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stillebesat · 4 years ago

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Beneath the Moon -Part 1

December Drabbles Day 18 Sanders Sides: Logan, Roman Blurb: After all the research he’d done, after all the signs he’d been experiencing. Logan needed someone to tell him he wasn’t crazy. And Roman...Roman had always been the one most likely to believe in the fantastical, the impossible, the...supernatural. Fic Type: Werewolf!AU Overall Fic Warnings: Bite Wound -Semi-Detailed, Dog Attack Mention, Injuries, War Talk, Fighting Talk, Death/Dying Talk Taglist in Reblog.

“A werewolf.”

Logan swallowed, fiddling with the loosely wrapped bandage on his hand as he kept his eyes firmly on Roman’s ankles. “I told you.” He said. “It isn’t logical.”

“Hence why you came to me because I’m…what was that phrase you used the last time we…talked?”

Logan ran his uninjured hand through his hair as he ducked his head. Why had he ever thought, after how they’d left things off, that Roman would actually help him? The unhealing bite wound had to be infected and addling his brains despite the numerous doctors visits and medications he’d been on this past month that would prove otherwise.

“I believe I called you a ‘pompous prick of a prince stuck in a permanent delusional daydream.’” He whispered.

Roman snorted, uncrossing his legs as he leaned forward like a hawk about to snatch up his prey. “Trust the Brain to remember such a phrase after what? Fifteen years, Lo.”

This was a mistake. Logan made a noncommittal sound as he hunched his shoulders. But he’d seen Roman and just---reacted, instinctively trusting that he would be able to help.

After all the research he’d done, after all the signs he’d been experiencing. Logan needed someone to tell him he wasn’t crazy. And Roman...Roman had always been the one most likely to believe in the fantastical, the impossible, the...supernatural. “It’s what I’m good at.” He said, closing his eyes, again fidgeting with the bandage. “Remembering things.”

He’d been teased constantly for his memory all throughout school. Been called Sherlock or Brain so often that half their graduating class didn’t know his actual name.

Which made the fact that he couldn’t remember the fever filled two days after he’d received this...this bite...from that black dog--wolf?...more concerning.

And after a month’s long session of ‘research’ into his wound, his further symptoms, and the circumstances around his bite and the dog--wolf that had bitten him…had led him to the only explanation that fit the entire experience.

He’d been bitten by a werewolf.

And if...IF this was true, his research pointed to the strong possibility that in under an hour, when the full moon rose, Logan would forcibly be changed from man to wolf.

He didn’t want to believe it.

But all the signs pointed to it. His sudden allergy to silver. Cats no longer liking him. An increase in appetite, especially for red meat--which Logan had historically disliked the taste of. His eyesight inexplicably improving to the point where he no longer needed to wear his glasses. His sense of smell and hearing randomly becoming overwhelming to the point he could barely function only to return to normal a split second later. And most importantly, the fact that the bite wound on his hand would not heal, which a very dusty book from the library had stated would not vanish until after the first full moon after the bite occurred---all pointed to him being a werewolf.

But it wasn’t like Logan could just tell anyone about this theory of his. About what he thought could happen tonight.

After all, werewolves shouldn’t exist.

To confide to anyone that he thought that they did and that he could become one tonight because he’d been bitten by a dog that looked like a wolf--

“And you thought...that I was still this...delusional Prince?” Roman asked, raising an eyebrow, his amber eyes glittering. “Willing to go along with any make-believe or fantasy adventure that comes my way at the drop of a hat?”

Logan could feel the heat rising to his cheeks and hated himself for it. Of course it was crazy to expect that Roman of all people would believe him.

In retrospect he probably was the worst choice Logan could have made when choosing to confide in someone. After all, they had been, for all intents and purposes, enemies for the past fifteen years.

Yet Logan had momentarily forgotten that little fact. Had only remembered his childhood friend who had lived and breathed adventure growing up and would probably be the one most likely to believe him when he saw him pull into his driveway.

A Child’s fantasy was a lot different from an Adult’s though.

And Roman...Roman had gone from wanting to be an Actor in high school to choosing to serve three tours overseas in the War and coming back a decorated hero. Someone who had seen the darker side of being a modern day knight in shining armor and yet had chosen to embrace that reality anyways.

Even sitting, Roman commanded the room. He was all confidence, a lion lounging on his throne, claws only sheathed because there was no need to use them...yet.

And if things went…badly. It was all too likely that he would use those warrior skills and shoot Logan the moment he...he changed. After all, Roman was now trained to see threats and take care of them.

Werewolves were historically, in their lore, always a threat. A danger to society.

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, conscious of how his heart rate had picked up.

Mistake. Mistake! MISTAKE!

He had under an hour to get to a place where he could potentially shift in safety. Where he could test his theory of what he was and how he would change without endangering himself or any people who might be around and here he was talking to his high school enemy like he expected Roman to take him in like a lost injured puppy.

Logan pushed to his feet, bringing his bandaged hand to his chest protectively. “My apologies, Roman.” He said, unable to look up from the ground to properly face him. Roman probably was staring at him like he was a crazed loon after his sudden appearance on his doorstep and the ludicrous story he’d just told. “I shouldn’t have intruded in such a manner.” He turned for the door. “I’ll see myself out.”

He’d been so desperate to find someone, anyone to humor him. Someone he could trust. To help him test out his theory. To make sure that IF he changed. If something went wrong. That--that if he--he became a crazed bloodthirsty beast, there would be someone there to take care of it--keep him safe from hurting others.

Or…if nothing happened. Which Logan desperately wanted to believe. That nothing would happen. That the moon would rise and he would just be standing there, perfectly fine and definitely embarrassed to have indulged in such a fancy...that someone would keep his momentary lapse in judgement quiet--

He highly doubted that Roman would keep this particular visit quiet. What sane person would? Logan probably looked like a crazed lunatic, showing up out of the blue in an old NASA t-shirt and worn jeans, spouting off theories on how he could be a new-made werewolf going to change for the first time tonight--Roman should have called the police as soon as he opened his mouth.

Logan would have, had their positions been switched.

He tensed, breath hitching as Roman caught his wrist in an iron grip before he’d taken three steps, conscious of the fact that his childhood friend probably now knew twelve different ways to incapacitate him before he could blink.

“You didn’t show me the bite wound.” Roman said, voice soft. “How can you tell me such a fantastical story and expect me to believe you if you don’t show me your key piece of proof?”

Logan bit his bottom lip, daring to glance at his childhood friend, gauging how serious he was about seeing the injury.

“Well?” Roman held out his hand, palm up towards Logan. “It’s not like I haven’t seen my fair share of battle wounds, Lo. I doubt your little bite will compare.”

That was true. Roman had seen battle. War. People dead and dying.

Logan steeled himself, he’d been careful about who touched his injured hand, not sure what the wound would do should it come in contact with another. “It’s not a little bite.” He said, reluctantly holding it out to him.

He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Logan looked away as Roman unraveled the bandage. His feet shifted in place as he glanced at the clock on the mantle, watching the second hand tick its way closer to the full moon’s rising.

It was odd...Roman had never needed proof before. He’d been the sort to take people at their word and go harring off at the slightest hint of an adventure.

Obviously he had changed far more after high school than Logan had anticipated. It was--

Roman whistled as the last of the bandages fell to the ground. “This...happened a month ago?” He asked, turning Logan’s hand over studying the bite that formed a large crescent shape from his middle finger down to his wrist.

“Twenty-eight days.” He corrected, wincing as Roman gently poked the wound. He’d been attacked on the last night of last month’s full moon cycle.

“It looks--”

“Fresh?” Besides the visible lack of blood coming from the wound, it looked like it could have happened only minutes ago.

“Horrible.” Roman frowned. “I’ve seen men take sharpenal to their hands and this--just a bit more pressure and you could have lost your thumb and two fingers--”

Logan winced, his stomach twisting. “I know--I didn’t.” It had been a close thing though. He could have lost half his hand if the wolf had dug its teeth just half an inch deeper into his flesh and pulled, it was a miracle he could still use his fingers at all. Another inconsistency really, with normal dog bites. His hand still worked perfectly despite the large wound maring half of the surface that should have destroyed his tendons and muscles.

“And you’ve tried--”

“Everything short of surgery.” And with his hand able to function normally, no Doctor was willing to try that just yet, not after a single month. “Nothing heals it.”

Roman hummed. “An unhealing wound.” He mumbled, looking up. He frowned, raising a hand to Logan’s chin, turning his head this way and that as he peered into his eyes. “Did you always have a golden tint to your irises?” He asked, trailing his fingers down to press gently against the side of Logan’s throat, where the pulse of his heart frantically pounded against Roman’s warm fingers.

Logan swallowed, feeling the color draining from his face. Golden tint? “No.” He whispered. “They’ve always been green. You know that.”

Roman clicked his tongue, abruptly pulling away from him and crossing his arms. “Okay. Say, hypothetically, I don’t think you’re crazy.”

Logan blinked at the sudden change in tone. “You don’t?” He asked, not quite believing he was hearing this as pulling his hand back to his chest. It would be pointless to try and rebandage it with the moon so close to rising.

“Hypothetically.” Roman stressed, giving him a tight smile. “If you are going to turn into this--” He waved a hand around. “Werewolf creature. What exactly did you want my help for? Cus I highly doubt you’re thinking something stupid like true love’s kiss will work in this particular scenario of yours that you’ve set up.”

To Be Continued. Part 2

#Beneath the Moon #December Drabbles #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Logan #Roman #Logic #Creativity #Werewolf!Logan #Werewolf!AU #bite wounds tw #injuries tw #war talk tw #fighting talk tw #death talk tw #mentions of Dog Attack tw #December Day 18

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millers-planet · 4 years ago

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Concern - Obi-Wan x F!Reader

Storyline/ Prompt: we accept the love we think we deserve. (fic inspired loosely by that quote from perks of being a wallflower)

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of abusive relationships, SAPPY

POV: Obi-Wan’s

Word Count: ~2600

I only saw her once every so often, usually when she was with Padmé, who was always with Anakin. She was never happy when she was with the senator, always crying or fixing herself up, I could only assume how she got them. She had the wrinkles of what use to be a happy person, with defined smile lines around her mouth and less-obvious forehead crinkles. However, I’ve never seen the infamous smile that must’ve caused these indents.

I picked up on her name only once, when Anakin was saying goodbye to the two ladies, “bye Padmé, Y/N.” From the second I heard her voice, I couldn’t stop thinking about what other things there was to know about her. Has she ever left Coruscant? What did she do for a living? How did she meet Padmé? Why was she always hiding bruises? I regretted every missed opportunity and chance I had to ask her these questions. She was a forbidden book, only because I knew she’d lead me down a road I couldn’t follow, not without breaking the rules I’ve sworn myself to.

These bruises haunted the echos of my thoughts. Poorly blended makeup over dark discoloration wasn’t hard to miss, especially when she was constantly trying to keep her hand on it. It wasn’t often that I saw her, but when I did, these were always a continuous look on her. I never understand why people treat precious material, precious literature that must have hundreds of stories to tell, so poorly.

While she is that locked book, this never stopped me from having small and meaningless conversation. There was one incident where she seemed happy, giving me an opening to meet her formally on a positive note. “Anakin, who’s this?” I looked at her briefly and smiled, sticking my hand out.

When she flinched at my arm moving toward her, I had to plaster a pokerface to prevent me from dropping to a concerned look. “This is Y/N, Padmé met her through the senate,” Anakin looked to her with a face that said ‘you can trust him’ which made her release a bit of tension. “Y/N, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi, he’s my Master.”

“Obi-Wan? That sounds familiar..” she eventually shook my hand and smiled as her face lit up with the answer, “General Kenobi!” She had a contagious laugh that came out gently and warm, I was finally able to see the infamous smile that has caused all of those wonderful smile-lines. Y/N seemed sweet and innocent, I would’ve believed she was this kind of person if I hadn’t seen her patch herself up so many times or if I hadn’t noticed the nearly fully healed bruised on her wrist.

Padmé interrupted me as I was about to continue the conversation, “we should get going, there’s a meeting we’re going to be late for. It was great see you Obi-Wan.” She smiled when she looked at Anakin, “by Ani.” With that, she was gone, as quickly as she appeared.

Ever since then I tried to figure out some way to get into a senate meeting with Anakin and Padmé, with the hope of seeing Y/N again. Of course, this was delusional behavior because, realistically, she could be nothing more than a fantasy... not even that. She would be trouble for me, I know I should cut things off fully with her, but part of me remained worried about her.

I began visiting at his chambers less in the morning, meaning I’d have a lower chance of running into her. This was rough at first, not only because Anakin lectured me over how he enjoyed walking to training with me, but also because the thoughts of her only intensified. I hoped that by decreasing the exposure risk of her, it’d lower this mindless obsession, but it’s only increased with curiosity about how she was doing and if she was okay.

The one time I did walk to Anakin’s chambers in the morning, Y/N was there, so was Padmé. The door had just a sliver of it open, just enough for sound to get through and enough for me to see her. She had fresh bandages on her arms and new bruises over herself, she was frantic as she cried to Padmé, “why am I still with him?”

“You need to leave him, Y/N, there is nothing good coming from this relationship.” The senator’s voice was pleading to the other politician, trying to make her realize the truth and side with reason.

Y/N swallowed down a sob as she continued on, “he said he was done with all of.... this! I believed him, too, because he didn’t for awhile, so I thought we got past it, only it was temporary.” I saw her figure stop and sit down on some bench or couch, touching her eyes to wipe away tears. “I wish I could just walk away, but it’s so much more complicated than that.”

Padmé’s voice broke from calm to persuasive with hints of anger, “but it’s not! Y/N, it is not that complicated. Pack you stuff, come move in with me, get out of there.” Her arm draped around her friend, “I’m more worried about you than ever.”

There was a pause in the conversation before they continued onward, Y/N’s sighed and stood up, “no, Padmé, I can’t. There is too much at risk if I leave. If I go, there could be so many rumors started about where my priorities are at or other stupid things. But, we both know what gossip can do to someone.” I saw Y/N walk out of view, then a door opened and then closed after a second, it sounded like the bathroom.

“What was that all about?” It was Anakin. “Actually, tell me later, Obi-Wan is probably here. Bye.” He opened the door and swiftly closed it behind him, pushing a loose hair out of his face before smiling, “good morning, Master. I didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?”

I shook my head slightly before walking toward the training hall, “no, I got here only just a moment ago.” I shouldn’t ask about what just happened, though, what if she really is in danger? It’s not like it’s any of my business, though... “Early morning company?”

“Yeah, Padmé and Y/N came over again. She is going through a bit of a rough patch with her boyfriend, that’s all. When she wants to get away, her and Padmé come over to my chambers because-” Anakin caught himself as if he was about to say something he shouldn’t. “Because they know he won’t come searching near the Jedi area.”

Ever since then, not a moment passed by when she didn’t cross my thoughts. At night, I began romanticizing the idea of rescuing her, like some hero. I stir up dreams of following her back to her place and going to it when only her “lover” was home, just to show him a lesson. I have to remember, despite all this, that my job here is only to be a peacekeeper, but the idea of taking that forward step into this seems like the right answer.

When I was making pretend-scenarios of this rescue-op, I would imagine engaging in a conversation with her after I ran into her confessing the truths of her relationship to Padmé. I would generate possible starters of how I would ask her about all of this, possible things I would say to comfort her, or just all-around things to talk to her about. Maybe, instead of convincing her to just leave her boyfriend, I could convince her to leave him for me.

No, that’s selfish. I can’t do that just because I like the idea of her, just because she’s what occupies my thoughts most of the days. There are so many rules I’m breaking just now, without even talking to her anymore. If I was wise, I would talk about this to Master Yoda. If I was wise, I would have Anakin talk to her for me because he would have a bigger chance of making any impact, since I’m only a General she knows nothing about.

To compromise with myself, I’ll be... somewhat oblivious. I’ll forget what I’ve heard and seen, only if it doesn’t come up again. I will quit all of these meaningless thoughts and daydreaming because they are doing me no good, but if I run into her crying in Anakin’s chambers more than often, I’ll engage in those conversation that should remain solely as a fantasy. Unfortunately, this is exactly what happened, three times in just a week.

It was the same conversation between Y/N and Padmé, only this time each of them was more emotional. I wasn’t able to hear anything other than, “Y/N, he is going to hurt you so bad you won’t recover, and I won’t know what to do.” This was the final straw, this has begun to spiral out of control and I need to step in, in some way.

Just at the perfect timing, Anakin came through the door. Before he could say good morning, as he usually does, I intervened. “I can’t pretend anymore that I’m blind to what’s going on between Y/N and her boyfriend. Anakin, what is happening? Why is she still with him?”

My padawan sighed as he guided us toward our usual walk, only slower. “They have been together for a few years, since they both began in the public sector of work. It wasn’t always like this, according to Padmé. They were both happy, for a long time, but ever since the trade issues began, the way she’s been treated has declined.” Anakin stopped talking and turned to face me, pulling me to the side, looking me head-on. “You can’t say anything about this, I’m technically not even supposed to know. Please, Obi-Wan, pretend this never happened.”

“Anakin, something has to be done, there has to be something we can do for her.” My voice was pleading, when I realized how concerned I sounded, I noticed how suspicious it was, as well, for me to be so concerned for a politician. “You know that if I could, I would leave this alone, but the conversations between Padmé and Y/N in the mornings have progressed so much. They’ve turned from conversations of advice to conversations of begging for reason,” my voice was firm and less emotional, making me seem more serious, hopefully.

He sighed and looked around, considering a response. “Do what you want, but you didn’t hear any of this from me. Talk to her tonight, she’ll be at my chambers again with Padmé, most likely.” I furrowed my brows together, in confusion. “It’s what’s been happening these past few nights, so it’s a possibility she’ll do it again. She leaves about 7 to go back home. Now, can we go?” I nodded and continued our normal regimen, only, my mind was galaxies away.

If she lives in her chambers, I could take the long way around to my chambers, then break off to head to Anakin’s, making me run into her. However, if she lives with her boyfriend in his room, then I’m out of luck. Though, if I take the main lobby, that increased the chance of our paths colliding, but it’d make it more public. I can’t walk back with Anakin because it’d be too obvious.

I need to clear my mind, I shouldn’t be trying to plan ahead like this, I will know what is right when the time calls for it. Whatever feels like the proper path will be the correct choice, but I can’t know what it is until then. If I’m going to talk to her tonight, I should have that clear head to make proper decisions. I’ll meditate until then, Anakin has his own tasks to do today, I believe he was meeting with the Chancellor.

Pulling myself together as I sat down on an open spot with a nice view, I took deep breaths. My focus drifted away from all of these issues at hand and just drifted off. Everything relaxed, everything was still, and everything made sense again. I forget what really matters in this universe, and coming back to here makes it all better. I was in this state of meditation for a few hours, occasionally interrupted from loud distraction that were brief as I pulled myself back into concentration. When I was finally out, it was just a little before seven, giving me plenty of time to take that long route to my chambers.

I walked at a steady pace, not thinking ahead of the conversations we might have or of anything else, other than my destination. Keeping this clear mind will be fine, whatever happens, happens. Me overthinking does nothing to help, these past few hours has helped me realize that. The familiar hall designs pulled me from my zen state, I was in my hallway, with Y/N just a few feet down the hall. “Obi-Wan?” she called happily, picking up the pace to catch up to me.

The biggest smile spread across my face as those beautiful smile lines beamed right back at me, her bubbly aura flowing off of her. However, her body spoke a different energy, it cried out with pain and discomfort as the bruises stuck out like sore thumbs. “Hey, Y/N, right?” She nodded. “Are you alright, you look a little.... shaken up?”

She sighed shakily, she smile never leaving her face as she hesitantly rubbed her arm that was coated with markings. “Yeah, everything’s all good, how are you?” I pushed her hand down, off of her arm, revealing the dark welts once more. “Obi-Wan, please, don’t. I hear enough from Padmé.”

“I think we both know what needs to happen, I think we all know what is the best.” Her smile finally broke off of her face, her lip quivering. “You are so strong, Y/N, but there is so much love in you that’s being thrown away by wasting it on your boyfriend.” I put her chin between my thumb and index finger and pulled her weepy eyes to look at mine.

My hand instinctively moved up to her cheek, cupping it gently, she leaned into it, obviously comforted by it. “I don’t know how to do it, I feel like I’m throwing so many years of my life away.” She pulled away as she dried her tears, “I know there’s nothing left for me with him, but I can’t let go, there’s so many things I’m ruining by letting go.”

I sighed, “what was there was ruined long ago, Y/N.” She began tearing up as she heard what I said, not calling me out on it, obviously realizing what I said was true. “If you want, you can spend the night with me. You can come sleep on this tonight and do it tomorrow. Or, I’ll take you to him and you can do it now, then we can head back to my place.”

Her sniffles quickly ended as she wiped her sleeve on her nose, looking up to me with those watery eyes that just melted every bit of me. “Really?” I nodded. “Can we do it tonight? I know I won’t have the energy to face him tomorrow.”

“Of course we can, I’ll walk you there. You just go inside, make things quick, stay in there for as little as possible, you might just make things worse if you’re in there for awhile.” I saw her hands fidget and shake as I went on, just wanting to prepare her. “I’m right outside, though. If I hear anything, you won’t be alone.”

She nodded and began to lead the way. “Obi?”

“Yeah?”

Y/N ran herself into me and let out a built-up sigh, “thank you,” she spoke softly as she briefly wrapped her arms around me before moving forward.

tags: @blondekel77 @mysticdeerpolice @gabile18

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rhysismydaddy · 5 years ago

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Dirty Daydreams (Nessian Fluff)

Cassian groaned against her neck, the sound snapping something deep inside of her. She reached up to pull his head up, needing to see him. Golden eyes, the eyes she loved so much, met hers and she smiled up at him.

Calloused hands gripped her hips, pushing into her and making her back arch-

Nesta’s eyes shot open, gulping down air and almost falling out of the bed as she violently tore herself from the dream. She threw a pillow at the wall in frustration, barely resisting the urge to scream her head off.

That damn bastard was really trying to get himself killed.

She shut her eyes, but images of his tan skin, wide smile, and sinful lips kept badgering her, so she threw the covers back and stormed across the room to lock her door.

Then she glanced at the open window.

After locking it--and giving the night sky a foul gesture for good measure--she crawled back into bed and sighed, begging the gods for just one good night sleep.

Just one.

Ever since he’d arrived in the House of Wind four days ago, Cassian had been plaguing her dreams. And daydreams.

She knew what he was doing.

Rhysand had told her certain people could get into your mind, and apparently Cassian was one of those people. The prick thought it was funny to use whatever demonic skills he possessed to send dirty images to her brain at all points during the day and night.

Seriously.

Yesterday they’d been ignoring each other in the library when she’d imagined throwing her book down, going to where he’d sat at the desk, and kissing him senseless.

The day before that, she’d been absolutely convinced she was in bed with him, watching the morning sunlight dance across his chest. Not listening to him talk about the army’s preparations for winter.

It was driving her absolutely insane, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of asking him to stop. She would never let him know he’d gotten under her skin.

So far, she thought she’d remained perfectly unbothered, even though she had homicidal thoughts every time he asked if she was okay, voice teasing and knowing.

Just one night, she pleaded.

Nesta closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to imagine steel gates around her mind. Steel strong enough to keep even the most resilient winged beasts out.

The next morning, Nesta cursed those damn gates.

Apparently, there was a hole in them or something because Cassian had wormed his way into her mind enough to torment her all night long.

She’d awoken at dawn, body aching with lust, ready to light him on fire.

Nesta threw on a dressing gown and stomped down to breakfast, trying to school her face into neutrality despite the violence coursing through her blood.

It didn’t matter, because as soon as she walked into the dining room, Cassian’s head snapped up, nostrils flaring as he took in her scent.

Damn.

She’d forgotten about that.

“Sexy dreams, Nesta?”

I’m going to stab him with a knife.

She sat across from him at the table and grabbed a piece of bacon off his plate. “Nope.”

His curly hair fell in his face as he tilted his head to the side. “Interesting. You smell nice.”

Make that a rusty knife.

“Well, as usual, you smell like a rotten fish. I don’t know how I ever put up with it.”

Cassian smiled like he always did when she insulted him, as if he knew it was all a lie. “You’re in a wonderful mood today.”

Nesta just rolled her eyes and scooped some fruit onto her plate.

She was stabbing a piece of melon, watching him somehow shove more food in his fat mouth than anyone she’d ever seen, when she thought about how easy it would be to crawl across the table into his lap.

She’d press her mouth to his, pull his hair, drive him crazy like he did her. Cassian would give her that bright smile she loved, happy he’d finally won their little game, and wrap his arms around her, mouth finding its way to her neck-

A thud sounded through the room as Nesta’s head fell back against her chair.

Cassian laughed. “What in the world were you thinking about over there?”

“That’s it!” she yelled, not able to keep her cool any longer. “You are so fucking annoying! Get out of my head!”

She slammed her fist down into the table, making all the plates shake.

His dark eyebrows pinched together in fake confusion. “What?”

“Get out of my head! Stop sending me these delusional, disgusting thoughts, or I’m going to gut you, I swear-”

“Wait, wait, wait. What? You think I’m...” Realization spread over his face, and his eyes lit up as he smiled happily. “Nesta, baby, I’m not a Daemati. Rhys and Feyre are the only ones I know.”

Everything inside her came crashing to a halt. Her rage turned towards confusion, mind and body not wanting to accept what she’d just heard.

What?

He wasn’t... he couldn’t... what?

Her face caught fire as a blush worked its way over her entire body, and Nesta dug her fingers into her thighs as a horrible, repugnant understanding formed. No one had been messing with her.

Except herself.

Every single dream and thought she’d had... they’d been hers.

“So what, exactly, were you daydreaming about?” Cassian asked, smile so bright, so satisfied it almost blinded her.

Nesta finally gave in to her impulses and shot out of her chair so fast it flipped over. She didn’t care, though; she was already half-way out of the room.

She had to get away from him. She was many things, but she’d never allow herself to break down in front of him.

She sprinted down the hallway to her room, humiliation pushing at her to go faster, faster, faster.

A dark shape over her head caught her attention, then Cassian was slamming to a landing in front of her, wings spread wide to block the entire hallway. “Stop running from me.”

Sliding to a halt in her silk slippers, she realized she’d never be able to outrun him.

Stupid, stupid wings.

Nesta looked for any other way out of this conversation, attention snagging on the open window.

If she could just-

“You try to jump out of that window, Nesta, and I swear I’ll wring your pretty little neck.”

She rolled her eyes, trying not to look like that’s exactly what she’d been planning.

“Now. Tell me what you’ve been dreaming about.”

Nope. Never. “Window it is, then.”

He growled at her, and she had to repress a laugh.

The smile fell off her face as he just crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. Waiting.

“Why does it matter, Cassian?”

He looked at her incredulously, beautiful eyes holding a mixture of anger, happiness, frustration, and an emotion she didn’t want to consider.

“Why does it matter?” he shouted at her, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I swear, Nesta, you’re so dense sometimes. It matters because I’ve been trying to get you to fall in love with me for almost a year, and you’re finally letting it happen. Now what the hell were the dreams like?”

She should respond, should do something besides gape at him, jaw swinging in the breeze.

He’d been trying to... he... “You love me?”

Her voice was so small and quiet, but he heard her perfectly.

Hands on his hips, he rolled his eyes and said, “I tell you I love you at least once a day, dumbass.”

True, but- “That’s different. You’re always teasing me.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I never tease you about that. But stop trying to change the subject, Nesta. Tell me about the dreams.”

A dog with a bone.

“Um.” Her face was a thousand degrees of embarrassment as she gave in and said, “They aren’t all sex dreams, so don’t even start. Sometimes we just dance, or go on dates, or wake up together, or kiss- stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?” he asked, biting a lip to keep the smile at bay.

“Like a kid of Yuelemas.” She pushed against his shoulder and stomped by him. “This doesn’t change anything. Just because my brain’s demented doesn’t mean things are different between us. I still hate you.”

They both knew it was a lie.

Cassian, prick he was, called her on it. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

She was almost to her room, the blessed solitary confinement mere feet away.

“I can prove that you don’t.”

Nesta snorted, unable to help it. “Cassian, you’re so full of shit. You cannot possibly-”

He grabbed her wrist and turned her back around, and before she could so much as blink, he was kissing her.

Nesta stood, unmoving, as her brain tried desperately to catch up.

All her dreams, all her fantasies, couldn’t compare to this. Nothing could.

Cassian’s lips were soft and persistent against hers, hands rough as they grabbed her waist and pulled her against him.

He whispered her name, and she finally snapped back into her body and realized what was happening.

She pushed out the thoughts of doubt and embarrassment and nervousness and just did what she wanted for once.

Her arms wound around his neck, and she pulled herself up closer to him, kissing him deeper. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she lost her mind at how he tasted.

Caramel, salt, wind, Cassian.

He tugged on her lip with his teeth, smiled, and pulled back.

“See? You don’t hate me, baby,” he laughed, pressing kisses to her forehead, temple, cheek, chin, everywhere.

She’d never seen him this happy. Never felt this amount of joy in herself, either.

Laughter bubbled out of her. “Okay. Fine. I don’t hate you.”

“You love me.”

He was a cocky bastard, wasn’t he? But... she thought back on all the times he’d been there for her, putting up with her when no one else wanted to.

All the dreams she’d had of them just being together came crashing together, and she realized she wanted that. Wanted that life with him.

Nesta pulled on his hair to stop the assault of kisses, looking into his eyes. “Yeah. I do.”

Cassian picked her up and spun her around, both of them laughing like maniacs. “And it only took a year of flying all the way up here to bug you.”

Once she was set back on her feet, she leaned into him, trying to memorize the feel of his body against hers. “Take me on a date tonight.”

“It’ll be just like your dream,” he smirked, kissing the tip of her nose. “Dancing and drinking and good food.”

She knew where he was going, but she didn’t even care as he teased, “Then whatever you dreamed about that had you smelling like that this morning.”

“You’re a presumptuous little asshole. I don’t think I’ll sleep with you. Ever.”

A finger on her chin brought her face up to his. “Liar,” he whispered, their lips not an inch apart.

“Maybe.”

“Say it again,” he murmured onto her jaw, fingers moving to play in her hair.

Nesta rolled her eyes, cupped his face with her hands, and finally told him the words she’d repressed since she first saw him. “I love you, Cassian.”

______________________________________________________________

Ending’s cheesy as shit, sorry. Not really.

@musicmaam @b00kworm @bamchickawowow @aesthetics-11 @a-bit-of-a-cactus

#cassian #nesta #nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #acotar #acowar #acofas #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acotar fanfiction

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yandere-daydreams · 5 years ago

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Just a little something for my favorite two characters, as of the past few weeks. Everyone in Haikyuu is a sweetheart, but I never could resist the dynamic between an apathetic introvert and his determined friend.

TW: Toxic Relationships, Physical Intimidation, Delusional Mindsets and Slight Dehumanization.

It was for the good of the team.

You didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want to.

Kuroo would be there to help, every step of the way.

You tried to repeat your mantra, to bite your cheek and remember how sweetly he’d said it, how shy Kenma had looked, how reassuring Kuroo’s presence had been, at first. It was cute, like a plot out of some teenage girl’s daydreams, Nekoma’s star-athlete too distracted by his first crush to play at his best but hindered by his own tortuously introverted nature. You laughed when Kuroo approached you on his friend’s behalf, and you’d been the one to hold Kenma’s hand and kiss his cheek during your first date, and the second, and the tenth. It was all he could do to reciprocate, back then.

Now, though, that fantasy seemed more like a nightmare.

“I just think there’s something wrong.” Kenma didn’t stutter, anymore, nor did his eyes ever seem to leave yours. He was calculated, cold, watching you like a predator ready to corner its bleeding, thrashing prey. You could usually write it off, turn and move out of his prying gaze, but the slightest movement would only press you further into Kuroo’s chest, cause his arms to wrap tighter around your waist, bring you closer to the man who’d gotten you into this mess in the first place. Even after all his promises of comfort and patience, Kuroo hadn’t been gentle when he grabbed you, barely waiting for the final bell to ring before dragging to a less populated stairwell and never stopping to explain himself. If how rough he’d been upset Kenma, you couldn’t tell, your boyfriend simply standing in front of you passively. Whether he was unbothered or just uncaring, you couldn’t tell. “(Y/n) looks scared of me, Tetsuro. Nothing I say seems to help.”

You could help but grit your teeth, more out of frustration than anger. “I told you, I just need some time--”

“It’s ‘cause you’re creepy,” Kuroo interrupted, purposefully, speaking over you. His right arm dug into your diaphragm, making it hard for you to breathe, the slight pressure secondary to just how suffocating the change felt. He’d always been like that, looming over the two of you, making it hard to ever feel like you were alone with Kenma. Just the mention of his name was enough to put you on edge, these days. “The poor thing probably thinks you care about a digital farm more than you care about them,” He continued, pulling you out of your thoughts with a dismissive tone. You frowned, squaring your shoulders and planting your heel firmly in his foot, but Kuroo only rolled his eyes, starting to chuckle when Kenma didn’t deny it. “Communication is key. What makes you think they’re so terrified?”

“It’s… it’s not one thing.” There was a hint of emotion, this time, if only in the way he suddenly seemed so focused on the floor. The movement was slow, hesitant, but his arms were draped over your shoulders soon enough, Kenma resting his head gingerly against your shoulder. “Relationships are just hard. I want to spend more time together, but I’ve always got practices and tournaments, and (Y/n) has these… friends, they’re all too loud, and they’re all busy. We get into a fight whenever I do the smart thing and send them away.” He sighed, shaking his head, and you grimaced at the memory. “I don’t want to have to share so often.”

You didn’t notice when one of Kuroo’s hands left your side, coming up to pry open your lips without a hint of reluctance. Two thin fingers forced themselves into the corner of your mouth, distorting your dread into some fucked-up smile, the expression too wide and too tight and too sudden to be anything but unpleasant. You flinched when he started to speak, but you didn’t dare try to bite him. It’d only resulted in a new bruise and a lecture, last time. “And you don’t need to! We’ll tell off those bitches together, it’ll be fun!” There was another tug, this one bordering on painful, tears forming in your eyes before you could blink them away. “And your sweetheart will have lots of time for you, afterward. It’ll be one of my greatest plans yet!”

Kuroo pulled away, and you took the opportunity to struggle, attempting to drive your elbow into his ribs or kick at his legs or do something that would loosen his grip. “No, no,” You sputtered uselessly, the panic setting in as quickly as the fear did, your upcoming isolation mixing terribly with all the helplessness Kuroo always instilled in you, forming a dark, spiraling concoction you couldn’t seem to swallow down. “Please, don’t make anyone hate me. I’ll do whatever you want me to, but don’t bring them into this. No one else has to know!”

Kenma was silent, for a moment, pausing and perking up to better stare at you. He didn’t say anything, only scanning over you, the barest hints of relief ghosting over its features as he turned towards Kuroo. You wouldn’t have noticed, if you weren’t so used to looking for reactions so small. “...I’d like that. Do you think Yamamoto would be willing to help?”

Kuroo grinned, opening his mouth to respond, but a door opened from the floor below before he could, footsteps slowly approaching, but approaching all the same. There was a shrug, a shove, letting you stumble away as Kuroo stretched, never bothering to give you a second glance once you were separated from Kenma. “I’ll ask after practice. You’ll have to toss him a few extra balls, today.”

With that, he was gone, motioning for Kenma to follow as he started towards the gym. You considered running, making a break for it and promising to never let yourself be alone with either of those monsters, but Kenma was clinging to your side before you had the chance to move. He wasn’t strong in any sense of the word, you could get away if you tried, but those eyes kept you in place without the need for physical restraints. Always watching, always waiting for an opportunity to attack. “You’re coming too, right?” He asked, calmly. You weren’t sure what else you expected. “I’ve been practicing something new, I want you to see it.”

All you could think to do was nod, staring at anything but Kenma. You could’ve gotten away from him, you could’ve screamed and fought and broken up with him again, but it would’ve been pointless in a day or two.

Kuroo said he would be there every step of the way, after all.

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kkulmoon · 5 years ago

Text

SUNSET HEARTBEAT | KTH

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (f)

genre: fantasy au, hybrid au, sci-fi (?), fluff, angst

word count: 5.1k

rating: pg

a/n: ngl i feel like the beginning portion is a bit rusty, by rusty I mean it may feel a bit slow but pls give it a chance 🥺, I struggled to write that 😭. I am also tagging two very lovely people who were excited about this, hopefully you like it uwu @blossomkoo @inkedxclouds. This fic is part of Bangtan Scenery’s collab ‘April Showers Bring May Flowers’, make sure to check out everyone else’s entries!

warnings: implied sex, other than that none, except for heartbreak and slight purple patches here and there cause I was in the mood hehe

beta read by: lovely angie @scvkjin and amazing emi @bangtiddies 💕

synopsis: The time had come for the seventh sun to rise. For the seventh and last color in line to have its cycle. As one indigo supernova signified the coming of a purple nebula, you and Taehyung spent the remaining of your last day together creating something of your own. If it comes into fruition can only be known years in the future. A decade after you found someone unlike anyone. Truly one of a kind. Someone with a destiny they couldn’t outrun. It has been 10 years since the birth of a purple sun.

☁︎ masterlist ☁︎

It was in your final year of university, twelve years ago, that you met Taehyung. That same year you decided it was time to give up on the idea of becoming an astronomer. Quite frankly, you were just too dumb. However, it did not mean that you couldn't enjoy it all while living a life where pretending that you truly understood everything was your best bet, your only bet. They all say that interest and dedication trumps natural talent, right? For that same reason you decided to still attend as many astronomy lectures as possible even though you were studying to become an English teacher. You were always quiet and attentive so either the professors didn't notice you or let you be. Either way, what mattered was that you got to be there.

The first time the two of you interacted was a random weekday in April, near finals’ season. You were sitting at the back of the room as usual. The professor had handed out some papers to be passed back. A gold tinted hand with slender fingers, on which well groomed and shiny fingernails were present, reached out to you. You could all but wave away at the paper, trying your best to dismiss it. A pouty and confused expression was what you got as he continued to jab the paper onto your palm. You kept trying to mouth 'it's okay' but he was persistent. Not much of a purple characteristic but surely a sun one, now that you think about it. Finally you settled for a verbal response.

“I don't actually take this class, so really, i'm fine.”

He retreated his hand for a second, “Huh, don't we all wish that was true,” he said as he placed the paper on the small desk in front of you instead. “You've got this! We're almost done, hold in there.” You got a thumbs up before he turned back to focus on the class.

And every week from there on, whenever he got a short moment in class while the professor was writing on the board Taehyung would pester you with motivational notes filled with sayings. One particular somber April morning where you looked more tired than usual he even went as far as offering to help you with the class and your homework. You did your best to decline and yet that same night you got an email in your inbox that told you he obviously hadn't understood.

| Kim Taehyung Chapter 15: Helpful Resources, (hang on there, you got this!) |

While you didn't take the class and had no official obligations to learn anything, you were still interested in astronomy so you decided to have a look. The links did clear up some questions you had during the lecture. However, you didn't want him to be wasting time helping a lost cause. As much as you loved reading about astronomy and learning about it, you were slow and having him help you was more than unnecessary. The definition of futile work. You decided to send him a screenshot of the official classes you were attending from the university's student portal. You made sure to censor your grades. He truly didn't need to think that you were any dumber, all he needed was proof that you weren't taking the class.

But once again, Taehyung's sun qualities shone through. Where it would have been expected for the person to drop the subject and for the two of you to go back to your habitual behaviour, he thought otherwise. He responded, but this time instead of answers he had questions, none of which you felt like answering so you left him on read. Well, the email version of read. You opened the email, read it, thought about answering it but ultimately left the email thread to die on the read pile.

A week went by. No Taehyung and you felt relieved. At least that's how you think you felt, the sleep deprivation might have been playing tricks on you. As yet another day came, where the indigo sun let its rays shine, Taehyung thought it better for him to act as the sun. You hadn't seen him in class, but it just turned out he changed his usual spot. He tried to catch you before you left the room but your daydreaming self was quick on her feet. He had a quick talk with the professor before he hurried to you.

“Hey!” The sound of sandals echoed against the cement floor. “Hey! You there!"

You kept on walking, as far as you knew your name wasn’t you there'. Someone grumbled behind you only to exclaim after a short while.

“Y/N! Y/N! Hold up, I need to talk to you.” So in that case you were 'you there' and someone was Taehyung.

You stopped walking and turned around. You couldn’t help but cock your head at him. You had only seen Taehyung from the torso up while in class. His attire surprised you for some reason. Maybe because he was a STEM student and you had expected him to look more uptight. He looked like one of the people from the pot dorm down your hallway. Everything he wore was oversized except for the big knitted headband he had on now that he was outside. He looked devoid of colour with his muted clothes, but his cross body bag stood out with its patterned rainbow material.

"Yeah, what is it?" The quicker you could get it over with the better. However, Taehyung didn’t seem to agree with you on that aspect. He took his sweet time to fix the misplaced headband as you were left to witness the action. As much as you would have liked to categorise the scene as boring, it would have been a lie. His grey hair strands somehow managed to sparkle in the sun. They didn’t shine the normal way hair shines when light reflects on it. His hair literally sparkled as if it had recognised something familiar within the sun rays. But at the time you just thought you were being delusional or being tricked by the elements of his beauty.

"You didn't answer my email," he asked with curious eyes and an innocent tone. Right, that happened.

"Oh, that... uhm... I just haven't gotten the time to go through my email, things have been a bit hectic," you shot him a sympathetic smile.

Taehyung seemed like a pretty understanding person but he sure wasn’t dumb. You saw the way his tongue shifted to lick his lips as his teeth found their way onto his bottom lip. He trailed his hands on the strap of his bags as a pensive lip bite made adorned his features. Taehyung could have either been nervous or so irked by the bullshit you just spat at him that his body was reacting. Either way you felt bad for your white lie, but maybe not bad enough.

"It has been two weeks though," Taehyung stretches his back to stand straighter, "Also I take a chem class with Hoseok and you're always chatting in the gmail chat so..."

What do you say to that? You lied and the worst part of it all was that you were caught right in the same moment. Your mouth opened and closed continuously as a hot flush made itself present on your ears and neck. You made note of the fact that Taehyung seems sweet but he actually packed a punch and was definitely ready to confront you on your bullshit. Classic STEM student approach, just face things head on. Thinking back at it, that was yet another instance in which his sun characteristics took the wheel. The sun's rays don't budge for anything or anyone and they certainly don't cave in to make others feel comfortable.

"Uhmm... right. But I am here now, so ask away!" Maybe your fake enthusiasm could make up for your little lie. Taehyung gave you a wondering look as he calculated the pros and cons of continuing this conversation, You hoped the cons would win.

“Uhmm, alright, fair enough,” He shrugged and the pros must have won because he kept talking. “Why do you go to astronomy lessons if you don’t take the class?”

Why did he want to get into your personal business? You could have very well told him that it was none of his business, turned around and left. But that seemed a tad bit too rude for you and for some weird reason you didn't want him to think of you as any more rude that you had been.

Would you paint yourself as an overly ambitious student that just had a general love of learning or would you tell him the truth? If you were to lie again you were sure he wouldn't manage to uncover this lie.

"I just like astronomy and find the class interesting, on top of that I've got time so like why not?" You felt good about your response, so good you were happy that you had made the choice not to lie to him, again.

"Oh okay, then how come you didn't apply for the program?" Wow, this dude was really trying to uncover all of your flaws during the first real conversation you've had. He should have become a detective instead, his focused and analysing eyes made it very hard for you to lie and not feel any residual guilt. He would, without a doubt, catch you if you were to slip up again.

"Uhm... I just felt like education was the right place for me you know." You shook your head with squinted eyes in hopes that he would just get you. Which he obviously didn’t if you had to go off of the way his jaw jutted out to the side.

"Well, to put it simply, I am not the brightest of students and while actually taking the class would have been a nightmare, just being there and listening and learning at my own slow pace just makes me feel better about my shortcomings."

Taehyung's lips parted slightly. Okay, maybe you didn't have to give such a confession but he had been pushing and you wanted it to just end.

"Ohh, I see." Not the response you expected but how else do you respond to someone who said that they were too dumb to follow their dream. "But still my offer stands, if you need help trying to understand anything, feel free to tap my shoulder in class."

"But you changed seats to sit in the front."

"Nah not really, I was just bitter that you hadn't answered and didn't want to hurt you. From now on you'll see me at my usual spot in front of you."

The squeamish movement that accompanied the words ‘hurt you’ gave rise to a wondering look on your face. Hurt you? Why would he hurt you? Taehyung looked pretty harmless so you decided to not take his weird comment at face value. He most likely meant hurting you in a verbal sense.

The rest of the semester progressed in that same weird manner that characterised your relationship with Taehyung. A constant push and pull that kept being encouraged by your closest friends– Hoseok being the top player in the game. Inevitably, the more time you spent with him the more you warmed up to him. A month down the road the two of you decided to put a label on it. Or it was more so you who needed a verbal confirmation that you had somehow managed to catch someone's interest.

It took you awhile to reset the way you thought. Your wandering mind wasn’t only filled with personal affairs anymore, another individual had found their place in your day to day thoughts. All of a sudden being affectionate wasn't something you had to actively be, it was simply default mode whenever Taehyung crossed your field of vision.

For that reason alone, finals season was filled with movie nights, whispered love confessions, enough takeaways from different cuisines that you felt you were now ready to become a food critic. But the most precious instances of that time was the afternoons where Taehyung did his best to teach you astronomy and you being too lazy to listen despite your interest. You can't help but ask yourself if you would have been more attentive had you known what astronomy actually meant to him.

You had now been with Taehyung for one entire year. One year filled with diametrically opposite feelings. The good, the bad and the ugly. But ultimately all of it was left at the door the moment the two of you decided to reconcile despite the drawbacks. You were happy. The kind of happy that you don't recognise until it's gone. That can only be acknowledged in the midst of incoming fury. You had never in your life wished for the ability to predict the future. To see what happens after sunrise before it is manifested.

One particular day eleven years ago, you wished that astronomy was fake, that the sun wasn't real and that it never needed to rise or set, to be born or die. You wished the sun didn't exist, knowing very well that that would mean the most important person in your life wouldn't exist. But you could have dealt with that.

Longing for something you know you could have hurts far more than craving for the unknown. In the latter situation there's at least hope, that if you search hard and long enough you could find that thing you so deeply want. In the former, you know where that thing is, it's in fact right under your nose, or more accurately right over your head, where you can feel it at least a little bit every single day. Except this time you can't have it, no matter how hard you wish for it or how long you choose to wait. The whole scenario was like a twisted marshmallow test. Made to incite cravings with no intention of ever quenching them.

This all started a year following the start of your relationship with Taehyung. At that time you took notice to how hot he would get at the most unexpected of times. A behaviour that was usually reserved for when he was irritated or angry. It wasn’t only him that was hot but he radiated the kind of heat reserved for an extremely sunny summer’s day.

You overlooked those instances and decided not to pay them too much mind. It could just be you having the extreme hots from him. However on a particular night, you just couldn’t bring yourself to stay in bed with Taehyung. The sheets were drenched and the windows had fogged up. You had to leave and find refuge in your living room sleeping right by a fan.

The coming morning you woke up to breakfast on the table and right beside it there was a thick pocket sized book. The Book Of Suns. That was the white title that was engraved onto the black cover. Taehyung was nowhere to be found but his belongings were still in your room so you assumed he had gone for his morning walk.

You had to make a choice between the two. Would you read the book first or you would eat breakfast first? You knew that whatever you were about to find out would most likely curb your appetite. Your hand glided against the rough cover of the book.

Wouldn't it be better to read it now, just in case something made you extremely sad? That way you could cry before he got back home. Whatever it was that you were about to find out was very important to him, important enough that he wanted you to form your own opinion of it in peace. He wanted in no way for his presence to taint your reaction towards the truth that he had been hiding. Or as he thought protecting you from.

You sat down by the table, knees to your chest as you brought the book onto your hands. 'The Book Of Suns' was, as you realised after reading it, just that, a book about suns, in particular Taehyung’s sun lineage. It was a story about your world’s suns, the rainbow sun family. A fact unknown to you before that very moment. You were surprised by your behaviour, you weren’t exactly known for having calm reactions. It must have been Taehyung’s scent on the sweater you wore. It tickled your nose and calmed your senses. The book served as a track record for the next person in line to become the sun. It had seven chapters. Beside each chapter title in the contents page there were small vertical lines. The first six suns had five lines while the last had four. Taehyung must be purple sun. You read silently or more so you attempted to read silently, the deep breaths you were taking in effort to digest everything couldn't be contained.

After a continuous hour of reading you got to what was perhaps the most interesting chapter. Where do the dead suns go? And most importantly what do the suns that have yet to be born stay? You were cautious about continuing your reading. What if you found out that Taehyung was in fact just the ghost of someone that didn't actually exist? Or worse what if Taehyung would cease to exist?

Fear curbed your initiative to let your eyes continue their dance on the page. But fear also did its job in fixating your attention on the slightly faded black letters present on the off-white pages. Fear of the unknown is always worse than that of the known.

Deep in the forest, there was the garden of suns. Every time a sun died and resurrected as a human, their statue appeared in the garden, where their sun soul was kept, only to vanish on the day of their sun birth. In the middle of the pages there was a picture, at the back of it you could read Taehyung’s harsh handwriting ‘The garden of suns -15/07/39’. He had been there four days ago.

The statues of the first five suns were covered with vibrant collared moss equivalent of their sun pigment. The sixth and seventh sun’s statues were only slightly visible in the photograph. They seemed to be in an intermediary phase. Not quite gone, yet not quite there. It was hard to figure out whether they were emerging or vanishing. That’s until you remembered the previous week’s news report. A supernova was on its way and scientists believed it would most likely occur near the end of next year.

The indigo sun is near its death, and a purple sun is nearing its ascent.

Taehyung’s statue was the one vanishing. His sun soul was ready to find its owner and ascend to its rightful place amongst the other stars. Just as you were about to continue reading, ready to delve into how this whole sun birth situation went about, the sound of metal clashing against metal resounded in the dead silence. Clinging keys and heavy steps entered the apartment.

No 'hello' or 'glad to see you're finally awake'. But could you blame him? It would have been weird to act as if it was like any other of your usual mornings. You wished you had mustered up the strength to get off the chair and go greet him at the entrance. In your mind you did that but in reality you stayed rooted right where you were, back squeezed into the corner between the table and chair.

Taehyung walked in to lean against the door frame that lead into the kitchen. He looked exhausted. Dark under eye bags decorated weary eyes. You thought you could hear a tentative squeak come out of his mouth. Maybe you should've said something, because he looked like he was hurting and trying to find the appropriate words to start a conversation he knew would only end with heartache and tears. You thought that talking about the small steps he made outside was a good way to segue into talking about the biggest step he would take in his life. One that he could unfortunately not walk back on.

"How was your walk?" You managed to ask before Taehyung walked past the kitchen and into the bedroom. He stopped midway, standing in the living room, where sun rays illuminated his surroundings. You couldn't help but think that it was very fitting for him to become a sun. The rays may have been bright and hot but he was the only one able to make you feel as hot as the sun and make your smile shine brighter than the biggest star. He was already a sun. Your sun. Why did he need to leave and become everyone's sun as well?

"Pretty good, helped me wake up," he said and sat down on the bean bag present beside him. You put the book down on the dining table just to look back at him from your seat. You were just there, in the moment, sitting down and doing your best to have an internal conversation. Both of you knew that words would hurt too much. And they surely couldn't bear the complete weight of what your current predicament meant neither could they have illustrated the joint pain that was shared between two beating hearts.

Your conversation might have been dead but the emotion was very much alive. You stood up from your seat, Taehyung's knitted sweater fell back down to caress your thighs. The walk to the beanbag felt like an eternity, not because it was but because you made it so. You had felt his sour and vigilant mood and you knew that being playful at that moment was your best bet. You tiptoed back and forth all the way to the beanbag as the sweater shifted here and there to reveal skin that was highlighted blue by the sun.

He was upset but he couldn't manage to keep his mouth set. His lips would stretch and unstretch as small playful wiggles played at the tip of his mouth. Finally you had found your way to the bean bag. You stood tall as your body cast a shadow over his. You placed a foot on the bean bag as the material sunk under your weight and you found your place on his lap.

Right there, that's the kind of pat in the back that Taehyung gave you as his arms enveloped your slouching form. You snuggled your head deep into the crook of his neck and inhaled all the way in. If he was really gonna be leaving you, you needed to make sure you could imprint the scent and feel of his flesh right onto yours.

You sat there, quiet, with synchronised breaths yet fighting thoughts. How in the heck were you supposed to manage this? Him just being gone? Sure, you had a year left before it was officially time, but a year is far from a lifetime, what he had promised you.

"You are sure you don't want to talk about it?" Long hand strokes continue to comfort your back. You move your buried head side to side, groaning in response. Alright is all he said. Things were far from alright.

While on that morning you decided not to talk further on the topic, the coming months were filled with explorative trips to the Garden of Suns, where you would spend hours listening to Taehyung tell you about the stories of him and his sun brothers. He talked about being particularly close to the blue sun.

"It's just because he literally has no filter," he said gazing longingly at the statue covered with flashy blue moss.

"Is that like, dangerous?"

"Well yeah for you, but I am a sun remember." He turned around on the grass to face your way.

"And that's probably why I orbit around you." The huge grin that found its ways to your face was uncontrollable and contagious as Taehyung couldn’t help but snicker at your corny joke.

Just like that, your months together flew by until it was finally d-day. You hoped that waking up wouldn't be a necessity but Taehyung refused to let you sleep through it. He refused to let you think that it was all a dream. Getting yourself off the bed and into the shower felt like an endless task. One that he was patient enough to help you with. In hindsight you feel bad about having put him through that on such a significant day. He was, most likely, having a harder time dealing with his destiny than you were. That day was one to remember, the most vivid of them all, the most cherished of them all yet the most sad of them all.

All of that happened in the past and you were currently in an unsure present. The indigo sun had faced its fate, to be extinguished in an equally coloured supernova that would give rise to the last one in line, a purple sun. One day they would all be back to the complete cycle. A day where you wouldn't be present.

It has been ten years since Taehyung became a sun. You could talk to him, well, not really but you could see him and most importantly feel him. It had been a decade since you asked him to leave you something to remember him by, a part of him, a living one. On the night of Taehyung’s sun birth he decided to take you up on the offer. Cuddled up, in each other’s arms that’s how the day progressed. While usually persistent yet gentle, that night Taehyung felt it was appropriate and maybe in fact vital for him let his sun like ferocity be expressed. How else could you have understood the intensity of his feelings, a muddy mix of grief and love. The remains of that one last heated night were left for you to admire and cherish.

You thought you would manage to stay up the entire night to witness the purple sun birth but Taehyung’s warmth, forehead kisses and soft singing lulled you to sleep before you could realise it.

Nothing was felt. No heat, no cold. Nothing was seen. No light, no spark. Taehyung was gone into the void in the same effortless way he entered your life. You’ve now been waiting over a decade to know if the fruits of that night would come into fruition. Conception can only happen when eclipses take place. Eclipses happen every 126 months. It has been 10 years. Half a year is left.

That half year could not have passed at a slower pace. It was a Thursday, yet another tiring day at school. You loved kids but you were drained of energy. You couldn't wait for time to pass by so that you could leave. It was Thursday, which meant you could watch the sunset to its complete end without being bothered. It was also Thursday, the day after you got your first ultrasound. Taehyung may have not been there but that didn't mean you couldn't share the remaining of your waking hours with him, whenever you thought it was possible. You looked out of the window from your classroom to see purple hues in the sky as the sun said goodbye to leave place to another night.

The clouds thought otherwise, for some reason they always felt the need to be there to cloud his presence. What right did they have to cover up his tint? If it weren’t for them you would have been able to bask in his purple light, let it colour you bare as your feelings went from blank to purple butterflies that made you lose sight as tears formed in your eyes.

So you did what any sensible person still in love would have done. As soon as the clock struck 4 pm you ran to catch the train that would take you from skyscraper views to wide flower fields. It took the train two hours. You did your best to enjoy the way he set along the ride. Once you arrived you were left with two entire hours to enjoy the last of him and say goodbye to Taehyung and hello to the darkness.

During that time you reached into Taehyung's patterned cross body bag. You truly hated it but it was his so you kept it. You pulled out the ultrasound picture and raised it to the little part of sun that was still left. You didn't actually think that he would, through some weird magical way, actually be able to see it. It was more so something to calm your conscience. But most importantly, it presented you with the opportunity to capture an unusual family picture. It was you, the ultrasound, your baby bump and the purple sunset all in one picture. One that had found its rightful place on your bedside table.

Years unmasked themselves to reveal the growth of your child. One that grew to inherit the intensity of her father. Every now and then you made sure to let her know about him. As young as she was she couldn't truly understand it all, but as a child your love story was something that was within imaginable grounds. So you took advantage of that and taught her all you could about him. Maybe if you started early she could manage to develop past your less refined genes with regards to learning.

You took your time to tell her all that she wished to know and all that you wished to share. Sugarcoating to the maximum, cause that’s what Taehyung would do, but still making sure to keep a coherent timeline. One specific day you are unable to answer her question.

"Wh–why did dad break the promish?"

You had to fight long and hard with your tear ducts. Never had you cried in front her and you didn't intend to do it anytime soon.

In fact in one way or the other, Taehyung hadn't lied about keeping his promise. He had omitted some important specifics but he hadn't completely been untruthful. He said a lifetime and he would give you a lifetime. It just happened to be one where he wasn't always there, present by your side.

However he would always get up to see you rise, and always say goodbye as he sets down to give place for lonely nights. And on all of those goodbyes unlike the one where he left you for the first and last time, you could swear that in bed with your child pressed to your chest, you could feel and hear his sunset heartbeat as clear and strong as the rays of a certain purple sun, your only one. Sun rays filled with his most cherished truth:

‘I will turn purple when i miss you and to say i love you’.

Posted: May 28, 2020

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northwest-writing · 4 years ago

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Hardly the First Lyrical Analysis of "Stacy's Mom" by Fountains of Wayne

This morning I was doing my usual routine of completing household chores (bed making, laundry folding, etc.) and listening to my carefully curated boogie playlist while dancing around my room, when I found myself doing something I’m sure every person born after the release of the Sony Playstation has done at least once in their lives--engaging with the lyrics of Fountains of Wayne’s 2003 hit, “Stacy’s Mom”. Absurd and uncomfortable enough in both its subject matter and execution, this favorite of every roller rink and bowling alley DJ for the last seventeen years need not be absorbed with much of a critical ear at all in order for any listener to feel its discomforting effects. The chorus alone already tells the very clear story of “I’m hot for some poor teenage girl’s single mother.” It is important here that I digress for a moment to clarify: I like this song. It was in my boogie playlist for a reason and that reason is because I believe there is a time to dance and a time to think critically and they simply do not overlap. Would a lot of people disagree with me that “Stacy’s Mom” is even a song you can dance to? Probably. Make your own playlist. You can include all of your dumb songs about being attracted to people your own age. People that have more important things to do with their time don’t often extend their critique of the story of Stacy and her hot mom very far beyond the well known chorus or perhaps the first verse. I have found, however, that the more carefully I listened to the lyrics of this song, the more thoughts I had about the plotline being presented to me. Without further delay, I would like to share those thoughts with you.

Introduction

Stacy's mom has got it goin' on

Already, the piece starts off strong by introducing us to both the main subject of the song and a rough idea of the narrator’s perspective on her. Thus far we don’t quite know the full nature of the relationship between Stacy’s mom and the narrator, so we are enticed to continue listening. The repetition of the same line four times could perhaps be representative of an obsession based in desire. This section evokes the image of a young man rocking back and forth in a corner somewhere, repeating to himself the one thing he still knows to be true, “Stacy’s mom has got it goin’ on.”

First Verse

Stacy, can I come over after school?

(After school)

We can hang around by the pool

(Hang by the pool)

Did your mom get back from her business trip?

(Business trip)

Is she there, or is she trying to give me the slip?

(Give me the slip)

Now we are clued in to the narrator’s connection to Stacy’s mom through Stacy, who we know has both a house and a pool and lives with her mom who sometimes goes on business trips. We can assume based on this one sided conversation that Stacy and the narrator are classmates, most likely in middle school or high school. At first, it seems as though the narrator has a genuine interest in spending time with Stacy herself, but any hopes we might have of a happily ever after for her are quickly dashed by the second half of the verse, where we get an even deeper view into the narrator’s fixation on Stacy’s mom. He has even begun experiencing irrational concerns as to whether or not the adult woman who occupies his every thought has been deliberately avoiding him.

Pre Chorus and Chorus

You know, I'm not the little boy that I used to be

I'm all grown up now

Baby, can't you see?

Stacy's mom has got it goin' on

She's all I want

And I've waited for so long

Stacy, can't you see?

You're just not the girl for me

I know it might be wrong but

I'm in love with Stacy's mom

Several contradictory pieces of information have just been presented here. After the narrator explains that he is in fact older than he used to be, which is...duh, he goes on the claim that he is “all grown up now” even though just moments prior, he was discussing hanging out “after school”. If the narrator is truly as grown up as he claims to be, he is either a sad college student or an even sadder adult man whose only friend is a school age girl with a hot mom. We are going to continue to assume he is a delusional teenage boy. He then goes on to boldly state that Stacy’s mother is all that he wants. We are already aware of the unhealthy infatuation the narrator feels for Stacy’s mom, and now our concerns are even further confirmed.

The narrator also briefly touches on Stacy’s possible disappointment at not being pined for by the narrator, but we aren’t actually given enough evidence to suggest this was even something on Stacy’s mind. In fact, we cannot confirm based on the lyrics alone that Stacy is even friends with the narrator. It is possible we are being told a story from a very skewed perspective by a teenage narcissist completely consumed by his feelings for a suburban woman. The final nail in the coffin of this section of the song is when the narrator acknowledges that his feelings “might be wrong”. We can infer that the reason this fantasy relationship “might be wrong” is because the narrator is much too young for Stacy’s mom. This refreshing awareness could lead us to believe that the narrator understands that his love for his classmate’s mom is nothing more than an ordinary teenage crush.

Second Verse and Second Pre Chorus

Stacy, do you remember when I mowed your lawn?

(Mowed your lawn)

Your mom came out with just a towel on

(Towel on)

I could tell she liked me from the way she stared

(The way she stared)

And the way she said

"You missed a spot over there"

(A spot over there)

And I know that you think it's just a fantasy

But since your dad walked out

Your mom could use a guy like me

That’s it officer. That right there is the line that fucked me up in the middle of my morning. Up until now an argument could be made that the narrator is just wrapped up tight in a daydream that he is somewhat rationally aware of. But now we can see that he is, in fact, really trying to plead his case for why he should bone down with Stacy’s mom.

Outro

Stacy's mom, oh, oh

(I'm in love with)

Stacy's mom, oh, oh

(Wait a minute)

Stacy, can't you see?

You're just not the girl for me

I know it might be wrong but

I'm in love with Stacy's mom

The most resonating line in the whole song is perhaps that parenthetical backup vocal line, “wait a minute,” I agree. Pump the brakes, Fountains of Wayne. You’ve just divulged way more than I think anyone--including you--were prepared for. This track should have included one full minute of contemplative silence at the end of the original release. And yes, I do mean for the radio version as well. The least a music producer could do for an audience is allow a moment to regroup and reevaluate after hearing such a Donny Darko-esque confession by a grown man representing the character of a teenage boy. Therapists don’t schedule their appointments back to back, and I’m even less qualified to hear something like this.

To view this song simply as bowling alley pop music would be a waste of time. “Stacy’s Mom” by Fountains of Wayne is a macabre, absurdist microscope on early-2000’s American suburbia, and the failings of a sex-negative modern culture on the mental well-being of sexually frustrated teens, masquerading as a charmingly perverted Top 40 pop tune.

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thisisallthehattersfault · 6 years ago

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Yandere Archetypes

Yandere is a super broad umbrella term and I’ve been whining for a while now about how badly I want to see it broken down into coherent subgroups based on behaviour and mentality. I’ve seen a few blogs do something similar (most notably @yandere-daydreams who has a whole fascinating world built around the idea of yandere being the social norm, and does some great writing besides) but none of them have quite been what I had in mind, so I decided to finally sit down and try to make my own categories.

This isn’t super refined or anything, and I’ll keep updating and editing more specific categories as I figure out how, but here’s what I’ve got so far.

The first way Yandere are divided is based on a Kinsey scale of Delusional to Lucid.

Delusional Yandere believe that their Obsession is already in love with them, or that, if they aren’t already, they will be soon. They either see nothing at all wrong with their actions, or they justify their actions as being perfectly acceptably because they were done for love. Not only do they justify their actions to themselves, but they expect their Obsession to understand, sympathise with, and appreciate all they’ve done in the name of their love. Delusional Yandere can be unpredictable when their Obsession reacts negatively. Some will hardly see it as little more than a lover’s spat, while others will become enraged that their Obsession would “betray” them by trying to get away after everything they’ve done to build their relationship.

Semi-Delusional Yandere are mostly delusional with random bouts of lucidity. They maintain a true Delusional Yandere’s instability and unpredictable nature, but their occasional self-awareness alows them to better navigate the world around them. They may experience rare second thoughts or guilt over their actions, but they quickly brush these off.

Selective Yandere are either Delusional or Lucid depending on circumstance. They’re likely aware on some level that their fantasy is exactly that, but they prefer to believe it’s true, or else outside factors are continuously forcing them to face and second-guess their delusions, leading to them having more regular and longer-lasting bouts of lucidity. Selective Yandere are a random grab bag of traits, because of their place right in the middle. Some may have all the guilt and regret of a truly Lucid Yandere coupled with all the instability and desperation of a truly Delusional Yandere, while others will have all the Lucid’s self-awareness and all the Delusional’s drive, making for a terrifyingly dangerous combination either way.

Semi-Lucid Yandere are usually aware of themselves and their actions, but they either so heavily justify those actions to themselves that they’ve begun to truly believe those justifications, or outside influences are impacting their mental stability, prompting them to more heavily lean into their Obsession as an escape from reality. These yandere are typically more willing to cross lines than their truly lucid counterparts, although they still hold fear of what their Obsession would say or do if they found out.

Lucid Yandere are aware of their actions, and how those actions impact reality, both for themselves and their Obsession. They have a relatively clear understanding that what they’re doing is wrong, and that their Obsession likely won’t thank them for it, but they either don’t care or are incapable of stopping themselves. They may justify their actions as being for their love, but they aren’t expecting their Obsession to do the same. They will go to great lengths to keep their actions hidden from their Obsession, and although they may be more stable than their Delusional counterparts, their self-awareness can sometimes mean they have an easier time manipulating their obsession or other people around them.

From here, yandere can be further divided based on the reasoning behind their obsession. Yandere are either Selfish or Selfless.

Selfish Yandere are more interested in how their Obsession makes them feel than they are with the Obsession themselves. These yandere will stop at nothing to have their Obsession’s full, undivided attention. They want you because you make them feel good, and as a result, they refuse to let you go. Like an addict, these yandere are constantly chasing the high they get from being with you, and, like an addict, they may gradually need more and more of your time and affection to keep them satisfied. They’ll keep you with them at all costs, even if it means hurting you or doing something directly against your best interests.

Selfless Yandere care more about the happiness and well-being of their Obsession than their own, which sounds better until you consider that a yandere’s over-protectiveness can be a lethal thing. These yandere tend to be more Lucid than their Selfish counterparts, though that isn’t a hard rule. All yandere crave to be recognised and loved by their Obsession, but a Selfless yandere puts that second to ensuring the comfort, safety, and happiness of their Obsession. Some never push for a romance at all, content to merely be a protector, while others are simply willing to patiently put it on the back-burner while they focus on more important things. These yandere might allow you to have close relationships with your friends and family members, either because they know it’ll make you happy or because they have more important things to worry about.

Some examples (potential spoiler warning):

Lucid Selfish: Ayano Aishi/Yandere-Chan, Yandere Simulator. Ayano’s “Love at first sight” for her senpai Taro Yamada was born when he was the first person to make her feel anything. She knows he isn’t in love with her, and doesn’t particularly care one way or another. Her senpai is a vessel that delivers the high she craves, she wants to keep him with her because she craves the way he makes her feel.

Delusional Selfish: Sato Matsuzuka, Happy Sugar Life. Sato found Shio on the side of the road after Shio was abandoned by her mother, and “fell in love” with Shio because Shio made her feel “sweet.” She didn’t hesitate to kidnap a child off the streets, and refuses to see anything abnormal about their relationship, even going so far as to say that everyone else’s love is “bitter” and wrong. When she finds out Shio’s older brother is desperately searching for her, it never occurs to her that Shio might be happier or better-off with hi. Instead she desperately does everything she can to remove him from the occasion, so she can keep Shio with her and keep feeling “sweet.”

Lucid Selfless: Homura Akemi, Puella Magi Madoka Magica. Homura is never once under any delusions about her relationship with Madoka, although she of course yearns for something closer. She never once shows any interest in keeping Madoka away from her friends or family, even though Homura is at best apathetic and at worst actively dislikes every single one of them, because she knows the isolation wouldn’t make Madoka happy, and would rather kill herself and sacrifice a potential life with Madoka than see her come to harm. She only kidnaps Madoka when she gains the ability to literally rewrite the universe, creating a perfect city where Madoka can be with all of her loved ones while still being close to and protected by Homura.

Selective Selfless: Yuno Gasai, Mirai Nikki/Future Diary. Yuno is a perfect example of a Selective Yandere because she can literally rewrite or delete her own memories at will, allowing her to completely pick and choose how she views the world and her experiences. Although it’s somewhat tricky to define her on a selfish-selfless binary, since her powers mean that her actions have effectively zero consequences, she’s still mostly driven by a desire to keep Yuki safe and happy, as shown by her willingness to kill Yuki’s mother rapidly changing when she found out the woman was a good and loving mom. The first time she killed Yuki, she did so under the belief that she could bring him back to life and make him a god alongside her, and the second time she attempted to kill him she was thinking of the Yuki in the next time-loop, who she could try to have a better relationship with. Yuno’s main drive is to keep Yuki alive during the survival game, however she constantly pushes him for a closer relationship, and often convinces herself that the lines she crosses simply don’t exist.

#not writing #Character archetypes #Yandere #Yandere archetypes #should I... put this in the worldbuilding tag?#Hmm #Yandere simulator #ayano aishi #Happy Sugar Life #sato matsuzaka #puella magi madoka magica #homura akemi #mirai nikki #future diary #yuno gasai #Shut up Alice

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breakdownsintheformofpoetry · 5 years ago

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A Self Harm Addict’s Fantasy

Razors and slashes and blood and stability

Comfort and pain and romance and safety

My coping skills suck but I’ve always been an optimist

So like everyone else, I too have a fantasy:

A world where I can’t bleed out but I still feel the pain

As I use the razor to slice off my skin

And not just my skin, but all that disgusting fat

Because if my body is smaller I’ll have less to hate

And scars are a small price to pay for control

And God, the satisfaction from watching those pounds fall to the floor

It keeps me up at night and haunts me in my dreams

But in the most magical way

Because dammit I would love the pain.

A world where I can slice out the need for a uterus to grow in

So that my mother would never have had me out some fucked-up obligation

I’d be one of those test-tube babies

And I’d have an over-eager family awaiting me

Because that life sounds way better than this PTSD

Which is honestly, probably why I started cutting

So I fantasize about her never existing

And if I’ve learned anything over the past couple months it’s that razors fix everything

So why not take one to marriage and reproduction?

It would save so many people so much fucking pain

I fantasize about science rising to my wonderous level

And sparing a couple of people some trauma

By figuring out how to slice out mothers.

A world where I can cut out love and chop the strings that come with it

Where I can use that razor to sever attachment

Because most of my stupid decisions are from loneliness and relationships

And I’m sick of those existing so why don’t I destroy em?

They’d be gone from my life and so would the complications

And all those strings that coat everything

Them not existing

Might give me a life that would feel more worth living.

A world where I can take a razor to the parts of my brain that I hate

I’d carve out my depression, trauma, and dumbass personality traits

I wouldn’t hate myself another day

Because with just a few simple slices, I’d get rid of that part of my brain.

I’d be left with my determination

And delusional optimism

And when I looked at my reflection

I’d probably feel less broken

Because for the first time I would have found a fix

That didn’t mean more therapists

And diagnoses

And psychiatrists

And after all my years of war against my head

I would finally discover that I wouldn’t have to suffer if only a little blood was shed.

But all of this is just a longing

That only comes alive in my fantasies

And until this can become reality

I'll keep turning my cheek to real life

Because I'd much rather live in those beautiful daydreams

-charlotte w

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ccficwithapic · 7 years ago

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Daydream Believer

This is going with a pic done by the amazing juliakaze! Our story is about Sara coming to terms with Leonard’s death, or not so much.

It can also be read on A03, right here:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11797644

———————————————————

“Just do it.”

The words were still ringing in Sara’s head even hours after they had been spoken. She knew, of course, when she kissed him that it would be the only chance she would ever get. That’s why she did it. There had been so much that she wanted to tell him, so much that she should’ve said earlier when he came to her room with a half-ass apology for pulling his gun on her and, to get off the topic, tried to get to her trash talk about Rip’s plan. When that didn’t work he had approached her, leaning down against her bed and avoiding her eyes until he got to the words “me and you” and then it was like he needed to look at her. She had remained stoic. She didn’t let him know that her heart at had sped up from the moment he started talking about the future, how she had felt where the conversation might be heading. Her heart jumped when he mentioned “me and you” but she had never let him see. It hadn’t been the right time. They still had a mission to complete, an Oculus to destroy, and a warlord to kill. After all that was done then they would be able to think about their futures, both separately and together.

Only now they can’t.

“Sara, please report to the bridge.” Rip’s voice came through on the comm in her ear like a knife, cutting through the heavy air of her dark bedroom.

She sniffled and wiped a hand over her eyes, brushing away the last of her tears before she reached up and tapped her finger against her earpiece.

“Coming,” she responded, and she knew that her voice wasn’t as steady as it could be, but if Rip noticed he didn’t say anything.

In truth, she was the first one to leave. The Waverider was flying away, and yeah, she was as pissed as anyone that Rip lied to them, again, and brought them back five months later than he promised he would. But you know what? She didn’t care. She wasn’t exactly in the mood to fight another losing battle, which every battle of the team’s seems to be. So she was the first to walk out of the empty lot, pulling out her phone not even halfway across and calling Laurel.

No answer.

She growled at the phone and sent a text, telling her sister that she’s back and asking where she was. She then called Ollie, her dad, Thea, Dig, Felicity, and still came up with a whole lot of nothing. Laurel still hadn’t answered her text either, and she didn’t want to text bomb everybody because then she would just get a lot of angry responses. So she went to Laurel’s apartment and knocked on the door, no answer.

“Laurel?” She called, knocking again, but still nothing. She tried turning the knob then, only to find that it wouldn’t turn and the door was locked. “Laurel where are you?” She muttered as she turned away from the door, off to try the one place where she could almost always find someone.

It wasn’t a long walk to the bunker, but it felt like it took her forever. As she boarded the secret elevator and punched the cracked button that any more normal person would believe to be broken, Sara found herself anxiously rocking her weight from her heels to her toes. She needed somebody to be down there, anybody.

“Hello?” She called when the doors opened to an empty looking bunker, “Hello?” There was still no answer, but walking further into the room she caught a sight of movement out of the corner of her eye, and a smile lit up her face when she saw her father staring at her from the monitors in surprise. “Dad,” she breathed it like a sigh of relief, utterly happy to see him, and for the first time in over twelve hours images of Leonard’s regretful eyes weren’t flashing at the forefront of her mind. She ran up and hugged her father, explaining that she had just returned and already searched for everyone else only to come up empty.

But the way he was looking at her, his eyes holding a mix of relief and sadness, it made her gut twist.

“It’s uh Damian Darhk, he’s causing problems.” He told her, which seemed about right.

“Oh, good to know nothing’s changed in five months.” It was just an observation, a casual comment, but her father was still looking at her with his lips parted and his whole body stiff. “Dad?” she asked and he looked away, “What’s wrong? You ok?”

He looked at her again, breathing heavy like he was fighting off tears and his eyes warning her that he, somehow, was about to break her heart.

“No baby,” he said it firmly, like he was forcing himself to start the hardest conversation he would ever have in his life.

“You’re starting to scare me,” she said it with a smile, almost a laugh, because damn it her heart has already been broken once in the past twenty-four hours and she’s not sure what she’ll do if her own father manages to somehow shatter it again.

His breathing got heavier, tears threatening to spill out his eyes and it knocked the warning, denial-filled smile, right off her face.

“Damian Darhk was in prison and he escaped, and everyone tried to… stop him. But… your sister… honey she um…” He didn’t look like he could finish, but he didn’t have to. Sara was already shaking her head, tears glassing over her red eyes as her heart sunk into her stomach.

“No,” she said, “Dad no.” She was in denial, she knew it, but what he was saying just couldn’t be true. She lost Leonard just last night. She never got to tell him that how much she loved him, they never got to talk about that future. The universe has never been her friend, but to rip Laurel from her only mere hours after Leonard? It sure felt like the Time Masters were still in control.

“I’m sorry baby,” her father whispered.

“No,” she denied again, he tried to hug her and at first she shoved him off. “No!” “No, you don’t understand!” Her mind screamed as her body lost its battle and succumbed to the embrace of her father, fat tears soaking through his stiff shirt. “No I… I need her! Leonard’s dead! I loved him and now he’s gone and… and I don’t know how to do this without Laurel!”

She let out a loud, almost feral cry at her thoughts, thoughts that she could never say aloud to her father. He held her tighter, whispering to her that he had her and that he was sorry and that he misses her too.

At the end of the day, when Savage was dead three times over and the timeline needed somebody to keep protecting it, Sara got back onto the Waverider.

She couldn’t save Leonard, and she couldn’t save Laurel, but she could honor both their memories by being the hero they had both known she could be.

Rex Tyler showed up that first night that they got back on the ship and warned them to never go to New York 1942, less they all had a death wish, so they decided to avoid that time and place. They had other matters to attend to anyway, constantly, so unless something seriously wrong showed up in New York 1942 they weren’t risking their necks. Instead they traveled all over history fixing aberration after aberration, keeping the timeline as intact as possible.

It was a good distraction for Sara. Everywhere she went she wore Laurel’s necklace

and Leonard’s ring, something Mick had given to her not long after he died, claiming “he had a thing for you Blondie, and besides, I’ve got his gun. He would’ve wanted you to have something.” She didn’t protest after that, something about the broken look in Mick’s half-guarded eyes keeping her from doing anything more than nodding mutely.

Every night when she went to bed she thought about them, Leonard and Laurel. For weeks she would cry for them and she would dream about them returning. It was mostly Leonard who she dreamed of, because as much as she missed Laurel her sister at least had a grave. She never wanted them coming back in the way that she did, even if the pit weren’t destroyed, and so that combined with the injuries she had heard about made Laurel’s death a little bit easier to accept.

But Leonard was another story.

She would walk the halls of the ship daydreaming, her mind playing out scenarios where he rounded the corner just ahead of her with that snarky smirk on his face, a deck of cards shuffling between his hands, and that drawl asking if she’s missed him. Sometimes, when she was running behind the others with getting changed for battle, she half-expected to hear a knock on her door followed by “you coming, assassin?”

She knew it was delusional, or at the very least wishful thinking, but Laurel was stabbed to death; their friends and family buried her. But Leonard? He died in a time bomb, no body recovered. She knows it’s all a desperate hope, but the timeline is a very tricky thing, after all, so a deep and very desperate part of her holds onto these fantasies, to the hope that Leonard isn’t really gone.

As the months go on, that hope grows harder to hold on to.

They go everywhere from San Francisco 2121 to Venice 1401, and in each stop they make Sara keeps an eye or an ear out for the sight of his black jacket, or the sound of his drawling voice. Her mind tells her that it’s impossible, that Leonard Snart is dead and he can never come back.

Her scars tell a different story.

The three red blobs lined in a perfect vertical row on her chest serve as a permanent reminder that nothing is impossible, no matter how many days pass proving her mind right. Then the day finally comes when they need to travel to New York 1942, and Rex was right, it’s a complete disaster. So they’re literally putting themselves in front of a nuclear bomb ready to die when Rip has one last trick up his sleeve and when Sara opens her eyes she’s standing knee deep in a pile of snow seeping through the fabric of her pants. Perfect.

She eventually realizes that she’s in Salem 1693, because Rip just loves stranding her in times and places where she does not fit in. The people give her strange looks from the start, because apparently it’s highly unusual here for a woman to show up alone and wearing jeans and a simple t-shirt. However the local innkeeper took pity on her since she was soaked from head to toe thanks to the snow and let her warm up by the fire, while his wife found her some dry clothes. She decided to stick around for a while because maybe, just maybe, Rip was coming back for her and he probably wouldn’t appreciate having to go all the way to Nanda Parbat again. She didn’t feel much like going through League training for a third time, anyway. So one night she found herself in the tavern, sitting at the bar nursing her drink and trying to ignore the woman sitting next to her, who had come in nearly two hours ago with a husband that has long abandoned her in favor of drunkenly trading stories with his friends at a nearby table.

“You are brave,” the woman finally squeaked just as Sara took a sip of her drink, which isn’t half bad for the 17th century. “Very few ladies come to these places without a husband, and many who I know only take a drink when at home.”

“Well I don’t have a husband,” She said, turning on her stool and when she did she saw the woman’s eyes flick embarrassingly from her breasts to meet her eyes, and she smirked; this could be fun. “And I’m working here in exchange for a room, not alcohol, so I don’t have much of a choice now do I?” She said, “Besides,” she gestured over to the table of drunken men, who seemed to have started an arm wrestling tournament. “I’m not afraid of these jokers.” The woman looked an odd mix of concerned and impressed at the statement, with some hesitance added in when Sara held out her hand. “I’m Sara,” she introduced herself.

The woman continued to look at her offered hand as if she were poisonous for a moment, before finally accepting it.

“I’m Daisy.”

She and Daisy ended up talking for the better part of an hour, and every time that Sara caught her new friend looking at her in a way that a woman in this century was not supposed to look at another, she smiled to herself. It didn’t help any that Daisy’s husband and his friends left the tavern without her, promising they’d be back but it was beyond obvious that they wouldn’t. So there was Daisy, terrified to walk the streets alone at night to return home and Sara living right upstairs and with maybe just enough alcohol in her system to make her realize how long it’s been since she had a good fling. She was polite, of course, and asked Daisy at least three times over if she were sure about staying the night, and three times over again when staying the night very quickly turned into something other than sleeping.

She saw Daisy once more after that, but after the second time Daisy began to fear that her husband was getting suspicious and she wanted to break it off. Sara didn’t necessarily agree with the idea, but she respected it. She let the dark haired woman know that if she ever changed her mind, she would know where to find her. As the weeks went on and winter began turning to spring, a very familiar sense of Rip’s not coming back began to settle over Sara and she began to feel that she might end up permanently stuck here; not that she was going to officially make that call until more than two years went by. Anyway, she slept with three more women in the time that she was waiting for Rip. She wasn’t deaf to the whispers about her starting to fly around town, and she certainly felt it when some asshole threw a rock at her when her back was turned.

It should also be noted that the asshole certainly felt it when she whipped around and broke his nose.

It probably didn’t help her reputation that she never slept with a man. A woman in this time who slept around was known as a lot of things, but nothing would ever be done with her if she slept with men. But Sara never found a man with whom she wanted to sleep, and to be honest, every time even a good looking and respectful one looked her way all she could hear ringing in her head was echoes of “me and you.”

Actually, it wasn’t just when the men flirted with her that she thought of Leonard. She would be going about her housekeeping job at the inn, daydreaming the entire time about possibly opening a door to find him waiting for her. She would walk through the local market place and envision him leaning casually against one of the stalls, here to collect her for Rip. Every time that a fight broke out in the bar she would listen to the bartender explain what he saw, hoping that the instigator might be a stranger from the future gorgeous blue eyes and an unmistakable drawl.

To be blunt, Sara missed Leonard and she was sleeping with women to try and forget it.

Eventually she was arrested under suspicion of witchcraft, thrown in jail where she may or may not have hooked up with her cellmate, and marched out to be hanged. She wasn’t scared, since fighting her way out of this was going to be easier than the 1975 rent-a-thugs. All this meant was that it was time to move on from Salem.

Everything in her escape was going perfect, better than expected even, when she heard her name from behind her and took the stranger down.

Only to find herself looking at Ray, Mick, and some new guy groaning in pain on the ground.

They brought her back to the Waverider, and in light of discovering that everyone had been time scattered a part of her almost really believed that she might find Leonard waiting at the entrance, arms folded over his chest with false judgment while the proud smirk tugging at his lips would betray it. When she boarded the ship she found Jax and Stein, but no Leonard, and no Rip.

They went back to 1942 and quickly realized that without Rip they need a new Captain. So now they’re being led by Martin, who really has no idea what he’s doing, and their new teammate is a guy who has worked in an office all his life yet is asking her where he could find a gun and insisting he can take care of himself.

“Not out here you can’t.” She tells him; doubtful he could take care of himself anywhere. “Out here, even the strongest and the bravest of us die.”

“Like Captain Hunter,” he says, it’s not a question to him, and so she doesn’t tell him no. She can’t bring herself to say it out loud, to say the words “Leonard Snart died,” so she doesn’t.

At the end of the day she becomes the Captain.

It’s another distraction from her daydreams; a responsibility to keep the team alive. She learns pretty quickly what that means, just HOW often they are all ready to make the ultimate sacrifice should the need ever arise and that it’s her job to make sure it never does. She takes to it well, she thinks. Even when she’s up late at night in the library doing research and her mind begins to wander, imagining a certain crook sneaking up behind her and whispering in her ear that she should get some sleep. She still watches for him with every landing, still hopes that the Oculus could’ve launched him out of the time stream into some random place that they’ll eventually come across.

He’s not the one they run into.

It’s normal mission tracking the Legion, until they come across Rip. He has no idea who they are, thinks his name is Phil and that he’s a film student, and it’s a reality check for Sara. As he stands in the office of the ship with her, not remembering anything about it at all, it’s enough for her to want to tear her hair out. It’s enough that she wants to scream, to throw things, to lose control. What if Leonard is alive somewhere? What if they find him and he’s like this? What if by the time they get to him he has no idea who they are? For the first time it really starts to it her that it’s been close to a year since the Oculus, at least, and though each passing day only enforces the idea that he’s dead, what if he really isn’t? Whenever he is he’ll have given into time drift by now. They could find him and he’d have forgotten all of them. He wouldn’t remember her. Who’s to say he hasn’t met someone else by now and started that future he had once offered her? The thought is enough to make her stomach turn.

The day only gets worse when the Legion takes Rip.

Sara goes down into the cargo hold and sits down on a crate, what they have of the spear in her hands. Her chest feels heavy with grief, with guilt, but she can’t bring herself to cry. This used to be Snart’s hideaway, the place where he would come to think. Briefly she envisions him propped up against the wall opposite her, bouncing his little toy ball against her crate asking how long she plans on sulking in self-pity. When she hears footsteps she almost thinks her daydreams have driven her crazy, but it’s only Jax.

“You couldn’t have got him, you know that right?” He asks her.

“Yeah,” she knows he’s right, and that’s what hurts. She couldn’t have gotten Rip. She couldn’t do anything. She was there but her hands were tied and there was nothing she could do.

Just like Leonard.

They got Rip back eventually, after he killed her and Stein and Gideon just barely managed to bring her back. His return came with intel; he knew the Legion’s home base.

The Vanishing Point.

Traveling through time is something that Sara does on a daily basis, but returning to The Oculus chamber was the first instance when she felt she was truly stepping back in time. Everything was dark, broken, and so much eerier than it had seemed the first time they were here. Damaged pipes and pieces of walls lay scattered on the ground, wires dangled from the ceiling with the occasional sparks flying out of a still blinking light. Then there’s The Oculus, the actual bomb that took Leonard from them. It’s gone, whatever is left buried under a pile of concrete rubble. Mick momentarily abandons his post as look out to stand before it and Sara can’t blame him, in fact it takes nearly all her self control to keep herself from running up the ramp and shoving the rubble to the side in search of a body. Now more than ever, her mind is lost in a haze of dreams. A part of her actually begins to believe that maybe, just maybe, Snart will emerge from the shadows and ask them why they took so damn long coming back. But as the seconds ticked by Sara’s hope faded, and her brain reminded her that even in this place such dreams simply aren’t logical. So she pulls Mick away, because they have a mission to complete, and she can’t stand to be in this room anymore.

“Do you think this is what Snart wants?” She yelled at him, probably a little harsher than she should have. “You waiting around so that you get caught?” Yeah, she was definitely harsher than she should’ve been. But she can’t help it, his words are echoing through her ears.

“Get him out of here!” He gave her one job, get Mick out of here, and even if it’s already done she’s going to do it again

As they leave, her following Mick, she wipes at the moisture in her eyes when he isn’t looking and can’t help but turn her head back at the chamber one last time, scanning again for any sight of him.

“Leonard,” She wonders desperately, “Where are you?”

It doesn’t hit her right away when the answer to her question come in the form of his past self showing up with the Legion. She had a lot going on, after all, like The Spear of Destiny and a whole other version of the team showing up from a future where they failed. This was all followed by Rip leaving and time literally breaking, so yeah, she was decently distracted. But that first night that she went to sleep in broken LA the aftershock of seeing his past self hit her.

He had been there. His past self had been there and they didn’t do anything to stop his future from happening. They just returned him to the timeline and wiped his memories; no warning that he should bring a clamp or something with him the day of The Oculus or anything. They were just letting time play out the way it was intended and Sara wanted to scream. It wasn’t fair. They should’ve warned him, they could’ve saved him, but they didn’t.

The days in LA passed eventfully to say the least, and soon those days turned to weeks, and the weeks to months. It was always in the back of her mind to keep her senses peeled for Leonard, an instinct at this point. Every time they ran into new people she would look among them for a lost crook, but of course he was never there. A part of her almost wanted to accept his death at this point, but at the end of each day she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Finally, after nearly five months in LA, a tree came down on the Waverider in the middle of the night. The damage wasn’t bad, the ship has certainly taken much worse, but it still needed to be dealt with so she joined Jax, Mick, Ray, and Amaya up on the roof the next morning. They cut up the tree into pieces and bit-by-bit they were shoving it off the roof. They were making slow progress, but it was coming along. They had dismantled most of the tree by now and were just trying to figure out how to get some of the heavier pieces down without them damaging the Waverider any more in the process.

“You guys need a hand?”

Sara froze at the sound of the voice.

“No,” she thought to herself, it just couldn’t be. She wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted to look, but she had to, especially when she saw the others all looking at the ground with open jaws.

He was there.

Dark jeans and matching jacket, exactly what he had been wearing when the Oculus blew.

“Snart?” Ray whispered.

“Is it really him?” Amaya asked skeptically, voicing what they were all thinking.

It was him.

The group of them climbed down from the roof and after talking to him they realized that it really was their Leonard, and not just some grandiose illusion. From what they figured he had been stranded in the time stream after The Oculus and when time broke he crashed here with everything else. Sara just couldn’t believe it, that she had actually been right. All this time, he was alive somewhere.

“Hey,” his voice brought her away from her charts and maps in the library that night, after everyone else had gone to bed, and she looked up to see a sight she had only imagined so many times in the past year.

“Hey,” she smiled and he came into the room, stopping just behind her and glancing briefly at her current map before his eyes flicked back to her.

“I’ve missed a lot.” He stated it simply; she nodded.

“If it’s any consolation, we’ve missed you.” She said and a small grin crossed his features.

He was closer to her now, leaning down until he was just a lips distance away and Sara didn’t stop stretching her body up until she felt the familiar taste of him on her mouth. He kissed her back, hands settling on her waist to turn her to face him properly, her arms winding their way up and around his neck when he did. They didn’t pull apart until the need for air started to become a serious issue, and even with the lip contact broken they still rested their heads together, smiling at each other like teenagers.

“So… do you want to see about that future?” He asked and she actually giggled at the question before pulling him back to her for another kiss.

“Of course.”

#CCFicWithAPic #submission: fic #submission

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oodlyenough · 8 years ago

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fic: no experience required

“Alright,” Fiona says, with the air of someone reluctantly but patiently explaining the hard truth to a child, “look, I'm not saying we have one, or that we need one, I'm just saying, if we were to have a leader, it would obviously be me.” ~2k, gen/comedy, set during the episode 3 roadtrip. Fiona & Sasha & Rhys mainly, with cameos from everyone else. Also on AO3.

“...does that mean?”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

“No, really, I'm not sure I do. Please elaborate.”

The sound of Sasha's boots dinging against the ladder rungs isn't enough to drown out Rhys and Fiona's bickering, and Sasha pauses halfway down to reconsider if she's really that hungry after all.

(She is. Starving, in fact. So she continues down.)

She hears someone sigh and looks over to assess the situation. Rhys and Fiona are seated across the table from each other, puffed up like peacocks and apparently unaware of their identical body language. Between them, frozen like oddly-shaped gargoyle, is Vaughn.

Sasha walks to the kitchenette and busies herself with a frying pan and a carton of eggs. She doesn’t need to know specifics to know precisely where this is going; Fiona’s competitive streak has been stuck in a positive feedback loop ever since she met Rhys.

“Sorry, ‘obviously’?” sneers Rhys, one arm poised skeptically in her direction. “Are you sure you meant ‘obviously’? Maybe you meant to say another word, like ‘delusionally’, or—”

“I mean what I said, jackass,” Fiona insists, firm but unphased. “I know Pandora, I’m the oldest—” “The oldest?” Rhys yelps. (Sasha wonders if he realizes his voice rises in pitch in tandem with incredulity.) “What’s that got to do with anything? You’re, like, a year older than me.”

Fiona shrugs, breezy and confident as always. “It was a rough year. Besides, who else would it be?”

Sasha opens her mouth to say I know Pandora, too, thinks better of it, and cracks an egg on the side of her pan instead.

“Uh, someone with actual leadership skills, maybe?”

There’s a beat, and then Fiona barks out one sharp laugh. “Wait, oh my God, are you talking about you? Why? ‘Cause you took a two-day Hyperion seminar on handshakes and motivational speaking?”

Sasha can’t help but sneak a look over at that.

“No,” scoffs Rhys, a denial made infinitely less convincing by the sudden pool of colour in his cheeks. “But—” It’s too late; Fiona is laughing in earnest now. “A bunch of bandits come along, what are you gonna do? Wow ‘em with your cover letter?”

Rhys’ glare looks more like a pout. Sasha turns back to her eggs before he can notice her biting back laughter of her own.

“A leader needs personal skills,” says Rhys, valiantly continuing on overtop of Fiona’s guffawing. “Something you obviously lack.”

Fiona props her boots up on the table, ankles crossed. “Oh, please, I’ve got personal skills. I could sell sand to someone in a desert dying of thirst.” She pauses. “Actually, I’ve done that.”

“That’s not having personal skills, that’s lying—” “Eh.”

“—and the point is: I’m the one who has actual experience leading a team of people.”

“Weren’t you a janitor?”

“I’m not a janitor!”

“Yeah, whatever,” says Fiona. “Look, I'll definitely consult with you next time I need to sort my recyclables—”

“I'm not a janitor!”

“—but let's leave the big decision stuff to me.”

Now it’s Rhys’ turn to laugh. “Your last ‘big decision’ was to throw a grenade into the air and hope for the best.”

“Hey, it worked, didn't it? And it's not like you came up with—well, anything.”

“I was… weighing my options,” he mutters.

“Your options of ‘stand there and do nothing’ or ‘listen to me’? A real headscratcher, I’m sure.”

“See, this is what I’m saying about people skills. Specifically, that you don’t have them.”

The hot speck of grease that flies out of the pan and burns Sasha’s wrist is a surprisingly welcome distraction. She refocuses on her eggs: fluffing them with the spatula, sprinkling in a conservative pinch of salt from their dwindling supply, indulging fantasies of all the rare, expensive, luxurious meals she’ll be able to afford once they find this damn vault, all the salt she could ever want—

The sound of her own name pulls her back. “...Sasha’d vote for me,” Fiona’s saying.

Full of resentment at being torn from her daydreams of seasoning, Sasha shakes her head. “Don’t drag me into—”

But Rhys cuts her off. “No way, Sasha doesn’t get a vote, that’s not fair!”

Spatula in hand at her hip, Sasha glares at him. Rhys catches her eye and shrinks back, his previously arrogant expression replaced by a meek apologetic cringe.

“I just—I meant—I meant because you’re her sister, so … of course you’d… Uh…”

Fiona looks and sounds like this is the most delightful turn of events she’s witnessed in days. “Nice people skills, moron.”

“Okay,” says Sasha, “well now I definitely get a vote, and I’m definitely voting for Fiona.”

Fiona clicks her tongue and winks at her sister, then raises a self-satisfied eyebrow at Rhys. “What’d I tell you?” Her arms stretch behind the back of her head as relaxes.

Rhys looks at Sasha for another fearful second, apparently weighing the cost of her ire against his own ego, before deciding (to no surprise of Sasha’s) on the latter. “Well… it’d be a tie anyway, ‘cause I’ve got Vaughn’s vote, right buddy?”

He pats Vaughn’s shoulder affectionately; Vaughn’s entire body falls sideways on the booth.

“You don’t get to vote on behalf of him,” Fiona objects, tugging Vaughn upright again by looping one of her ankles under his elbow.

Rhys readjusts Vaughn’s glasses. “It’s not like he can vote for himself right now.”

“Pft, yeah, he’s probably relieved he doesn’t have to break your heart.” But she shrugs. “Anyway, whatever, fine, but that’s still only a tie, so don’t go printing any business cards yet.”

There’s a moment where Rhys raises an eyebrow, uncomprehending. When it clicks, he gasps in horror before turning to gawp at Sasha, scandalized.

“You told her about that?” he squawks.

Whistling innocently, Sasha avoids his eyes and scoops her eggs onto a plate.

“So that's how it is,” he says, as if it this the biggest betrayal he has ever experienced, so dramatic that—despite herself—Sasha feels a sudden twinge of affection. “Alright, alright, I get it, it’s fine, no honour among thieves, never bare your soul to a Pandoran, lesson learned, it's cool.”

Fiona scoots closer to Vaughn, making room for Sasha on the booth. “Dude, if your soul is business cards for children, you shouldn't bare it to anyone.”

“Yeah…” Sasha heaps scrambled egg onto her fork and into her mouth. “You should probably just, like, repress that for the rest of your life.”

Rhys wrinkles his nose while she eats, shaking his head. “One, Sasha, that’s disgusting, come on, don’t talk with your mouth full—”

Sasha sticks out her egg-covered tongue.

“—and two, both of you dead to me.”

“Hey,” says Fiona, “respect your leader.”

“Oh, my God—you are not—augh,” He leans away from the table, calling up to the door to the roof. “Hey, Loader Bot, ol’ buddy ol’ pal! You know I’d be a good leader, right? You’d vote for me, right?”

Loader Bot lumbers across the roof with a thunk, thunk, his red eye appearing at the top of the ladder.

“I have… some concerns…”

Rhys’ mouth drops open; Fiona roars with laughter.

“...about… both of you.”

Fiona’s laugh dies abruptly, and Sasha chokes on her egg.

Rhys blinks. “Huh. Okay, that’s, uh, that’s... not helpful at all, actually. Thanks.”

“Just… keeping it real,” Loader Bot says, wobbling in a way that leaves Sasha to believe he is shrugging his enormous robotic shoulders.

Determination renewed (and ego wounded) after having her authority undermined by a robot, Fiona slaps the table. “That’s it. We’re settling this.” She turns towards the front of the caravan. “Gortys! Can you come here for a sec?”

Gortys is mid-story, gesturing animatedly to a characteristically bored-looking Athena, when Fiona calls her name, and she spins to look at them all. “Absolutely!”

“Fiona—” Rhys hisses, like dragging poor unsuspecting Gortys into this mess is a line even he’s not quite ready to cross, but it’s too late: she’s already zoomed down the stairs, clattering the whole way.

She skitters to the edge of the table, more ecstatic than any creature Sasha has ever seen, robot or otherwise. “How can I help?”

“We just have a question,” says Fiona, leaning across Sasha to get closer to Gortys’ eye level. “And we promise no one’s gonna get upset, no matter what the answer is.” She shoots a pointed look across the table. “Right, Rhys?”

Rhys’ willingness to argue with Fiona’s methods evaporates in the face of Gortys’ eagerness. “Uh…. right.” He nods. “Promise.”

“Oh boy,” says Gortys, nerves creeping into the enthusiasm. “Is it a hard question? What if I don’t know the answer?”

Rhys and Fiona exchange another look, and then Fiona turns back to Gortys.

“It’s not a hard question,” Fiona says. (Sasha snorts.) “Rhys and I were just wondering—” “Between the two of us—”

“Which of us you think would be a better leader—” “You know, if we had one.”

Gortys looks back and forth between them, her little fingers fidgeting. “I don’t know…” she says hesitantly. “That IS a hard question.” She rocks from side to side as she considers. “I mean, you’re both so smart, and so brave, and so beautiful….”

Sasha shoots them a look. “God, is this what it sounds like in your heads, like, all the time?”

But Rhys and Fiona are preoccupied.

“That… was absurdly adorable,” Rhys says. “Thanks, Gortys.”

“Yeah,” says Fiona.

“But I’d just like to put out there that I have actual management experience—” “At Hyperion,” Fiona interjects. “I’ve got experience here, on Pandora, and—”

Before she can complete the thought, the caravan slams to a sudden stop, tossing its occupants about the cabin.

Rhys topples into Vaughn, smashing his head against Vaughn’s elbow; Fiona flails and nearly kicks Sasha in the face; Sasha’s eggs slide across the table and end up in her lap; Gortys collides into Sasha’s calf.

“Oh. My. GOD. Will you both just SHUT UP?”

Looking murderous, Athena stands behind the driver’s seat, her arms thrown wide in frustration.

“I’m in charge now, alright? Does that help?” she roars. “I’m the leader, and I am telling you both to SHUT UP.” She closes her eyes and exhales, her voice returning to a normal volume. “Okay?”

For a second of stunned silence, no one moves. Then Fiona sits up straight, pulls her feet off the table and folds her hands neatly in her lap. “Yep, that works for me.”

Rhys nods eagerly. “Absolutely, that’s—that’s—I mean—yeah. For sure. Sounds great.”

Athena’s face slowly returns to its regular colour. “Good.”

Then, without another word, she turns, sits, and starts up the caravan again.

Stock-still like scolded schoolchildren, Rhys and Fiona stare dumbly across the table at each other. Sasha looks mournfully down at the remnants of her lunch.

Gortys breaks the silence, detaching herself from Sasha’s leg. “Wow!” she exclaims. “Athena solved it for us!” She rolls back, immune to the change in energy in the room. “That’s so great. You guys had a problem, and Athena knew the answer… What a good leader!”

Merrily climbing back to the front of the caravan, Gortys leaves the stunned table behind. With a sigh, Sasha places her plate back on the table and bends down to gather the mess as best she can.

For a moment the only sound is Sasha rinsing her plate. Fiona casts a wary glance towards the driver’s seat, then beckons Rhys closer. Curious, he leans forward. Fiona moves in, too, and drops her voice to a low whisper. “Arm wrestle you for it?”

He grins. “You’re on.”

#tales from the borderlands #fiona the con artist #rhys the company man #sasha the kid sister #vimesbootstheory #oodlyenough i write fic

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