged, too much as though Wilbur brought himself to Eret’s castle to sway Techno back to his side. Still, he’s determined. He can bring Tommy to safety. He’ll even give the teen citizenship again if it means that he’ll stay away from Wilbur.

His lungs ache, and his feet and calves burn from exhaustion. He keeps running, Sapnap and Punz falling behind to fight the mobs that quickly spawn around them. Schlatt only grunts in response to Sapnap, telling them to keep following the trail.

They can’t afford to be too late. Tommy is too young to perma-die because someone doesn’t know the laws of the universe.

TommyInnit was suffocated

“We need bandages, health and regen pots and honey.” Nikki orders, sending people across both of the countries to find the items she needs. Tubbo paces nervously, Eret not allowing him out of sight from the fear that he’d do something stupid.

He would. But Eret doesn’t need to know that.

“Tubbo, please stop pacing.” Eret asks him quietly, wrapping his cape around the teen’s shoulders. “We have to trust that Schlatt, George, Sapnap and Punz will bring him back.”

“They’ll kill him. They’ll permakill him.” Tubbo’s eyes go dark. “I know they will. They’re monsters.”

TommyInnit was suffocated

Wilbur was supposed to be back by now. Dream watches as Tommy turns into a fine dust once more, waiting for the man to return. He taps his foot, his sword in his hand. He doesn’t want to kill Techno, but if the hybrid loses a finger or an arm while he’s decommissioning him, well.

Dream wouldn’t necessarily mind that. He would even consider it a blessing, taking Techno down a peg.

Horses hoover thunder over the horizon, and Dream’s smile widens under his mask, patting the top of Tommy’s head. He enderpearls to the top of a tree, watching as the two brothers run towards where he had pulled Tommy and his bed to.

Wilbur plays his role well. Dream can’t wait to see how this act will end.

TommyInnit was suffocated

The kingdom is silent. Tubbo stares out the window, catching himself as he slowly lulls himself to sleep, waiting for Tommy to arrive. He pulls Eret’s cape close to himself, blinking as he struggles to stay awake. Nikki sleeps on Eret’s throne, the medical supplies lying nearby. Eret stay awake, pacing the rooms and corridors of the castle. No one else remained, having left to return to the comfort of their own beds.

Sapnap and Punz had returned a few hours before midnight, talking in hushed whispers about mobs and losing the president and his cabinet. Nikki had told them that there would be a search party for the group if they do not return before dawn. Had sworn it to them. All parties involved had wondered why she wasn’t president, in that moment.

None had dared to ask her out loud, though Tubbo was close to.

It had been two hours since Sapnap and Punz had left, and at least four hours since Tommy’s last death message in chat. Not comforting, not uncomfortable. Eret scrolls through his messages, hoping and praying for a message from anyone, even Wilbur or Dream. Maybe its just hope that he’ll get a message telling him that Tommy is alright, maybe it’s fear about hearing the worst, but he remains awake, watching Tubbo struggle to remain awake.

Tubbo’s head lolls onto the window pane, and Eret notices his breathing even, the teen falling into a sleep that Eret can only pray is peaceful. The man picks up Tubbo, carrying him to a spare bedroom and gently tucking him into bed. He shuts the door, walking out into the garden.

The air is cool, nipping at his skin unpleasantly. He misses the warmth that summer brings, but the autumnal air doesn’t feel uncomfortable just yet. His communicator buzzes. Once. Twice. Thrice, before his fingers fumble and he picks it up, not bothering to find out who is calling him.

“Eret!” Phil’s voice crackles over the communicator. “Techno called me, said something’s wrong. That Wilbur kidnaped Tommy and gone insane. But he’s not picking up anymore. Do you know where they are?”

“Tommy was trapped in a death loop the last time I saw Techno or Wilbur.” Eret admits, staring at the moon. “I don’t know what’s happened to any of them. They haven’t sent a message in at least four hours. And the last message was a death notification for Tommy, so that hardly counts.”

“Tommy was still dying at eight?” Phil’s voice is fearful, quiet. “Do you know what was killing him?”

“He first suffocated trying to get away from Dream, then it was just suffocation.” Eret feels tears being to pool in his eyes. “I don’t know if I want the answer to if he’s still alive. He died so many times, the poor thing will be traumatised beyond recognition if...”

Neither of them finish the sentence, the idea of Tommy’s demise hanging heavily over their heads. Eret paces the garden, watching the flowers sway in the breeze. They need someone to come, to save everyone and make everything go back to normal.

“Who went to go rescue him, besides Wilbur and Techno?”

“Schlatt, George and Quackity. Sapnap and Punz also went, but they returned two hours ago when the mobs got too hard for them to fight. The group separated because of mobs, apparently.” Eret frowns. “Punz said it was unnatural, how many were spawning.”

“Could Dream have spawned them in to keep Tommy and the others where he had them?” Phil asks quietly.

“I don’t know.” Eret admits. “Probably.”

“I’ll meet you at spawn. I’ll bring the captain as well, I’m assuming Tubbo is trying to hack?” Phil’s voice is light, but it carries a heavy threat for Wilbur and Dream.

“I only just got him to sleep.” Eret runs his hands through his hair. “See you soon.”

[willowkeyes-creates]

Maybe Not A Hero, But Still A Side

Warnings: Swearing, self-deprecation, near-death sorta?, Remus making an innuendo Set after Redux.

@hufflepuff-deceit ------------------------------------------------------------ Roman

I’ve been losing my touch for years now; it shouldn’t hurt this much to know that Thomas has finally figured it out. I’m not his hero. I was once, back when we began making short videos on Vine, maybe again when that failed and we stuck to YouTube… But I’ve just been lying to everyone for ages now.

I’m no Prince.

I’m not good.

There’s… little difference between Remus and I if you look close enough.

I’m no one’s hero. 

With a heavy sigh that fails to dislodge the lump in my throat, I collapse against the soft grass of the Imagination and let the cold rain wash over me. The cliff I’ve decided to sit on has a view over the ocean that, before all of this, I would love to just stare at and take it in for an hour or two. I’ve been in here for a week, maybe two if I’ve paid less attention then I think I have, but I can’t bring myself to show my face to anyone yet. Or, I can’t bring myself to look at the others and not feel so much that my chest wants to explode with emotions I can’t control.

Anger, frustration, confusion, betrayal, guilt- there’s so much guilt. So much for so many things that I don’t know what to do with it. Hiding it away and pretending that it doesn’t exist doesn’t help anymore. Lying doesn’t help me anymore.

Maybe Dece-... Maybe Janus knows me better than I thought. Maybe he should be one of the Light Sides; a Side that helps Thomas with his issues. Because he’s been doing a better job than I have. I just stood there as Patton hurt Thomas! I let him tell me what I should be doing- I let him tell me to go to that stupid, fucking wedding instead of what could have been the best opportunity of Thomas’ life!

My hands tangle themselves in my hair as I scream at the rain. As I scream at Patton, at Deceit, Janus, Patton- at Thomas. Myself. Everything and everyone. I just scream until something starts to hurt, then scream some more. I just want all of this to go away.

Instead, I scream until I’m too tired to scream anymore. I just lay an arm lengths away from the edge of a cliff, stare at what I guess to be a nice sunset, and just… do nothing. I don’t want to do anything anymore. I’m so tired. So sore. Thomas can last a while without me; and even more if Remus decides to take the spotlight now that I’m not around.

I should get out of the rain though; it’s starting to get really heavy. With a grunt of effort, I haul myself to my feet and throw my hoodie on despite every part of me being drenched already. My first step causes something below me to crack and I freeze to hear a second and third to follow suit. I frown down at my feet as I take another step, only for it to slip against something and send me back onto my back with a heavy thump. And a loud crack.

There’s a second of weightlessness as the ground falls out from beneath me. The sky seems to get so far away from me so quickly, with my hand reaching out as if a cloud will catch me as I fall. But what is now the edge of the cliff passes by me, I shut my eyes tight and wait for the pain of hitting the crashing waves below. For the possible breaking of my bones, for the head trauma, for the relief of not having to think while I’m unconscious-

Something wraps around my wrist and every part of me screams at me to hold onto it. Both hands grab onto the… arm of whoever caught me.

“Seriously!? I thought I was the crazy twin!” My eyes shoot open at the all-too-familiar voice to see Remus smiling down at me. It’s… a relieved smile, for some reason. 

Then I see what’s behind him. Remus is nowhere near the edge of the cliff and has both of his legs being held onto with a hand each, while two other hands hold the three of us up. Out of all the Sides to have come here, I didn’t expect these two.

“Ro. Hey.” With a couple of blinks I focus back on Remus’ face, while the lump that was once in my chest now sits up in my throat. He needs to stop looking at me like that. They’re both looking at me... “You alright there?”

“I-... N-No.”

“Remus, I don’t believe you know this, but the three of us are hanging off a cliff right now. Of course he’s not bloody alright!”

“Okay, okay! You gonna pull us up then, or what!?” 

One moment I’m watching the two argue as my legs dangle over the dangerous ocean, the next I’m back on solid ground and I can feel tears building up as I realise what just happened. They rescued me. They’re heroes…

“Roman?” Remus’ voice is too soft, too filled with worry over such a useless Side. In a world of my own creation, where I rule, I still can’t be anyone’s hero because I’m too busy needing saving myself. I was saved by those I called villains. “Fuck- Jan, he’s crying! Did he hit his head?”

I shake my head and curl my legs up to my chest; the lump in my throat now painful and starving me of air. It’s all too much. Everything is so much while I can do so little. Like an ant in a rainstorm without shelter. Like a mortal trading places with Atlas to hold up the sky. Like a stupid Prince who’s been thinking so much of himself, when he actually just insults others and makes everything worse!

So when I feel fingers in my hair, I push them away only for arms to wrap around me and hold me close to someone’s chest. Even as I keep struggling, two more sets of arms wrap around me and feel so warm against how damp and cold my skin is. I feel fingers in my hair again- gloved fingers. With another gloved hand holding my own and rubbing their thumb across the back of my hand.

“Ro? You sane now?” I attempt to swallow the suffocating lump, but fail as it feels even bigger than before. What am I supposed to say? I am sane- I always have been sane. I’m just no longer blind.

“... I guess so…”

“Good, ‘cause I gotta tell you off for scaring me. Do you know how hard that is to do? You big-headed… butt-head.”

“Not the time for insults...” I guess the extra arms are coming from Janus. He shouldn’t be comforting me; not after what I said. Not after I hurt him after he showed us something so… terrifying… And I fucked it up. I destroyed so much with so few words. 

“So, you gonna thrash around again? I can let go if you want. I doubt I smell like roses and honey or whatever...” A set of arms goes to release me and in that moment, I decide to be selfish and quickly grab hold of them. Then move to grab hold of him. Both of them. And I just cry. 

“I-I’m sorry… For your name, and ignoring you, and calling you villains, a-and threatening you- I threatened you so much… Fuck…” I can smell them both and it’s such a weird scent, even more so with the scent of rain mixed with them. There’s honey and lavender, but also Thomas’ deodorant and something close to when Patton forgets to put the lid of the trash bin back on. It’s gross, but comforting.

I shouldn’t be comforted. 

“Roman, it’s-”

“No!” I pull back to see them both, again hating the look in their eyes. Janus’ heterochromatic ones and the bright red ones of my brother, both looking at me with looks like so much worry. “Stop looking at me like that! I don’t deserve it! Or this! Or to be saved-”

“Stop it, Roman-” I swat the reaching gloved hand away and fall backwards, out of their arms, before digging my palms into my eyes to see the dancing spots instead of seeing the kindness I don’t deserve. 

“I screwed up so much! I ignored you, Em! I pretended that you didn’t exist! What so-called ‘good guy’ ignores his own twin!? None! Because I’m not fucking good! I never was! I’ve never been a hero!”

“Roman!” “And I knew that your name was important to you, Dec- Janus! God, I don’t deserve to call you by your name! I laughed! I… I fucking laughed! After you saved Thomas, while I just made shit worse! I made fun of it!”

“And I compared you to Remus while you were in a vulnerable state- Stop apologising and look at us!” 

It’s something in the way Janus says it, it could be how his ‘s’ are starting to be held longer or the actual desperation from him that I’ve never heard before, but I take my hands away from my eyes and look up at them. 

Remus is grinning brightly and without any of his usual craziness behind it. He looks happy as he stretches his arms out towards me- now making grabby hands at me as if he wants a hug from me. It’s… weird to see him so happy. Is he usually straining his smile? Or this is a different kind of happy then when he pops up to give one of us a fright?

Janus has a soft smile on his face as he fixes the hat atop his head with one of his six arms. He holds another hand out and motions me to come to them. “We both said some harsh things; and I sincerely apologise for hurting you after so much had happened to you and Thomas. And we’ll talk this through- but later. You look exhausted, Roman…”

“So come here, hug us, and let me carry you to our side of the Mindscape for some microwaved leftovers so that we can be best bros for two minutes before you regret saying that mushy shit to me.” 

The lump in my throat doesn’t hurt as much- but is still very much there. We do have a lot to talk through, but I am also so tired. And cold. And I nearly just fell into bone-shattering waves. Remus’ open arms and Janus’ inviting look warms something inside me and pushes me into my brother's arms. He holds on tightly with fistfulls of my shirt, as if I’ll disappear. I did this to him… I made him scared that I would leave him again.

“No, Rem…” I have to fix this. I have to become better, instead of sulking away in my Imagination. Doing nothing, solves nothing. If I want to be a hero, I have to work for it again. From the bottom up. Which starts with Remus. “More than two minutes…”

“Sixty-nine minutes?” 

“Sixty-nine years sounds better. Especially with an infinity on the end.”

“Sixty-nine infinities? What legendary stamina…”

“You’re gross and insane.” Yet I only hold onto him tighter. His hugs have always felt like I’m not missing a part of myself, as if everything will be okay and nothing will be bad again. It’s a huge lie, but no one else’s hugs can make me feel this kind of safe. 

“Come on. I love standing in drenched clothing and I totally don’t want Roman to try the lasagne that we made yesterday.” Holy crap. The leftovers is lasagne!? 

“Oooh! You’ll love it, Ro! The cheese on top is scrunchy, like an exo-skeleton.” Too tired to get grossed out at that rather terrifying image, I just give him a hum to make him know that I heard as he picks me up without issue. Now he just smells like strong deodorant with a hint of trashiness; which is dealable enough to get comfortable against him. 

“You better not be sleeping. You know how I wake people up.”

“With a scream two inches from their face?”

“I was gonna put slime in your shirt- but that works too! Maybe with some blood…”

“Fake blood please, Remus.” I open my eyes and catch Janus’ gaze for a moment. He gives me another smile before bapping the back of Remus’ head since he was making his nose drip blood. “I wasn’t lying! Clean that up before we enter the Mindscape or you’ll stain the carpets again!”

“Those carpets are already stained from last week!”

“I will hide your copy of Betelgeuse! In my room no less- don’t test me!”

Closing my eyes once more, I hear a raspberry from Remus before they start bantering again. A few days on their side of the Mindscape will do me good. With my deranged yet caring brother and… the attractive-looking, snake man that may have just turned my school yard crush on him into a full on I’m-gay-for-you. We’ll have to talk first, and I have to get some flowers to apologise properly with, but maybe one day I’ll ask him out. Leftover lasagne dinner with him and my brother sounds like a good start.

[fireteam-dauntless]

A Tale of Two Guardians XXIV

Chapter 24 : Hiding Part 1 of the Destined series masterlist

word count : 1.6K tag list : @mail-me-a-snail @basically-nacl @shins-wife @speed-boop

When I landed on Venus, I rode my sparrow towards that cave that Maverick took me to.  It was the only place outside of Vanguard reach that I could go to, and hopefully Maverick wouldn’t think to look for me there.  At least not first.  I didn’t want him to find me right away, I needed time to think, to figure out why he had to keep his secrets.  I wasn’t ready to face him.  I still wasn’t wearing my armor, so I had to be extremely careful in danger zones.  Despite my caution, I took a bullet in the side from a Hobgoblin from across the Endless Steps.  I cried out in pain as I peeled around the corner and started through the woods, clutching onto my waist.  The pain was rippling through my entire torso and warm blood seeped through the fabric and between my fingers.  When I reached the cave, I got off my sparrow and leaned against the outside wall of the cliff side, my hands were shaking.

“Dawn...”

“Already on it.” She said as she started to heal the wound that was soaking my side with blood.  “You should have worn your armor.  I can bring some down from the ship.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said softly.  “I’ll be fine here.”  I stood up and walked inside the cave and lit the oil lamps, then pulled off my helmet after my Ghost set wards so I could breathe in here.  The air on Venus was growing cold as night was starting to fall.  I laid down and curled up on the cot, hugging myself.  Part of me wished I hadn’t read those files.  My heart felt broken, and my stomach plunged when I started crying again.  Everything that I’ve been feeling over the last 24 hours came out all at once.  Betrayal, despair, anger, used… It all hurt.  I pulled a blanket that was folded in the corner over my body and closed my eyes.  

I woke the next morning feeling weak and stiff.  I sat up and looked around at the bare walls around me, illuminated by the faint orange glow of the oil lamps.  “Dawn…  Can you bring down my supplies?”

“What, your paints and brushes.”

“Yes.”

She pulled them down and I stared at the empty walls.  My body still felt weak, but I had to sort out my emotions somehow.  I started painting, all of my emotions flowing out through my paintbrush.

“Are you going to forgive him?” Dawn asked me once I had painted the dark reds and oranges on the wall.  

“Maybe.  I just need to figure out why.  Why would he hide so much from me?  You don’t understand, peu de lumière, I feel like I don’t know the man at all anymore.”

I continued painting.  It was of a sketch I did without Maverick’s knowledge.  It was him as a Sunbreaker, his arm pulled back, ready to throw his hammer, and I as a Sunsinger, my arm raised above me, clutching a grenade.  The solar energy that surrounded us gave me my wings, and it gave Maverick a sort of flaming halo.  Despite the negativity I felt towards him right now, I still loved him.  I couldn’t change the feelings I had for him.  It was why I felt betrayed, why I couldn’t break this feeling of despair.  Deep down, I still loved him.  He was all I had after my Fireteam died.  

It took me two days to finish that painting.  The vibrant warm colors seemed to glow in the cave, especially when they reflected the glow of lamps.  I sat down on the ground in front of the wall, my arms and clothes were spotted with paint smudges and droplets from the endless work I had done.  My sense of weakness had grown.  I’ve barely had anything to eat or drink.  I slept a total of 4 hours over the past 72, and I was so mentally exhausted that I barely felt anything now.  I felt numb to everything that had happened.  

I had gotten my answers.  Even though the answers I got weren’t what I wanted to hear, they were the truth.

“I think I know why,” I murmured softly to my Ghost.  “I think I know why he hid everything from me.”

“Oh?”

“What if he just… wanted to be a normal Guardian again?  What if he didn’t want all of his titles.  Maybe… Maybe he just wanted me to see him for himself.  See him as a Guardian, not as a legend.  Maybe he just wanted me to be his friend, so I wouldn’t idolize him.  What if… what if he just… didn’t want to be forced to remember all that he’s gone through.”

There was silence between my Ghost and I.  My head was spinning.  I closed my eyes and leaned back against one of the walls.  I held fast onto my hand cannon.  I was starting to become afraid.  What if the bounty hunters were getting close?  My head was pounding from the lack of food and water I’ve had over the last couple of days.

“Genesis, are you alright?”  My Ghost asked and hovered in front of me.

“Oui, peu de lumière, I’m just… tired.”

“Your vitals are dropping, Guardian, I’m bringing some food and water down from the Ship.”

“Non, non… s'il vous plaît, ne t'en fais pas.”*

While my Ghost was gone to the Ship, I heard the whirr of a Sparrow approaching.  Then before I knew it, the door burst open.  I screamed out loud and held up my weapon, though my hands were shaking violently.  As I did, I saw the red eye of a Vex, but before I could pull the trigger in defense, Maverick's voice cut through the air.

“Angel!”  Maverick shouted and hurried over to me.  He knelt down in front of me, removed his helmet, and moved the barrel of my gun down.  He looked at me closely before his arms wrapped around me, and he held me close to him.

“Ah… mon chérie… je suis désolé…”  I murmured as I leaned my face into his chest.  His hand gently held my head and tucked me close against him.

“I’m so sorry, Angel,” he said quietly.  “I was going to tell you in the morning.  But by then you were gone…  I’ve been looking all over for you.  I was starting to lose hope.”

“Maverick…” I looked up at him, my vision blurry as tears started to leak on my cheeks again.  “I’m sorry… I should have trusted you…”

“But you had reason to doubt.  I wish I had told you the truth sooner.  But… I was afraid you would hate me.”

“I could never hate you.  Never.  I just… I wanted to understand.  I felt like I was missing so many pieces.  I… I honestly thought you didn’t trust me.”

“That’s not true, Angel.  I just didn’t know if you would trust me after I told you.”  Mav gently held my head in his hands, his fingers wiping the tears beneath my eyes away, just as Dawn came back from the ship.

“You know, I knew you were going to show up eventually,” she said and started to heal me.  I felt energy rush back into my body, but my muscles still felt weak.  I was still incredibly tired.

“C’mon, I gotta get you out of here.  You need rest.  What’s happened over the past three days?”

“Oh you know,” Dawn chirped, “she hasn't eaten or drank anything, maybe 5 hours of sleep total.  She spent most of her time doing that.”  My Ghost said while flashing her light on the wall.  Maverick paused and looked at it, almost seeming to be amazed.

After a few minutes, though, he turned his attention back to me.  I didn’t protest as he lifted me up into his arms, one under my knees, the other behind my shoulder.

“Little Light, bring us up to my ship.  Can you fly hers back to the Tower?”

“Of course,” my Ghost said.  “I’ll be right behind you.”

“I’m so dead when we get back,” I murmured softly.  “Zavala is definitely going to put me on total lock down again.”

“I promise you, Angel,” Maverick said firmly once we had transmatted onto his ship.  “I won’t let that happen to you.”  He set me down gently in the co-pilot seat.  He strapped me in securely and then met my gaze and traced his fingers along the side of my face.  I leaned my head on his hands.  “Hang tight, okay?  You might just need to get back on Earth, have some real oxygen in your lungs, and get some sleep in an actual bed.  I promise you, I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”

“Maverick… you don’t have to… Just… promise me you won’t keep things from me again.”

“I promise.  Now can I please get you home so you can sleep?  I will hold off Zavala and his bounty hunters, even if it means I have to throw a hammer into his face.”

I laughed weakly.  I knew he would, too, even though Sunbreakers were unwelcome in the Last City.  “Okay, okay, I’ll rest.  Let’s just go home.”

We entered slip space back to the Tower, the entire time Maverick was grasping tightly onto my hand, unwilling to let go.  I allowed myself to slip into deep sleep in the co-pilot seat.

--- translations ---

*No, no, please, don’t worry about it.

[do-what-the-knight-tells-you]

Elements from the Broadchurch novelization that were of particular interest::

- Ellie is a bit uncomfortable returning to work because her “suit feels strange after three weeks in a bikini and sarong”. You go get it, Ellie. Anyone wanting to write confident-and-body-positive-knows-she’s-got-dem-curves Ellie, here’s your semi-canonical backing. mother of two, rockin’ a bikini. Excellent.

- Although the division of work/responsibility between her and Joe worked for them, Ellie Worries that ppl will “think he is emasculated”, or that he will begin to feel “emasculated”, so while “the other wives are on the phone begging their husbands to come home in time to put the kids to bed, she is virtually throwing him out of the house and into the pub”, really trying to encourage him to hang with the guys or whatever, whenever the opportunity presents itself.

- Hardy is already on the edge when we first see him, talking to the farmer whose tractor has had its gas siphoned. He’s carefully staying away from the edge of the cliff, scared it’s going to induce vertigo and heart palpitations.

- The sections that are a close POV on Hardy have way more detail about the Sandbrook case than was originally clear in S1 (I assume, because the book was published after the bulk of the writing/story construction stuff was finished for S2). For instance, When Hardy is first inspecting Danny’s room, he’s struggling, trying not to think about [Pippa]’s room (she’s not named here, but it’s clear that’s the child he’s referring to). in the midst of this turmoil, he notices the height measurements on danny’s doorframe, and is overcome by the realization that there will never be any more above them. And then there are these heart-wrenching sentences: “For some people, tears dam behind the eyeballs. But when Hardy wants to cry, he has to hold them in using the back of his throat. He sometimes feels it’s the only strong muscle in his body.” yeah, c’mon, just fuck me up.

- Maggie being into women is present from the beginning here! She has a partner, Lil, whom we see/meet several times! First time she is referenced is when Rev. Paul Coates invites Maggie and everyone to that first church service about Danny. She mentions that a predecessor of his made it clear she was unwelcome there, once. He assures her that’s not him, and that she is welcome, and Lil too. She says something like “as it should be, “ and ends the convo without indicating whether or not she will come. Excellent.

- At one point the inside of Ellie’s car is compared to the inside of a bin/trash can, with empty cans and food wrappers strewn about. This further reinforces my theory that Ellie and Alec need each other to balance out their eating habits to something actually healthy. He eats very well, as far as nutrition is concerned, but he just sort of stops eating when there is work to be done. She is going to eat, goddamnit, come hell or high water, but it is plenty likely to be anything from an entire loaf of bread to whatever the vending machine has. It’s a wonder neither of them has died of malnutrition. (she also makes mention that she’s lost weight, in a probably unhealthy way, by the end of the investigation, and has a sudden realization that she’s maybe kind of, turning into Hardy).

- End of Chapter 17, Ellie offers a hand to help Hardy in or out of a boat, he has a realization “unexpectedly painful” that he cannot remember the last time he held a woman’s hand.

- In general the poor bastard really is constantly on the edge of vertigo and panic attacks.

- Reminds me again, whatever did happen with Ellie’s sister??? did we ever see any kind of furtherance or resolution of her gambling issues in the later seasons?

- Oh Shit. “I didn’t take your money.” The money Joe gave Danny, that SOCCO found taped beneath his bed, that was Ellie’s holiday money, and she assumed her sister had stolen it. Shit. What a shitbag.

- One of Hardy’s favorite things about Tess was the ability to come home, throwing last minute ideas and theories at each other, being able to pass idle thoughts back and forth, turn them over, hear them in a new light, and see what they grow into. (incidentally, exactly what he’s developing with Ellie)

- The exchange between Alec and Ellie after SOCCO Brian hits on her is great here as well. She giggles, he asks her why, she figures she needs to share this with someone, and tells him. she thinks “his face froze in another one of his Does-Not-Compute expressions”. So he seems just as weird to her as to us, does a terrible job hiding the awkward nerd within. And she totally thinks it’s cute. Bet me. Goes on to think, after they talk about SOCCO having dirty hands, “ ‘Dirty Brian’, Hardy says, with a playful roll of the ‘R’ ”. They’re totally playing with each other and it’s adorable. “She thinks to herself that it’s the first moment of genuine humor they’ve had between them, so of course she immediately messes it up.” asking about Sandbrook.

- Oh Shit, Jack’s wife shows up at his funeral. hides her identity the entire time, and Spits in Karen-the-reporter’s face before she gets in a car and disappears again.

- Hardy has a panic attack after calling Daisy and giving up for the night. “I can’t do this, Hardy hears himself say, and the words are followed by an agonizing pain, a huge fist squeezing his heart to the bursting point. He staggers back until he hits a wall, and slides helplessly down it. Hardy assumes his childhood comfort position, knees pulled up to his chest, so close that he can rest his chin there. Experience tells him that he can hold this pose for hours and hours. He remains motionless amidst the debris of his investigation until his heart rate returns to its version of normal. By the time he gets up with a low wheeze and click of joints, it is dark outside.”

- Ellie calls Joe to say she’s still stuck at her desk and she’ll be late, on the night Susan Wright is arrested. He says it’s okay, but she can hear in his voice that it is not. (So, is that the last straw? she keeps staying late, it’s clear that this shit is going to drag on forever, and his family and life are NOT going to return to normal, no matter if he keeps getting away with his crime? And this is the window, his only window maybe, where she might be too busy to intercept if he confesses? This is the opportunity to confess to Hardy, and not her?) because very shortly thereafter (and leaving his kids alone and unwatched???) they receive the call from Danny’s mobile, and they catch him out at the cabin... and holy shit, even knowing it’s her (and he must know it’s her), he slams the cabin door open into her face, probably hard enough to beak her nose, and then minutes later shoves her to the ground so hard the reader spends a moment wondering if she’s broken her wrist.

- AND THE FUCKER TENDERLY PICKS GRAVEL OUT OF THE CUTS THAT NIGHT

- (if someone wanted to write an AU, one where he is also injured that night, and his failure to hide that injury tips her off the next day, or that night, and so she is the one to put together the pieces.... and arrest him? god that would be heartbreaking. But perhaps would enable a situ where she doesn’t beat the shit out of him in custody, thereby invalidating his confession, so that shit actually sticks...)

- When Hardy gives the interview to Maggie and Ollie, the book makes it clear that he expects his confession of being cheated on is going to cause them to regard him with pity and shame. He is embarrassed to have been cheated on. He calls himself a cuckold in his head. poor bastard. so confused when they respond with empathy and admiration for him, and disapproval and dismissal toward his wife.

- Happily, an answer to the argument Jack saw, between the Postal worker and Danny. Turns out, the punk had had his truck keyed, and knew Danny on his paper route was one of the only ppl who would have been out and about at the right time of night/morning to have done it. he confronted Danny, and that’s what Jack witnessed. He comes clean to the police towards the end, insists that that is as far as it ever went, and admits that he lied because he was afraid that having had that argument, having had sort-of-a-motive, that would make him a suspect.

- Fuck, I mean, we all know Joe is dangerous, but talking Danny back off the cliff and back into the house consciously with his paramedic voice, with the kind of experience and calm honed over years of professional work... goddamn, so many ways in which he had power over young Danny.

- The moment she believes Joe could have done it. She says it can’t have been him, because the boat was burned while she was away. He would have had to leave the kids alone while he did it, and he would never take that risk. Hardy confirms that he did, that he left them, and Ellie (immediately believes Hardy, btw) finally truly understands that the moral partner she’s been building a family with no longer exists, if he ever did in the first place.

- Hardy briefly considering telling Ellie about Tess, to empathize with her pain and betrayal, and immediately knowing the situations are too different to be useful. being disappointed in himself for having thought it. pulling on every little bit of experience and training he’s ever had to try to get through the conversation.

- Oh shit. the slug trails. the slug. that little bit of symbolism didn’t feel established in the tv series, she just squishes a slug the last time she enters the house. but in the novel, her merry war trying to find the slug is a constant recurring thing, seeing the trails on the carpet, but never able to find it, the thing only coming out when they’re asleep, Joe cleaning up the slug trails after they come back from vacation. Her staring at them in despair as she cries into the carpet one night, over Danny. and then, after Joe has been revealed, she comes home and there the bastard is, big fat slug that’s been lurking in her house all this time, sitting, glistening, in plain sight. and she squishes the hell out of it. And I was so caught up in the story that, even though I BEEN KNEW how it was gonna end, I never picked up on the fucking foreshadowing until that last moment. Am I just dense, or is it just good storytelling? XD

[having-a-freddie-time]

save me

summary: Y/N is trying her hardest to get out of an abusive relationship without telling anyone. However, she can’t always hide the bruises, especially from her best friend since childhood, Ben Hardy. Once he finds out, he tries his best to help her out without her getting hurt.

A/N: A N G S T Y. kinda left yall out on the edge of the cliff here with this one. i hope y’all enjoy disssss.

warning: angst, cussing, implied abuse, (no descriptive mentions of abuse, just that she was hurt)

word count: 1.4k

__________________________________

Ben looked at you, waiting for you spill your guts. This caused you to draw in a sharp breath, exhaling slowly. This was it, you were finally going to tell him.

“Your suspicions are correct. It was Trevor, always him. I lied to you each time you had asked because I was so afraid of what you might have done or that you would’ve left me or something…”

Ben inhaled sharply at the revelation he had just heard. Tears pricked your eyes as Ben looked at you through sad eyes. You could see the betrayal in his orbs. You closed your eyes and gnawed on your lip as tears slid down your face.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me, Y/N. I’m your best friend; you know you can always trust me.” He croaked out between silent sobs which caused you to wince. Sure, you’ve seen him cry before, but that was because he was either crying in pain when he broke his arm, or when he was crying because of how happy he was, getting the role in Bohemian Rhapsody. But never because he felt betrayed by you.

“Ben I-, I’m so sorry. I knew I could trust you but I don’t know. I was so afraid of what you would have done to him or what he would have done to me if he found out I told someone…” You whispered as you opened your eyes, only to be met with the back of his head.

He couldn’t look at you not because he was mad, no, because he just couldn’t believe that someone was hurting you.

“How long has this been happening, Y/N?” He asked as he finally made eye contact with you, hot tears streaming down his cheek. “How long has he been hurting you?”

“Almost a year…”

“A YEAR?!”

Him yelling caused you to flinch and hide your face. A natural instinct for you. He noticed this and softened up, turning towards you and reaching his arms out slowly to you. You stared at him for a second before leaning into him and releasing the ugliest sobs known to man.

He didn’t say anything; he just held you and ran his fingers through your soft hair. You sobbed into his chest, your hand having the tightest grip on his shirt. You held onto his shirt as if you were afraid of him leaving.

“I’m here, love. I’m still here.” He reassured you quietly, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head.

He held you there for what felt like a light year, just making you feel safe and calming you down. Finally you had finished your sob fest; you released your grip on his shirt and slowly escaped his embrace. Your mascara and tears were very prominent on his blue shirt. “I’m sorry about that.” You gestured towards his shirt. He shrugged it off and looked at you.

“S’not my biggest worry at the moment.” He murmured and ran a hand through his blonde locks. He sighed heavily and coughed awkwardly. You can tell he wanted you to tell you more, but was too afraid to ask.

“It all started after like, the sixth month mark. I don’t what I did to trigger him; he just started getting aggressive towards me. It started off with just raising a hand at me, and then slowly progressed to actually making contact with me.”

Ben shook his head as he listened. He was disgusted that someone would treat you such a way.

“The bruise on my arm was from last night when I tried getting away from him. I kneed him in the groin and left.” You closed your eyes to calm yourself down. Calming yourself down from the anger that bubbled inside you.

“I have tried quite a few times to end things with him, but I supposed you can suspect how that ended…”

“I wish you would have told me earlier. You know we can call the police, Y/N, they’ll get him.”

“Trevor has this was of lying to people and manipulating people. It’s like he’s a fucking hypnotist. He’s got people thinking that I fucking problems. That I’ve drinking too much and I’m too dumb to when to stop. They don’t know that he’s egging me on to drink more. He hands me a drink and I drink it only because I’m afraid of what might happen if I don’t.”

“I want to leave him so bad, get away from him. I want to see him rot in hell, but I just don’t know how. I don’t know how to leave him , I mean I do but I don’t know at the same time.”

Ben didn’t say anything; just listened closely to what you had to say. He knew better than to interrupt you while you were in the middle of a rant. He just watched and listened until you were finished.

“Please don’t tell anyone. Please, Ben.” You croaked out, looking at him through your glossy vision. He stood and walked towards you and pulled you into his embrace. You wrapped your arms around his torso, feeling secure in his arms.

The moment was ruined by your phone ringing. “I’m sure it’s just work, probably asking why I didn’t come in today. I’ll have Jordan cover for me.” Ben shrugged and held you as your phone continued to buzz. You pulled away from Ben and grabbed your phone. You muted it without even checking the text messages that erupted on your screen.

“Wanna watch some movies?”

“I’d love to.” **************************************** You didn't realize how long Ben had stayed over until you looked out your patio window, noticing that the sun was setting. You looked down at Ben who had fallen asleep in your lap. You smiled gently and ran your fingers through his hair. The light beaming from your phone had caught your eye. Furrowing your brows, you picked up your phone and your eyes blew wide out of your head.

Trevor: why aren't you answering my damn calls?? Trevor: fucking answer me y/n!!!! Trevor: if you don't fucking answer me Trevor: you never fucking listen Trevor: i'm coming over if you don't fucking answer me!!!

You nearly dropped your phone at the sight of the messages. You gently woke up Ben, gentle but quickly. "Ben wake up. Please wake up." You started panicking. What were you going to do? You started hyperventilating and freaking out. "Ben wake up!"

You shot up from the couch, causing Ben to groan as his head landed on the cushions of your couch. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What is going on?. Holy shit was time is it?"

"Doesn't matter! Trevor texted me!" You threw your phone at him and started pacing around the living room, hands on your head. "What the fuck am I going to do? He's going to hurt me so bad I-"

"Stay with me for the rest of the night. Say you're with your parents. I'm sure they'll cover for you."

"I can't. He thinks that I want nothing to do with my parent. I don't know what to do Ben!"

"Calm down, love. We'll figure something out!" Ben chewed at his lip as he tried to think of something to make up for you. Your phone buzzed again, causing you to look at the caller I.D. Both you and Ben eye contact when you saw Trevor's name pop up. "I have to answer it, he's already pissed as it is. I don't know what to say."

Ben furrowed his brows as he licked his lips. "Say you lost service?" You took and deep breath and brought the phone to your ear.

"Why the fuck haven't you been answering me?!"

"I'm so sorry, I lost service for some reason and tried contacting you but it never went through." You cried to him, tears flooded your eyes. Ben got up and paced around the living room. All he wanted to do was beat the shit out of Trevor. Beat him for hurting you for so long. Ben's fists clenched as he tried listening to your conversation.

"You think I'm fucking stupid?!" Trevor hissed at you through the phone. You could tell his was drunk and angry, obviously. You flinched slightly at his tone of voice.

"I'm so sorry, please don't get mad!" You yelled at him, wanting to throw your phone across the world. You were starting to get livid. "You know what, I don't have to fucking answer you all the damn time!"

You and him spit back and forth on the phone before you finally hung up. You threw your phone harshly against the couch and groaned out loudly. Someone would have thought you were getting off.

"Should I leave? Will you be okay if I do?"

"Yes I'll be fine. I promise to call you if anything goes wrong."

And with that Ben hugged you tightly and left.

Leaving you alone.

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

Tag list: @benhardyisdaddy @monochromedeacon @queenbbarnes @haileylansley @shesakillerquueennn @onexlittlespark

perm tag list: @benhardyisdaddy @haileylansley @queenbbarnes

[chocobostrinket]

When they fell

Rating: General

Character Death, Original Characters, Betrayal

Word Count: 1529

Summary: Before the World of Ruin, they served the king with pride. Pride comes before the fall after all. 

Notes: Just a fun thing to practice writing again. And I’ve always wanted to write out just how my glaives died before the world of ruin. You’ll probably hate one of them by the end of it. It’s short. However I do have a follow up planned for when they remember how they died. :D 

~

When Nyx gave the order, their team leaped from the cliffs and onto the final ship. Albireo landed higher than Diaval and Io both, waved to her, and went searching for the princess on his own. Which was fine. He worked better alone, stealth being his specialty. Meanwhile, Diaval landed near one of the windows on the ship, her knife sunk deep into the metal. However, Io’s own knife missed his mark, handle hitting the metal instead, and his warp slamming him into the ship below her, with no grip to save himself.

She didn’t have time to think. She used her legs to rip her knife out and dove after him. On the way down, she managed to grab his knife from the air, and upon reaching him, thrust it into his hand. They both threw their knives then, this time his own sinking in beside hers. They warped, and she placed a hand on his back to steady him.

“I got you.” She said as he turned to look at her.

“Thanks.” He was breathless, but they managed to get through the window, and begin their search.

They ran quickly through the halls, eliminating any MTs they came across, and looking into each room for the princess. Soon enough, someone found her. Pelna if she remembered his name correctly. They could withdraw. She glanced at Io and they nodded at each other, hurrying back the way they came.

There was a resounding bang heard from outside of the ship they were on then. Diaval slowed her running to a stop and looked out a nearby small window. She gasped, a chill running up her spine sharply. Usually not a good sign. Behind her, Io also stopped, his face grim.

“Something���s wrong.” She said, and as soon as the words left her mouth she watched as one ship exploded and crashed into another.

“Traitors,” Someone rasped over their earpieces then, the words of a dying man.

Her eyes widened at the words, and immediately she turned away from the window. Her first thought was to find Albireo. He was alone and could easily be overwhelmed. There was no doubt in her mind that her only worry would be what was in front of her.

She should have looked back.

Before she could react, there was a hand, laughably gentle, on her throat. To keep her still she imagined. And then a knife thrust into her back. She gasped, or tried to, and her own hand went to cover the one on her throat.

Next to her ear, Io said in a soft voice, “I’m sorry. But I’d rather it me than anyone else.”

Then, with the same hand on her throat, he threw her over the railing of the ship, the bottom hollow. There was nothing but the ground beneath her. Like time had slowed she managed to turn around. Their eyes met, and she was simply too shocked to feel betrayed.

Io seemed to genuinely feel horrible for his actions, but tore his gaze away from her, and left.

She fell to her death, the world going black the moment her back hit the ground.

Io didn’t last long after that, a demon seeing his black coat and seizing him without her to watch his back. His head was dashed against the wall of the ship before he could react, his betrayal for nothing.

~

Albireo had come so far. He’d survived the crash of the ships, and the demon that had been set loose to kill the loyal glaives. He’d managed to cross the city, despite the loss of his friends. Now here in front of the citadel, his body gave out. So close to his goal. He collapsed on the ground, blood loss too great for him to fight against. Behind him, he could hear the burble of a demon arising from the ground. A great groan behind him told him it was an Iron Giant.

A small huff of disbelief left him, and he fell forward onto his stomach. Come and get me, he thought to himself, knowing that the Iron Giant wouldn’t reach him before death did. He was shivering, and his breathing slowed. If Sawyer was smart, she’d have been long gone from the Citadel. And she was, he knew. But he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to check. It was the one reason he’d fought so hard to return here.

Before he took his last breath, he prayed that at least one of his friends, his family, had survived.

~

She could hear the footsteps getting closer and looked up at Monica, who was holding out her hand for Iris. Behind her, watching for demons she thought, stood one other, who she assumed was the Marshal. Luck had been on her side, as she didn’t think she would have been able to get Iris up to safety on her own.

“Iris! Just like before, hurry!” Sawyer called and cupped her hands together to throw Iris upwards once more.

And with no doubt, she did as Sawyer asked. She ran at her full speed, and Sawyer used her momentum to toss her up to the woman’s waiting hand with a shout. She quickly spun around and looked up, ensuring that she had a hold on Iris. And she did thankfully. She was already working on pulling her up onto the catwalk, with Cor’s help. They would then lead her to the other side of the seawall to the waiting boat. As she was pulled to safety, Sawyer realized that she had just completed her promise. Iris was safe.

“Sawyer! Come on!” Iris called down to her.

An almost wistful sigh left her then, and she threw her knife up to Iris. It stuck in the metal next to the group and Iris looked at it expectantly, as if Sawyer would be there in a burst of sparks. But Sawyer knew that safety was out of her reach. Iris had her coat already, and as a final gift, Sawyer wanted her to have her knife.

“The king’s magic is gone Iris,” she said gently, “I can’t follow any further.”

“No! You have to try!” Iris shouted back, panic in her voice.

Sawyer only shook her head and turned to look at Cor, who’d let Monica begin guiding Iris away.

“Take her the rest of the way. Will you?” She said, her tone unsteady.

He nodded solemnly, knowing what was about to happen, and said, “Thank you for your service.”

Sawyer had to swallow the small lump that was forming in her throat. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was scared. Rather than acknowledge that though, she bowed at the waist to hide her face from them while she calmed herself and said, “It’s been an honor.”

She got up then and turned on her heel to begin walking forward, “Iris, take my knife. If you ever find the friends I told you about, show them it. They’ll know what it means.”

“No! Please! Sawyer!” Iris begged, and she could hear her struggle with Monica’s hold on her.

But the woman won out against her after saying something in a low voice. It wasn’t until their footsteps vanished into the distance did she allow herself to crumple to her knees. A gasp of pain left her, and her right hand went to her side. She had told Iris that the bullet had only grazed her, but it hadn’t been true. She’d been struck by it full on. But she didn’t want Iris to worry about her more than necessary. She didn’t think she’d have left her side if she knew she’d been hurt.

It was then that the MTs found her. Another group of them, and this time she couldn’t stop them from aiming at her. And behind them, demons who were screeching for her blood. Instead of staring at them to watch what was coming, she looked up, memorizing how the sky looked on the night of her 16th birthday.

Her eyes closed when she heard the first gun go off.

~

She’d had a free day for once and had been left on her own to wander. Diaval and Io were on the roof tops, looking out over the landscape. Probably planning their plan for their next assignment. Albireo was talking with one of the weapons dealers about a new crossbow. It was almost as if they didn’t want their days off. But she did. She wanted at least a little normalcy in her life. However, she felt drawn toward the city center, near where Albireo was. Sawyer ended up finding a small shop next to Cid that she hadn’t noticed before, and stopped to browse.

She hadn’t noticed the girl who appeared from behind the table, carrying something, and smiled at her. Part of her chest suddenly hurt for a moment, but it was gone so quickly that she wasn’t sure if it had been real. The girl froze upon seeing her, and then a slow smile crept onto her face. There were a few moments of silence between the two, and for some odd reason, Sawyer felt as if she knew her in another life.

[izaswritings]

Title: not so above it all

Synopsis: In the aftermath of Varian stealing the Sundrop Flower, Rapunzel must come to terms with the betrayal of a friend, and the role she played in his destruction.

Notes: We aren’t given a reason or an excuse for why Rapunzel never visited Varian after the storm (especially if she was so worried about him!!). So, this is my take on it. I still think it's more in-character for Rapunzel to immediately have gone after Varian once the storm was over, but I feel this explanation might serve as well. 

-

AO3 Link is here.

-

Long after the sun has set, Rapunzel is still awake.

She should sleep—she knows this intimately, well aware of how exhausted she will be in the morning if she does not—but every time she closes her eyes, something awful curls in her gut and seizes her breath. She feels sick to her stomach, head spinning in circles and mouth dry and clammy. She’s exhausted, but no matter how hard she tries, sleep doesn’t come. She just sits in sweltering sheets and tosses and turns until she dozes in a feverish haze, jolted back into awareness by the slightest sound.

Guilt, Rapunzel thinks, is an emotion that allows for no rest.

It’s only been a few hours since that disaster of a day, but the pain still cuts as deeply as it did back then. The look on her father’s face when he realized what Rapunzel had done. The worry in her mother’s eyes. The disdain in Varian’s voice, a boy she’d seen as a friend, as he laughed in her face and said, “I used you.”

Rapunzel snarls under her breath, casting her blanket off in a sudden fury. Pascal squeaks in alarm, ducking to dodge the flying sheets. Rapunzel whirls off the bed and grabs fistfuls of the soft fabric, ripping her many blankets free from the mattress and throwing them in a heaping pile on the floor. She stands over them, her bed bare and pillows strewn across the room, her chest heaving, her hands curled into shaking fists.

As quickly as it came, the anger drains out of her, leaving her feeling washed-out and faintly ashamed. She looks down at the sheets, and all she can think is that it didn’t really solve anything at all, that she is still angry and hurt and damnably guilty, and now in the morning the maids will come in and have to clean all this up, and Rapunzel is such a child—

It would be easy to pick up the sheets, or rather, it should be easy, but suddenly it seems like the hardest thing in the world. Her small room spins before her eyes, the walls closing in on her at all sides. The air is heavy and hot and suffocating. For a moment it almost looks like her tower.

Her breath catches in her throat, and before she even realizes what she’s doing, Rapunzel slams open the door to her balcony, almost tripping in her haste to escape the room. The slap of cold air is like a wake-up call, and Rapunzel hunches over her knees, breathing heavily, sweat cooling on her brow. For a moment, she thinks she might be sick, nausea roiling in her gut.

The moment passes, and slowly but surely, the night air brings Rapunzel back to herself, eases the feverish flush in her skin and chases the last haunting dreams from her head. She wanders in a daze to her balcony railing, bare feet pressing against cool stone. She lifts one hand to the railing to steady herself, the rock blessedly cold against her palm.

The city sprawls out below her, rolling hills and black ocean on the horizon. The sky is dark, heavy clouds having rolled in with the sunset and hiding the moon from view. The whole city seems blanketed in darkness, the shadows long and deep, swallowing up the last lingering lights. Even the usual streetlamps seem dimmed, their glow faint and near invisible to Rapunzel’s eyes, so far away up in the castle.

She cannot help but feel this is an omen of sorts.

Even though she cannot see it, Rapunzel knows what lies beyond the water, beyond the graceful dip of the mountains and hills. Her tower used to stand there, hidden in the cliffs. Varian and the Sundrop Flower are there now. All of them lost to her.

Happy birthday to me, Rapunzel thinks, glaring down at the city below and blinking furious tears from her eyes. Your childhood home is destroyed, your dad is lying to you, you committed treason…

She squeezes her eyes shut, breath hitching and fingers digging into the stone railing of her balcony, but hot and angry tears slip free anyway, uncomfortably warm on her cold cheeks, agonizingly slow as they trail down the creases on her face, plopping from her chin onto her hands.

…And you lost a friend.

She bows over the railing, arms trembling, fighting back the sudden and overwhelming urge to break down in tears for real. She’s been fighting the breakdown all day, the tears and the anger and the ugly helplessness that’s been boiling in her blood like a restless curse.

Rapunzel takes a deep breath, the cold air stinging her throat, and wipes the tears away with the tips of her fingers, gently, carefully, calmly. She won’t break down again. Once in a day is enough. She has already cried over this, sobbed quietly into her arms when the day caught up with her. Eugene had found her then, comforted her, wiped away her tears.

“It’s not your fault, Rapunzel.”

She is so grateful to him, for saying that, for being there. Rapunzel had needed those words, even if now, with some time and perspective, she can admit that they are not wholly true. But at the time they had been a balm on an ugly wound.

Now, even if it is only hours since then, in the cold winter air and away from the small walls of her room, Rapunzel can reflect. It hurts her still, but the bite of the cold and the dark night lets her breathe.

“Everyone turned their backs on me!” Varian had told her, only six hours ago. Rapunzel knows that isn’t really true. She suspects Varian knows that too. There is no way all of Corona denied him, not every single person. She knows this because she knows Corona… and, too, because she once knew Varian. Anger in his voice when speaking about Corona. But betrayal, thick and awful and ugly, when speaking about her.

“Sorry, Princess… but I know firsthand how well you keep your promises.”

Rapunzel doesn’t know what happened to Varian’s father, how he came to be entombed, though she has her suspicions. What she does know is this—in that moment, Varian was right. No matter Rapunzel’s good intentions, no matter how sorry she was… she had broken her promise to him. Not just that day during the storm, when she turned him away. But every day since then, too, every day that passed that she didn’t go to see him, to help him, to drag him away. When it comes to Varian, Rapunzel has broken her oath so thoroughly not even an apology can make up for what she’s done.

The worst part is, she doesn’t even have a good reason. She had been scared, and so she’d stayed away. Those two days as Queen had gutted Rapunzel, tortured her, twisted her inside and out. She couldn’t paint, she couldn’t make choices, and every time she thought about Varian, about the desperation in his voice and the fear in his eyes, and told herself, go, go now, he needs you…she hadn’t. The fear had risen in her throat and her feet had stayed glued to the smooth castle tiles.

Even later, she hadn’t dared. It was too late, then, and she told herself going now would only make things worse. Or that, if he still needed her, Varian would come again. Or that maybe he was angry with her—as he was right to be—and staying away deliberately, and she should respect that.

It had seemed so logical at the time. Now, having seen the amber tomb of Varian’s father and seen the lengths Varian is willing to go to save him, having heard the fury in his voice as he blamed her and the kingdom… now, Rapunzel can see those words for what they really are.

Excuses, to hide her own fear.

Rapunzel has screwed up. She knows this. She has failed, utterly and miserably. She has let Varian down, turned her back on him however unintentional it may have been, and she has lost his friendship forever. How funny, that she discovers this now. Too little and too late.

She rocks back on her heels, tilting her face towards the sky. Thinking of Varian is painful, like someone has taken a knife and stabbed it into her chest, then grabbed the hilt and kept twisting. Awful, and ugly.

She exhales slowly into the night air, watching her breath fog and mist. A soft squeak draws her eyes back down to the railing. Pascal stares up at her, eyes wide, skin turned pale green at the cold. He must have followed her when she left the room.

“Oh, Pascal,” Rapunzel says, and reaches for him. He crawls on her hand and up her arm, his small spiky face butting at her cheek. She laughs wetly and cups him gently with her hand to protect him from the wind.

“I’ve screwed up,” Rapunzel whispers to him, blinking back tears at the admission. “I’ve screwed up so bad, Pascal. And the worst part is, I don’t think I’ll be the only one paying for it.” She stares out blindly at her city, her people, her friends and family sleeping soundly in the dark. “I’ve put everyone I love in danger.”

Pascal squeaks a sharp disagreement, tail smacking her ear.

“It’s my fault,” Rapunzel argues back, voice ragged with the effort of holding back her tears. “It’s all my fault, Pascal. I—I should have helped Varian, I should have kept my promise, but I— I didn’t. I let him down. And now…”

Pascal chirps again, tail poking her cheek.

“Of course I didn’t know,” Rapunzel whispers. “But I still helped him steal it. And I— he’s right, maybe if I had gone with him then, or…”

Pascal croons at her.

Rapunzel wipes hard at her eyes. “You don’t know that,” she says. “I’m sure… the kingdom could have… the snow wasn’t so bad that…” She can’t finish. She knows it’s not true. Her eyes drop to the railing. “I should have gone after,” she says finally. “When the snow was gone. I should have… I should have.”

Pascal’s small head rubs against her cheek in comfort. Rapunzel stares down at the city.

“I should have,” she says again, and takes a deep breath. “But I didn’t. And now… Varian, he’s going to hurt all those people. They don’t deserve that. They don’t…” She trails off. “It’s not right. It’s not right. It’s not their fault. I get why he’s angry at me, but everyone else—!”

Pascal waits. Rapunzel turns and brings the small chameleon to her face. “He’s angry,” she says, finally. “He’s grieving. But… I can’t let him hurt all those people. That— no matter his reasons. That… isn’t right.”

Pascal gives Rapunzel his best approximation of a smile, tongue flicking out at her nose, startling her into laughter. She feels relieved. A weight has lifted from her shoulders.

The pain, the guilt, the sting of Varian’s betrayal— it isn’t gone, exactly, isn’t even dulled. But she can push past it now. She can breathe a little easier, having come to this choice. Rapunzel is at fault here, yes. But she is not wholly responsible. She may have let Varian down, she may have broken her promise, but that is no excuse for what he’s done or what he will do. Loss is never an excuse for hurting others.

Varian has poisoned the castle staff, betrayed the trust of his friends, and stolen the Sundrop Flower for his own gains. He has sworn revenge on people who had nothing to do with his grief. She may have pushed him to it, but it was Varian’s choices, in the end, that have led them to this point. He has chosen his path, and now Rapunzel must choose hers.

“Thank you, Pascal,” Rapunzel says, and turns back to her room. “I know what I have to do.”

She doesn’t have all the answers, not yet. No real solution, no real way of winning. But she has courage, and heart, and her friends—and the promises she has yet to break, the promises she will make sure stay fulfilled, especially now that she knows the cost of breaking one.

Rapunzel has resolve, and for now, it is enough.

[melanie-writes-supernatural]

Watching the Time Go By

A/N: This is for @impala-dreamer's OP4A-Sam challenge. As soon as I read this prompt, this idea came into my head. I signed up for the contest and wrote this the next day, no kidding. Oh, did I mention that this is the first challenge I've ever entered on tumblr... Oh boy, am I right? Today’s my birthday (the big 20!), so I decided I might as well post it, so that all of you can enjoy this day like I hope to! Anyways, here it is. I hope everyone likes it!

Prompt (OP4A prompt): "I promise, I won't let go."

Word count: 1659

Genre: Fluff, mostly. A little bit of angst, I guess.

Pairing: Mama!Reader X Daddy!Sam

My Masterlist

~

Age: 5 hours, 38 minutes.

"Isn't she beautiful?" you murmur, lightly caressing the forehead of your new infant that is pleasantly dozing in Sam's arms.

"She's perfect," he breathes, leaning down to place the softest of kisses to your forehead. "Get some rest, [Y/N], I can take care of her for now."

"Don't put her down. She'll wake up and cry," you remind him, the both of you having already discovered that fun tidbit of information. One feeding in, and after trying to lay her down post-burping she had started crying. It broke both of yours and Sam's heart to hear the shrill sound.

She had to really be asleep, not even napping or dozing, to be set down without bawling her eyes out and calling for yours or Sam's attention.

"I won't," he returns, his eyes only on your new daughter. "Look, she's holding my finger."

Sure enough, four tiny, wrinkly fingers and a thumb are wrapped tightly around his index finger.

"She's supposed to be swaddled. She could cut her face with her nails," you tell him, giving him a frown.

"I know," he whispers, but he makes no move to change his position.

He wiggles his finger slightly and then curls his thumb and finger carefully around her hand, as though holding it with only two digits. There's a starstruck look in his eyes, and you know he's fallen deeply in love.

He presses his lips to the top of her head, where a dusting of [Y/H/C] lies.

"I promise, I won't let go," he tells her, and a smile crosses your lips as your heart swells with love for the man and the infant in front of you.

She truly was the greatest blessing that had ever happened to you.

~

Age: 4.

"Daddy, look!" a small voice chimes, and you tune in to the sound of it while eating a small piece of cotton candy.

"What is it, baby girl?" Sam returns, crouching down to look at his daughter.

"There's a spooky spider," her small voice whimpers, and she hides her face behind her sparkling star wand. "I hate spiders."

"It's okay, baby girl," he tells her. "It's fake. You can walk right by it and it won't hurt you."

She eyes the massive decoration with a frown, the pout marring her bright yellow princess costume only slightly.

"Hold my hand, Daddy. I'm scared," she demands, extending her hand up toward him. She's a demanding thing, but Sam wouldn't have it any other way with his daughter.

"Okay, baby girl. I'll hold your hand," he chuckles slightly, his big hand dwarfing her smaller one.

"Don't let go, okay?" she says, her eyes locked on the eight-legged creature as he guided her past it. "Promise."

"I promise, I won't let go," he tells her, smiling down at her form. "Now, let's go knock on the door for some candy."

You smile as you watch the two of them travel to the front door, give their chant of "Trick-or-treat!" and return with candy in tow.

"Spiders," he murmurs as he returns to you, stealing a bite of the cotton candy you had gotten at the small party at her preschool. "She's scared of spiders."

"Hey, everyone has their own fear," you return, winking at him. "I've got the next house, the guy answering the door is in a clown costume."

~

Age: 7.

"Look what Santa got you!" you exclaim happily as Sam wheels out a brand-spanking-new bicycle from the garage.

"Woah!" your daughter cries out, rushing toward Sam to look over the pink contraption.

She tests the little bell, peers inside the basket at the front, and pokes her fingers onto the gently padded seat.

"Can I ride it right now?" she requests, her hazel eyes mirroring that puppy-dog pout that Sam can do so well. "Daddy, please!"

"You can, baby girl," he responds, and you grin as even he is powerless against her pout. "You have to be careful, there's no training wheels on this one."

"Can you help me?" she asks, throwing a leg over the seat. "Make sure I don't fall, Daddy!"

"Okay, okay," he crouches down and helps to keep her steady, walking with her as she pedaled around the driveway.

"Daddy, you're not holding on!" she cries out as he lifts one hand to rub his nose from the chilly bite of the brisk air. "Daddy, hold on! You can't let me go or I'll fall!"

"I won't, baby girl," he reassures her quickly. "I promise, I won't let go."

And that is how they spend their morning and well into their afternoon, with Sam guiding her along. He can't let go.

He promised, after all.

~

Age: 10.

"Sam, look this way," you call, and he turns to look your way over his shoulder.

You snap a picture with the camera hanging around your neck, offering him a smile.

He returns it and walks over to you, drawing you in for a slow kiss amidst all of the hustle and bustle of this day. His lips are warm and just slightly salty from sweat, the journey leaving the both of you with aching joints.

"Dad, Mom! Gross!" your daughter, freshly into double digits, cries.

"Sorry," Sam laughs and presses one final kiss to your lips before turning his attention back to his daughter. "We're almost to the overlook. It's just a little bit longer that way."

Sam points toward the trail, taking your hand as your daughter bounded off down the path.

"Where does she get the energy from?" you murmur, shaking your head.

"She's just excited," Sam tells you, and after a few minutes longer of a trek, the three of you are staring down the top of the cliff you'd been hiking up the past few hours.

"Look, right down there," Sam points a few feet just below the edge of the safety rail. "There's a bird nest. Looks like maybe vultures."

"Dad, I wanna see!" your child crows, leaning over the rail as far as she can. "I can't see anything!"

"Here," Sam steps up behind her and hoists her up, leaning her further over the rail so that she can see.

"Dad. Do not let me go," she commands, looking down over the large drop-off below her.

"I promise, I won't let go," he laughs, holding her tighter for her comfort as she peered down into nature.

You take a step back, lift your camera, and snap a shot.

~

Age: 15.

"Mom, what are you listening to?" your daughter remarks, her nose scrunching up in distaste.

"It's some new song on the radio. I like it," you return, frowning at her. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"It's a Justin Bieber song, Mom," she shudders, and you hear Sam snort from the kitchen table.

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder as you cook dinner, and he won't catch your gaze as he scrolls through his phone.

You hear the radio offering some kind of listener's contest, including a prize of two tickets to see Justin Bieber himself.

"I could totally win those," you scoff, watching your daughter for her reaction.

"Mom, no," she states, sitting down beside her father to watch him play some game or another.

"What? You don't think I could?" you return, and Sam and your daughter look up at the same time.

"She doesn't even want you to try," Sam grins at you, nudging her side. "Right?"

She nods quickly.

"A concert is a concert," you protest. "Doesn't really matter who's singing."

"Mom, no," your daughter repeats.

"Sam? Back me up on this one," you frown, watching him just listen to the discussion flowing.

"Sorry, [Y/N], I'm with the offspring on this one," he shrugs, and your mouth falls open at the betrayal.

"You know what? I'm gonna win those tickets and drag you along with me," you point your spatula at your daughter, and she makes a face.

"Dad, don't ever let me go to a Justin Bieber concert. Not even if it's the last concert in the world. Promise me this," she remarks, her gaze holding his.

"I promise, I won't let you go," he tells her, and she sighs in relief. "I'll ground you or something, give you a good reason not to go."

"Thanks, Dad," she smiles, laying her head on his shoulder.

You shake your head as you return to cooking.

She was definitely a daddy's girl, that's for sure.

~

Age: 20.

You smile as you rise to your feet, tears already welling in your eyes.

The grand doors swing open, and the organ music starts slowly on the traditional march.

Sam's face is calm on the surface, but you can tell that he's just barely holding it together. Your daughter's arm, hooked through his, trembles slightly, and you know it's not her doing. It's Sam's.

They walk slowly, step by aching step, down the aisle of standing guests to the tune of music.

He finally reaches the front of the little chapel, only a few feet away from you. Tears are streaming down your face.

It's finally happening. Your baby is getting married.

"Who gives this woman away?" the officiant asks, and Sam clears his throat.

"Her father," he says clearly, and you briefly wonder how he's commanded his voice to be so calm.

The groom steps forward to your daughter and Sam, waiting to take her hand from Sam.

They stand for a one, two, three seconds.

"Dad, you have to let go now," your daughter whispers, and he stiffens slightly.

You know he must be thinking back to all of those years, all of those times he promised to never let her go.

He takes one final deep breath and then extends his hand and hers out to her soon-to-be husband.

And he does the hardest thing that he's ever done in his entire life.

He lets his baby girl go.

~

Tell me what you thought!

~

Forevers:

@dslocum89

@thesupernaturalmoose1967

@queencflair

@sisterwinchesterwriter

@too-kind-of-a-heart

[mianite-season-3]

Unofficial Mianite Season 3 - Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - Home Sweet Home

For a long time after the two ventured past those signs into the dark area beyond, and even after they surfaced back into the quilted, ruined remains of the house, the only sound Tom was acutely aware of was the fall of Jordan’s footsteps.

The man had a very unique way of walking, and that was how drastically his steps changed depending on his mood. When he was excited, the footfall was light and nearly impossible to hear. Terrified, and he literally dragged his heels.

And nervous, as he was now, Jordan walked hard on the heels of his feet. The steps shook the ground around him as his friend paced back and forth. His head was in his hand, pulling at his straggly hair and he continuously mumbled to himself.

“It’s a coincidence. It’s not possible. This isn’t my house. It’s not. There’s no way.” Tom watched as Jordan stopped pulled at his hair for a moment and turned his wild eyes to him. “Right?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Jordan’s hands fell limp at his sides and he flopped down to sit on a block in the middle of the floor. He took in a breath, shaky and unsteady and unnerving for Tom to hear.

“I want to go home.”

“And where is that?” Tom asked, laughing. “We’ve had a lot of those.”

Jordan remained silent, eyes fixed on his shadow on the floor in front of him. The sunlight, fading slightly, cast his face into darkness.

“Jordan? I was joking. Jardon?” Tom got up and plopped back down next to Jordan, whining the nickname playfully. Jordan looked over at him with a withered glare but otherwise stayed silent.

Tom grabbed his friend’s ankle and shook it forcefully. “Snap out of it, Sparkly-dick! So this world is a little crazier than the other ones we’ve been to.” Jordan turned his head and raised an eyebrow at that. Tom rolled his eyes. “Ok, a lot fucking crazier. But whatever! There’s no rules here! No crazy king who’s gonna throw us out of town for not believing in Mianite. And dude, have you seen how many diamonds there are?” Tom’s eyes glittered greedily.

Jordan stared at him, amazed. “Is that all you think about?” he asked softly. Tom blinked.

“I mean, diamonds are pretty cool, but that’s not all I care about. I like iron and gold too.”

He laughed breathily at Tom’s shit eating grin. “You don’t worry about anything.” Jordan said enviously.

The zombie shrugged. “There’s no reason to. So this house looks like your old place in Mianite. But it’s not.”

“How do you know?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Well, don’t you remember what we did to your house before we went to the End to save Ianite?”

Jordan took a moment to think, then a smile ghosted onto his lips. “You, Tucker and Sonja blew it up with those stupid cow wands.”

“And there was like, three blocks left. And then you fuckers destroyed mine in revenge.” Tom grinned. “See? This isn’t your house. Never was. Maybe it was this dimension’s version of you who built it, and we’ll meet him and you two will battle it out to be the alpha Sparklez.”

“That sounds like something you would do... Actually, it’s exactly something you’ve done.”

“And I won!”

Jordan rolled his eyes and shoved him away, planting his foot in the center of Tom's chest and pushing him to the ground. Tom barked with laughter and rolled back upright, punching his friend’s shoulder playfully.

“Come on, let’s get out of this stuffy place and explore more of the world!” Tom stood up and bounced on his heels as Jordan laboriously got up as well. Frustrated with how slow his friend’s movements were, Tom pushed him from behind and Jordan stumbled forward towards the door.

The sun was hanging just above the horizon line, just beginning to set the sky on fire in brilliant oranges and reds. The light washed over the mismatched land and made it look more harmonious than normal, as every block glowed warmly. Jordan and Tom edged up to the steep end of the cliff to take in more of the breathtaking view.

“It’s kinda... pretty.” Tom mumbled, breaking the silence with a stray thought. Absently, Jordan nodded. “Fucking weird, but pretty.”

“You had to ruin it.” Jordan took in a deep breath, letting the air escape slowly through his nose. He picked at the flecks of dried blood on his face subconsciously, hissing when his fingernail caught a particularly tender part of the wound. “Ah, shit!”

Tom’s head snapped sideways, relaxing slightly when he realized what had happened. “You good?”

Jordan held his palm to his face, pressing on the skin to dull the pain. “Yeah, I’m fine. Alright, let’s go. Let’s climb this mountain, we can bunker down somewhere inside once the sun sets completely.”

The zombie raised an eyebrow. “But, we have a perfectly good house shape behind us! If we’re planning on setting up camp already, why don’t we just stay in there instead of climbing another mountain?”

Jordan’s eyes went steely and he tensed his jaw. “I am not staying in that place. You can, if you’re really going to complain.” He turned on his heel and headed towards the mushroom-topped mountain.

“J-Jardon! I was kidding! Hold up!” Tom stuttered, running after his friend as he started climbing the natural stairs the mountainside formed.

A little ways up, the stairs started curving into the mountain, and back out the other side. A third of the way up the climb, Jordan leaned against the quilted wall and allowed Tom to catch up, huffing and puffing and not happy with being abandoned. He whined to Jordan about the “betrayal” for the middle third, and finally he closed his mouth and used his remaining oxygen for the last part of the climb.

They made a makeshift camp just below where the branches stuck out from the trunk, building walls against the outside until there was only a two by one doorway leading to the outside. They were silent in their work; Tom because he was still out of breath from the climb, and Jordan because he had too many half-finished thoughts in his head, none of which he could form into words.

He wasn’t normally a strong believer in fate or destiny, but it seemed like there was no way they would have found the patchwork versions of his old house and Jerry’s tree without some other force guiding him. So, following that logic, something wanted him to find them. Something wanted him to be reminded of home, with poor recreations that made him more sad than anything else.

What he had told Tom was true, though he would have preferred to keep it to himself. Jordan wanted to go home. He wasn’t exactly sure where that was, though. He’d had so many homes; what was it that he was longing for? The house on the hill back in Mianite? His spector dimension in Ruxomar? Or perhaps the Fortress of Fury? Or was it something less tangible than a place?

He leaned against the doorway, staring out at the land they’d arrived in. No matter where home actually was for him, he was sure that this wouldn’t be it. It felt too foreign, like someone had tried to recreate a world but forgot how the blocks were supposed to be placed. And beyond that, it was too quiet. He hadn’t seen a single person after escaping from Star, and he had been running around for hours. Nothing like the bustling towns of Dagrun or Urulu, but also not like the tranquility that the land of Mianite had possessed, at least when he’d first arrived.

It was silent; barren, and dead, void of anything Jordan knew. There wasn’t any life, barring the hostile monsters that permeates every dark corner and the animals Star had kept in her miniature paradise. After he’d fallen into the ground, the silence got even louder. It seeped into him, making his skin crawl. He wasn’t normally averse to silence, but the void inside his head pushed away even his own thoughts, leaving nothing but emptiness and a faint uncomfortable tingle.

Mulling over it, Jordan felt an uncharacteristic thrill of excitement at the idea of exploring this new world Sure, it wasn’t home - it never would be - but this would be a fun adventure.

“Jordan!” He spun around at Tom’s shout, blankly looking at him. Tom rolled his eyes. “Glad to see you’re back from dreamland. I called your name five million times!”

“You’re exaggerating.” Jordan told him as he sat down near Tom, facing away from the door.

“Whatever. What were you thinking about?”

“Ah, nothing.” Jordan didn’t meet his friend’s eyes, fixating instead on the hem of his shirt that he decided needed straightening.

Tom didn’t find his answer too convincing. He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t try to hide things from me, boy. You’re a terrible liar.”

The other man looked up. “What was that?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

Jordan raised his arm and pointed at Tom. “No, there is was again! Tom, what’s up with your voice?”

He unconsciously put a hand to his throat. “What do you mean?” He was sure this was a ploy by Jordan to get him to forget about Jordan’s daydreaming, but he sounded so genuinely concerned that he decided to humor his friend.

“It’s... I don’t know. It’ like your voice was coming from behind a wall, or playing from a recording. It was you, but it’s not.”

He rolled his eyes. “Nice try, Jordan. That doesn’t even make sense.”

Jordan stared at him, biting his lip. “And now it’s back to normal... Tom, you’re sure you don’t feel sick or something?”

Tom stood up and brushed off his pants, placing another torch next to the entrance they had made before he filled it with spruce planks. “I’m not, but you are. Go to sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

The zombie rolled his eyes and placed down a bed he’d made from the extra planks and some wool he’d picked up while digging Jordan and himself out of their hole. And when Jordan didn’t make a move towards it, Tom walked up behind his friend, took a firm hold of his collar and lifted him like a sack of potatoes, throwing him ungraciously sideways onto the bed.

“What the-- how the hell?!” Jordan spluttered, sucking in a breath when he saw the furious look on Tom’s face.

“Shut up. Close your eyes and pretend to sleep, and keep that mouth closed.” His voice was harsh, scratchy, and when Jordan propped himself up on his elbow, he could have sworn Tom’s eyes were glowing cherry red like hot coals.

Then he refocused, and they went back to their normal void black color.

“Maybe I do need some sleep...” he admitted softly, slipping under the blanket and resting his head on the pillow. He slid his eyes closed, not expecting to be able to sleep no matter what he tried, but within moments he felt his consciousness slip away and his breathing deepened.

Tom let out the breath he realized he was holding. Apparently, getting angry at the stubborn man was the only way to win a fight.

He plopped himself down in front of what would be the door and set to taking inventory, and repairing what he could. His diamond pickaxe served him well, but already he could see the wear and tear on the connection between the head and handle. He needed a real weapon, but judging from the quilted land, there wasn’t anything like the powerful metals and alloys they had had access to in Ruxomar.

Although, it wouldn’t exactly be hard to get good gear, especially with the diamonds he’d stolen from Star. They weren’t actually stolen, he knew, but it made him feel better to think he’d taken them away from her against her will. Tom glanced at the crafting table he’d stupidly placed across the room and decided he was too comfortable to get up and make gear from it tonight.

He decided that by the end of the next day, both he and Jordan would have full diamond gear. He smirked. They’d be decked out and Tucker’ll be running around with a wooden pickaxe again.

Face falling into a neutral expression, he tugged off the leather chestplate he’d looted from the replica of Jordan’s old house. It wasn’t in the best shape either - none of the gear he’d gotten from those chests was new. Lots of small scratches, and one big gash that had cut deep almost all the way through from the left shoulder to right hip.

The stuff he’d found were most likely spares for emergencies, he surmised. Just like when Jordan would put away gear in his basement for easy access during purges.

Tom grinned to himself. Purges in this world would be exciting. So many resources just laying around, and with the amount of mobs that spawn during the night, he’d be able to have level 30 enchants on every piece of armor and weapon he wanted.

Laying aside the chestplate, he picked up the worn iron sword and started doing what he could to repair some of the damage. He heard a zombie groan loudly right behind him, and he jumped. Then he stole a glance at the bed to make sure Jordan didn’t see him get scared by something so small. Well, he wasn’t scared, of course, just startled.

He straightened out his shoulders and went back to his task, ignoring that nagging embarrassment at the back of his mind. The zombie kept moaning and groaning but he soon tuned it out.

Tom’s head began dipping and jerking back up as he fought off sleep. He really should stay awake, this was a new unfamiliar world that didn’t have very friendly inhabitants, but he was just so tired...

When he finally did topple over, the pickaxe he’d been repairing slipped out of his hand and his head landed on the battered chestplate. He curled up in his sleep and dreamed of happy days and a world where they lived free of problems.

[miighted]

the end of a half life.

                Like the waves that beat endlessly against the cliffs, The Might stands against the mountain that is the Hand of Noxus. It’s a juvenile warfoot, Garen’s vigor and passion driving his blade ( that is all his soul begets, it is the only humanity left in suit of armor— this devotion that burns in him like white hot fire ). He is a storm who stands in the presence of their own calm, their opposite and the other pole of their axis. 

                It is not elegant. It is nothing like a dance. 

                There is only power, strength, and determination. It is war, after all. 

                And war is an act of taking; taking from the weak and taking from the strong. Robbery in chivalrous armor ( robbery of life, possession, nothing is sacred in this unholy matrimony of chaos and death ). Even those who would raise shields before swords find themselves throwing their hands against their ravagers; revenge in the form of petty justice. Though, the debate of morality is quite useless in the throes of wicked men and the damned, for there will always be only two sides to this. The righteous and the vicious— and a paragon is no man, he is will alone, and his will is righteous indeed. 

                His broadsword raises like a silver ray of light, crying up towards the heavens with blood dripping down the edges and onto his already stained gloves. His voice bellows like a war drum, a shock wave traveling over the earth with all the power of a lightning storm, and lesser men turn to a beacon ( a man and not a man; his flesh is a man’s but his heart beats for a thousand and not one alone ). It is the rallying call of the Vanguard, a command to steel themselves and face this moment to their survival—  or their deaths. 

                So he wages on, like the tides cry out and break ( break their own bones, break another’s bones, it is all the same; the beach does not care for all will be withered down to join the sands ). His sword falls again like the crash of another wave, his back meets one of his soldier’s and it’s only a pause for breath, and another wave must collapse in this hurricane. 

                It is fate that this storm would meet his eye of calm.

                                —And it is fate that Garen would take from Darius.

                Garen raised his broadsword with all the retribution that judgement day would bring ( his holy silver tainted with hate, for there was a vessel of his heart that was blind— forgive him of this sin, this terrible sin; what a fractured man to be left stranded on this battlefield, in this broken armor ). The deaths of his company weighed heavy on him, stones piled upon boulders on his back, his heart weary and tired. An ache, an ache of heartbreak settled in him like fissures, shadowed by a desperation to return some of this pain that circled so endlessly in him. 

                The cry that rang out when his blade fell was one of the most anguished, human sounds Garen had ever heard ( a part of him that was broken, broke further— they were both breaking ). The same noise echoed from Darius, shallow howls of pain as his body instinctively turned away from what caused such agony. Garen was left panting in place, exhaustion catching up with his body now as he stubbornly held his sword, a tether to his dignity and his place in this hellscape. 

                When Darius turns back to him, it is slow and there is blood— so much blood— streaming over the General’s hand and over his face, down his neck, trickling down his chest plate slowly. Garen had intended to strike through his shoulder, and now his gut wretched when the Hand of Noxus looked at his own red soaked palm, a shadow of horror and shock breaking the stone of his features. There was too much blood to see the eye that had been there before. 

                The general’s remaining red eye ( red, red, so much red ) looks at Garen, his mouth agape in his moment of shock. Darius’ heart thunders within his chest and he had not thought he’d ever feel such betrayal ( but perhaps his heart was already the betrayer; he was human and his heart shattered within the palm of the man who held it ). And what reckless beings humans are, throwing their pain wildly at one another to relieve their own aches, only to inflict more upon each other.  

                Another howl breaks through the dying chaos that was the ashen remains of this fruitless battle; it is not quite a battle cry, it is more intimate, it is the enraged and pained cry of a man who was taken from. 

                Reap what you sow. 

                Garen forces his broadsword up and backs it with one of his forearms, carrying the weapon as one would a shield. It is not enough to break the swing that rips him from his footing ( nothing could hope to save him from this retribution ). The curve of Darius’ axe breaks through his armor at his back, driving itself into the back of his hip until he can feel the same edge puncture his pelvis once more— the weapon had been driven clean through him. The scream of agony that rips from his lips would shake the bones of the damned. 

                The knight swallows all that threatens to spill from his lips, curses and moans of pain alike, for he would rather die with dignity than wither into nothing. Darius’ axe was still hooked into his body, and he can feel blood beginning to soak through his clothes, slowly traveling down his leg. Despite the build of a stone statue he attempts to mold himself too, his breathing is still labored, each inhale forcing a wave of agony with its core being the puncture wound at his pelvis. Garen’s gaze remains locked with Darius’ own intense stare.

                He stands with his jaw locked, biting off whatever cry may leap from his lips. Garen still stubbornly holds his sword, too, though it rests at half its glory, his hands trembling with the heavy weight and the pain raking through his body. It was very much his anchor, keeping him silent and present. The battle becomes an agonizing stand still, as if the axe in his side was a lock that kept them both in this moment. When Darius finally pulls it away, his own movements harsh and rough ( blood loss and his own pain wearing away at his edges ), and finally a muffled, weakened groan falls from the Might’s lips. Without the heavy steel in his body, he can feel blood begin to pour even more from the wound. 

                His head bows forward momentarily, teeth grit and his eyes close as he tries to stomach the pain. Through willpower Garen remains on his feet, but it is like cast iron— he would collapse if he were to try and take another step. His broadsword falls another measure, but still he remains diligent in holding it. If he is to die, he intends to die with honor; on his feet and with his weapon on hand. 

                Garen meets Darius’ gaze once more with a furrowed brow, and he notices that the blood still seeps from his wound, a trail left over the front of his armor by now. The knight tilts his chin up, waiting for the blow to come, steeling himself and his soul to meet the end of a soldier—

                With more swiftness and power than he thought the General had left, his sword is forced from his hands, the tether that kept his body grounded in this moment. The action is the catalyst that forces the cracks in the foundation to break through them both, as if rupturing with the pain and weight of this ruthless battle. Without his anchor, the Captain collapses to his knees, one of his hands coming to rest over the open wound in his side. Darius is not far behind him, the head of his axe meeting the earth while he grips the handle to at least keep himself upright. Again, Darius’ hand returns to his marred face, cradling the wound.

                The world begins to slow as they break and crumble apart, Darius’ grip along the hilt of his weapon slides down as he is brought to his knees, too. The both of them are left in the wake of destruction, and Garen feels his entire body run cold for he had failed. He had failed his people, his homeland, his family; what use was a man who had been defeated in battle and was left with his useless life. He feels his body churn with guilt and shame, begging him to collapse inward until his existence was nothing. 

                “You have bested me,” his voice breaks the silence, shattering the glass that had kept them barely separate. “Kill me.” His words are not so much a plea, and they are not acceptance either; it is a man who knows defeat, who has failed his purpose. What use was a paragon who could not stand, who could not protect his people? The guilt that settles in his stomach like heavy weights was almost as painful as his physical wounds.

                Darius’ gaze turns to him once more, his expression unreadable and covered in drying blood. “Do you want to die?” he asks, harsh and callous as his brow furrows more. What use was there in throwing his life away? 

                A frustrated exhale leaves Garen, his jaw clenching as he bites back his pride. He did not want to die, but he thought it only right; his failure and defeat in battle begets that he is not fit to serve his purpose. If he returned to Demacia, he would be nothing more than disgraceful to his family, his prince, and his country as a whole. “You have defeated me. It is only right,” he answers, again swallowing his shame. If Darius did not kill him, his own guilt might. 

                The General’s shoulders shift, his hold on the hilt of his axe forcing him to stand straighter while he scrutinizes the Captain of the Vanguard. Garen cannot read his expression, it sits like unphased stone washed in blood. “What about that sister of yours— you’re going to leave her alone, then?” he asks, voice gruff ( his hand still remains over the left side of his face, as if to hide the sign of weakness his body now bore ). “What good is that honor of yours if you’re dead?”

                The mention of his sister only pours salt to the wound, driving against opened flesh and seering his agony into his memory. He grit his teeth as his head bows forward, clenching his jaw as a new fury burns in him. “My honor is my code,” he answers, his fingers curling into tight fists. He continues to swallow bitter words and wrath along with his pain, rust coloring his soul and tainting it as he continues to do so. He found himself wishing he had been given the noble death he so readily accepted. 

                “What kind of man would I be if I was not honorable?” Garen raises his gaze, then, blue eyes as intense as always. 

                “A living one, for starters,” the General answers without pause. He found himself confused and frustrated, which he assumes Garen feels the same ( and he would be right ). It was as if they were speaking to each other in different tongues, unable to find the bridge that connected their terribly and wonderfully different worlds. 

                Garen’s frustration becomes evident as another forced exhale leaves him, his brow sinking further and his lips purse. “A living man without honor is a worthless man,” he returns, an edge of bitterness to his tone. Finally, he tears open his ribcage to pull out his heart; the core of his beliefs and his courage. The power behind his voice fades, dissolving to a man speaking to another man. “My word would mean nothing— I would mean nothing— if I did not maintain my honor.” 

                “Is that what they tell you, then?” Darius’ voice comes softer as well, but Garen hardly knows his tones and cues. They are using different signs, different words, different body language; coming to an understanding in the midst of their wreckage was like wading through mud. 

                Another solar flare of rage runs through Garen’s veins, burning him like the sun. He forces himself to become a black hole in turn; cold and consuming all that may be or was on this battlefield. How could he expect a Noxian to understand a code of honor? “It is what I believe,” the knight answers sternly, distant. “My honor means much to me.” 

                Darius can feel Garen removing himself, forcing himself back into the cold and unfeeling mold of the paragon. He is losing the humanity that he had violently thrown against him, and some part of him swells with a muddled sense of anger and pain. It seemed almost cowardly after all that had happened. “It means more than your own life? Your life?” he questions, stoic voice holding an edge of frustration— again, another wall; this felt less like a maze and more like wall after wall. 

                “If I am not honorable, what could I possibly mean to my family?” Another bout of shame, another shadow of disgrace looms behind him; he can see and feel his father’s gaze of disappointment. Blue eyes that were as cold as ice, were as cold as he was trying to force his burning core to become. “A disgrace has no word, no influence, cannot protect.” A fraction of his shame seeped into his voice, forcing him to avert his gaze. To think he could of died with honor and spared himself this torment. 

                “Then take that sword of yours and drive it through me.” 

                Darius continues to answer him without fail, as if he can see farther through this thicket than he can. It frustrates him endlessly, as if this death of his is being drug out so that each of his organs and every vavle of his heart could be dissected. It strikes him silently, like a swift bolt to his heart, that he will miss his sister even in death, he will fail her. His heart feels like stone. 

                “No,” the Captain says solemnly, “My conscious would not allow it. That would be a cheat’s way of keeping my honor.” 

                 Finally, a lull in the argument that they are having while soaked in blood ( their own and other’s ), to which Garen is thankful for. His chest and stomach are beginning to ache with the effort to breathe. 

                “I don’t understand you,” Darius says, breaking the silence, and it’s a mixture of observation and commentary. To understand how such a man was willing to throw his life away was beyond him; he felt as if he was working his way through a tangled mess that was the Captain’s conscious and morals. It seemed to be simply a waste more than anything. 

                “Nor do I understand you,” Garen returns without waver, his vexation leaving him with a huff. 

                “Well, that’s a start.” A bemused noise seems to leave the General, a chuckle that is almost only an exhale of breath. Garen purses his lips in return, and his lack of understanding towards the other man reinstates itself. What could possible be so amusing during a time like this? 

                Another lull in the rhythm emotions dissolving into new ones. Anger gives way to exhaust, confusion to openness; the song is changing. 

                “My honor, my word— it means much to me, General,” Garen begins, the edge of frustration dissolving in his voice. It is quieter as his humanity returns to him. “If I have no honor then I cannot serve my people. I cannot be just with them if I am not just with myself and my failures.” Tenderly, almost carefully, he tries once more to translate his soul into a human language, to form his passion into cohesive words ( his strength is waning, he sounds tired ). Garen finally raises his eyes to Darius once more. 

                The effort is not lost on Darius. He can hear and feel the edges of his resolve soften, he can feel the human in him once more. He in turn softens slightly as well, to try and understand; to meet him at the center of their axis. “... I understand,” he says, nodding once. 

                Darius’ answer comes as a surprise to Garen, evident in his shocked silence before he answers, voice still soft and human, “Thank you.” 

                The General meets the Captain’s gaze finally, his fingers of his eye curling slightly as he falters, but he slowly brings his hand down. The wound is gruesome, and a new root of guilt adds to the garden within Garen’s soul upon seeing it. Fresh blood still flows from it, but not as violently as before. An apology also sits at the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite form it into tangible words. Instead, Garen forces himself to his feet, thought it was a slow and difficult task. At the very least, he intends to show his respect.

                In return for having been shown a piece of the Captain’s wounded soul, Darius pulls through the stone and roots of himself, digs beneath the careful and silent armor to draw out his own tender, beating heart.

                “As I am, I cannot face my people.” And a tether between them binds, for Garen can feel his empathy circle within him for he feels the same. “I can hardly face myself,” Darius continues, “I failed them.” 

                His words echo through Garen; like two birds singing the same sad hymn. Finally their distant tongues come to meet and they have found the same language, the same song. Unfortunate that it took such horror and such agony to find the same path. 

                “Does your culture not value survival?” Garen asks, his intent genuine “Have you not won this duel?” In his eyes, Darius was a victor and he rose to the call of his nation— to be strong and survive— while Garen had failed his. 

                “We have our own sense of justice and honor, Crownguard. We value strength and survival, but mercy and understanding have a place among us.” 

                Garen is caught off guard by the General’s statement, but the honesty of it leaves him humbled. How foolish of him to think he knew them so well, but then again, who was he to blame when that was what he was taught since birth? It leaves his rose colored glasses chipped; the Noxian General became less his duty and more a man before him. 

                “You have shown strength and survived, you have shown me mercy, and you have won. Why would they not accept you when you exhibit their morals?” Again, honesty and a genuine curiosity colors his voice. Just as Darius had shown understanding to him, he feels compelled to find the same for the General within himself. 

                Darius grows heavy and tired, his bones crumbling within himself and his veins turning to ash. The bitter taste of failure was like bile in his throat, threatening to drown him. His eye flickers downwards as he remains pensive, unsure of where to begin with this guilt. He questions why he entertained this conversation to begin with, too, but the beat of his heart betrays him instantly. Somewhere, somehow, he had found himself wanting to find the man underneath the Demacian armor, wanted to see him rise to his full potential ( and the cruel irony that it would require for them to tear each other down first; a new foundation was easier to work with than a cracked one, though ).  

                “I have lost my purpose and my use,” Darius begins, his words sounding like a knell to himself. “If I cannot fight, I am useless. I can’t defend my people.” 

                A quiet sigh leaves the knight, and his heart rings with a kin sorrow. A fraction of his soul is reflected to him within the eye he wounded, the eye he took— the purpose he took from Darius. It is gruesome and terrible, it is hurt and broken. 

                “You could relearn, could you not?” he asks, almost tentatively— as tentative as his boisterous voice would allow. “There is a warrior among your ranks who has sight in only one eye.”  

                It is, perhaps, not the best attempt at consoling ( and likely the wrong place, too ), but Garen had never been skilled at such things. All he knew was that he saw pain, and felt it within himself, and forged himself to become a weapon of retribution. His voice had become a roar of power, not a softened heart. 

                “I am not just a soldier, Crownguard,” Darius answers, as gently as he can will his tired, gruff voice to be. “I am to represent Noxus— Her strength, her honor.” 

                “You do.” 

                “As do you.” 

                 They have found it— their core, where their two souls meet along the axis of their worlds. Their old worlds collapses and fell into each other to create something new, and it is beautiful and shared. They fall into the step of this dance, they answer without faltering to one another, bare and honest; answering each other as heartbeats right after the other. The air around them moves gently, as if a caress, and Garen finds himself speechless to be so quickly answered.

                “I have never seen a man as just and honorable as you are,” Darius continues, his chest swelling with too many feelings; golden, red, and blue all at once. Quietly, gently, he keeps the liquid gold that thunders through his vein within himself, just as he has done for many moons now. “You serve your nation well.”

                For the first time in a while, Garen casts his gaze downward, words and feelings caught within a thick lump at his throat. To think he had concluded this man as evil— he had always respected his strength as a commander and the loyalty he inspired in his soldiers, but he had been the opposition, no more than that. Understanding was a blessing and a curse.

                “... Thank you, General,” the Captain answers. The quiet whirlwind within his soul seems to calm, if only for a moment, the winds and storms lulled as they lay themselves bare. As his pulse thunders, he runs with it, the courage that runs through his spirit like thunder taking hold ( his soul knows, at least, that this moment is pivotal; this moment is the end to a half life ). 

                “I cannot imagine you would be useless to your people,” Garen continues, returning to meet the General’s gaze. He can almost hear the cry of a harp as rain slowly begins to meet the earth, an uneven rhythm ( unlike their newly born axis, but it is necessary to wash away their crimes, to be born again, and to grow ). “If I were to place my fail in any Noxian’s survival, it would be yours,” he speaks honestly, from his aching heart. “You have always prevailed. You are strong, as your country is.”

                Darius feels his heart constrict around itself, pulsing violently against the way it squeezes and begins to swell all at once. What few words he finds to speak are gone, leaving his throat empty so that his heart might leap from it. He swallows all that is and isn’t there within his voice, the soft and lulling thunder that was his distant thoughts. He cannot will himself to break the other man’s gaze, not when he had spoken so earnestly. 

                His momentary shock was certainly visible, he’s sure, but in this moment they are standing upon the same new foundation. They are equals. 

                The general nods once, a show of respect. “As you.” 

                Garen nods in return in the same act of respect. He only turns to take the few pained paces to pick up his sword, and though it makes the wound in his side burn ( and a new trail of blood staining the leather of his armor ), he must carry it along with his pride. They both must, for that is what they are left with; wounds that will become scars, and their pride. 

                “Good luck, General,” Garen says as he turns back to face him, his sword hoisted onto his shoulder and his free hand over his side. 

                “The same to you, Crownguard,” Darius answers in the same rhythm they had forged before. He mirrors the Captain’s motion with his axe, bringing it up to rest against his shoulder. 

                Their tracks are slow as they part, but they are destined to be. Their souls, too, are weary and tired; to die and be born again within one battle is always a painful course. Neither of the soldiers will be able to carry their many dead home, and their own bodies returning will be only a bitter consolation. Perhaps some of it was destiny, but perhaps some of it, too, was will. Afterall, what reckless beings humans are.

                Courage, do not falter, soul, do not weep. 

                May we meet again.

[ranger-of-estel]

Legends of Rogue One Chap 4

With Jedha destroyed Leonard moves on to the second part of his assignment.  Sara refuses to be left out

Read it on AO3

               Once Leonard is sure they are out of any immediate danger he passes control over to Gideon. He moves toward the small communication station, glancing at the rest of the rag-tag team now seated in his ship before pulling on the headset.

Weapon confirmed. Jedha destroyed.

Mission target located on Eadu. Please advise.

A couple minutes passed, then he received a response.

Orders still stand, proceed with haste.

Keep to the plan.

               It wasn’t that the orders surprised him; in fact, he’d known this was the answer he would receive. But as he looks over to where Sara is sitting on his right, the sinking feeling returns to his chest and he realizes how much he’d hoped for a different one.

               Though muffled he could still hear Raymond’s voice, rough with emotion behind him. “Mick, tell me. All of it? The whole city?” After a moment of silence his voice steeled, “Tell me.”

               “All of it,” Mick's rough voice replied

               “Understood,” Leonard pulled the headset off, hanging it up once more. He took a moment to level the warring emotions, then turned to Gideon. “Set a course for Eadu.”

               “Setting course for Eadu.” She replied

               “Is that where my father is?” Sara’s voice held desperation, eyes alert as she looked at him.

               “I think so.” Is all he can manage, refusing to acknowledge the pull in his chest as she watches him.

               “So you’re Quinten’s daughter then?” The defector asks.

               “You know him?” Sara’s attention shifts.

               “Yeah, I’m Jax.” He taps his chest. “the pilot?”

               “You brought the message!”

               “Yes,” he nods, “Your father, he told me I could make things right.” He paused, “If I was just brave enough to do what was in my heart.” He looks at her, voice wavering. “I guess it was to late.”

               “It wasn’t to late,” Sara responds.

               “Seems pretty late to me,” Mick scoffs.

               “No,” Sara looks around the small ship. “We can beat the people who did this.” Her eyes return to Leonard, “My father’s message, I’ve seen it.” He steps closer, her voice becoming more determined with each word. “They call it the Death Star. But they have no idea, there’s a way to defeat it.” She pushes to her feet, squaring off with him. “You’re wrong about my father.”

               “He did build it,” Leonard shoots back.

               “Because he knew they’d do it without him.” Her eyes are so earnest, and part of him is just glad to see life back in them. “He sacrificed himself for the Rebellion. He’s rigged a trap inside it.” She turns to Jax, freeing Len of her stare. “That’s why he sent you to bring that message.”

               Leonard turns to the young pilot, trying to process the new information. “Where is it?” then back to Sara. “Where’s the message?”

               She stares at him for a long moment, finally offering a shaky “It was a hologram”

               He leans in, grasping on to his last hope of changing his orders. “You have that message, right?”

               She offers a timid shake of her head, all the strength from moments before shattering around her. “Everything happened so fast…”

               He turns back to Jax, “Did you see it?” receiving only a quick shake of his head in answer.

               “You don’t believe me,” Sara’s tone is incredulous.

               He meets her eyes, willing her to understand how much he wishes that’s all that mattered. “I’m not the one you have to convince.”

               “I believe her!” Raymond states firmly

               “Well that’s good to know,” he drawls, glancing back to the blind monk.

               “What kind of trap?” Mick asks, drawing all attention to where he’s seated at the far end of the ship. “You said your father made a trap?”

               “The reactor,” Sara begins, words quick but sure. “He’s placed a weakness there, he’s been hiding it for years. He said if you can blow the reactor; the module, the whole system goes down.” She turns back to Leonard, “You need to send word to the Alliance.”

               “I’ve done that,” he half motions to the monitor he’d been at minutes before.

               “They have to know there’s a way to destroy this thing. They have to go to Scarif to get the plans.” She urges.

               “I cannot risk that message, we are in the heart of Imperial territory.” He snaps.

               “Then we’ll find him, and bring him back.” She lifts her chin, a hint of pride in her features. “And he can tell them himself.” He wants to agree, just to set her at ease. But despite all his years of training, the hope in her eyes forbids him to lie to her. Not about this. Instead he offers a half nod, then retreats to the pilot seat. Away from what had almost felt like trust.

               When they reach the planet they are instantly engulfed by heavy rain, and a terrain of rocky outcrops swathed in fog. Jax has moved up to lean between Leonard and Gideon, in hopes of directing them through the maze. Gideon keeps offering the degrees of their decent and turns, a usually comforting routine that is just setting Len further on edge.

               “No, no no!” Jax exclaims, “keep it low!”

               “Are you sure this is the way?” Gideon inquires.

               “They have landing trackers.” He replies, “They have patrol squadrons. You have to stay in the canyon. Keep it low.”

               Proximity alarms are sounding, and it’s almost all Leonard can do to keep the craft steady through the heavy sheets of rain and wind tunnels. “Watch the right!” he snaps, pulling away from a cliff face.

               “There’s a 26% chance of failure.” Gideon states uneasily.

               “How much further?” he turns to the other young man.

               “I don’t know,” he shrugs, “I’m not sure, I-I never really come this way!” he stutters. “But I know we’re close.”

               “Well now there’s a 35% chance,” Gideon corrects

               “Gideon,” Leonard scolds, “I don’t want to know.”

               “I understand,” She replies, “If I could choose ignorance I would.”

               He rolls his eyes, focusing on the task at hand. They weave between more rocks, until lights appear in the distance. “Now!” Jax cries, “Put it down now!”

               “The wind!” Gideon objects

               “If you keep going you’ll be right over the shuttle depot,” Jax’s voice is stern. “Watch out!” their right side is clipped on a rock face, the force throwing him back in the cargo bay.

               “Hold on to something,” Leonard shouts over his shoulder, “We’re coming in hard.” He does what he can to smooth the landing, but the moment the underside makes contact with the rocky surface all he can do is pray that there’s nothing bigger in front of them.

~

               The force of the landing nearly throws Sara from her seat, and Jackson collides hard with her knee and thigh as he’s thrown back from the cockpit. She’s still getting her bearings as Leonard dashes past her and pushes open the cargo door, jumping out into the pouring rain. Gideon moves to the transmission monitor, and Jax darts up to the pilot seat. Of the many skills Sara has obtained over the years, major ship repair isn’t one of them. So she settles back into her seat, opting to stay out of the way of those working.

               Leonard returns, water still running in rivets down his face as he shrugs off the soaked jacket. “Jax, where is the lab?” he turns to face the cockpit.

               “The research facility?” the younger man clarifies.

               “Yes, where is it?” he asks again.

               Jax is leaning around the chair, motioning out the door, “Just over that ridge.”

               “And that’s a shuttle depot straight ahead of us?” he’s pulling on the thicker coat, the one with the fur lined hood. “You are sure of that?”

               “Yes,” The younger man snaps in irritation.

               “We’ll have to hope there is still an Imperial ship left to steal.” Leonard comments, moving to where his bag was tossed in the landing and digging through. After grabbing a couple items he returns to his feet, facing the rest of the group. “Here’s what we are going to do. Hopefully this storm keeps up and keeps us hidden down here.” Sara’s on her feet now, standing near him; though to what end she is unsure. “Jackson.” He shoves a coat into the younger man’s chest. “You are coming with me. We will go up the ridge, check things out.”

               “I’m coming with you,” Sara states, moving to grab the blaster from her own bag.

               “No,” she turns to face Leonard, watching as he checks over his own weapon. “Your father’s message, we can’t risk it. You are the messenger.”

               “That’s ridiculous,” her hands settle on her hips, eyes moving about the ship. “We all got the message, everyone here knows it.”

               “One blast to the reactor module and the whole system goes down.” Gideon states, turning to face her. “That’s how you said it; the whole system goes down.”

               “Get to work fixing the coms.” Leonard snaps, jumping to his feet and turning on the taller droid. His attention returns to Sara, but with no less venom. “All I want to do right now, is get a handle on what we are up against.” He looks over the whole group, “So we are going to go, very small, and very careful, up the ridge to see what’s what.” He turns to Jax, who is now suited up in the gear he’d been offered. “Let’s get moving.”

               Sara moves to one of the windows, watching the flashlights as the pair navigate their way out of the valley. “Does he look like a killer?” Raymond’s inquisition draws her attention to where the two guardians now sit back to back.

               “No,” Mick replies, “He has the face of a friend.”

               “What are you talking about?” she approaches the pair.

               “Captain Snart.” Mick replies,

               “Why do you ask that?” She leans in toward Raymond. “What did you mean, ‘does he look like a killer?’”

               “The Force moves darkly around a creature that is about to kill,” he explains, eyes drifting from her to the door where Leonard had left.

               “His weapon was in the sniper configuration.” Gideon offers from her place doing repairs.

               She feels panic and betrayal rise inside, and rushes to where she’d seen extra gear packed. Quickly suiting up in something to ward off the rain and a pair of goggles to protect her eyes. She hits the door control hard with her hand, darting into the dark without a word.

               She hasn’t gotten far when she hears Mick’s gruff voice over the rain. “You are going after her alone? Good luck!”

               She pauses, almost smiling at the blind Guardian’s response. “I don’t need luck, I have you!”

               She doesn’t wait for the pair, instead pressing on to the edge of the rise. She can see the landing dock for the research facility straight across. She expertly navigates her way down the cliff, sprinting carefully across the soaked, gravely ground, to the well-lit ladder at base of the structure. The wet concrete will pose a challenge, but between her anger at Snart and the desire to find the man who abandoned her she refuses to see failure as an option. So she slides her foot into the first notch and begins the grueling climb. She’s lost one father today, she won't let Leonard take another.

Chap 3 (x) Chap 5 (x)