#some things very rapidly turned for the worse in my life w the start of 2025 but nothing unmanageable

[lesamis]

Bestie u good?

anon i am sobbing in your arms

[pandorafallz]

Some things were never meant to leave Earth…. or be known about. Let alone being introduced to a whole new world, new life and a species called the Na'vi that probably didn't understand that there were worse things that came from Earth than Humans with technology. Jake knows the Earth was a harsh place, well aware of the dangers it had and the monsters it had as well. No one cared, nothing would matter and….so what. If they thought of him of nothing, then why not take himself, his avatar and his friend and fuck off into the wilderness of pandora. If he can screw over the RDA and its resident parasites, then bonus points. Grace isn't thrilled.

Chapter 54 snippet

“Grace! There you are!”

Both of them were startled to see a short, stressed scrawny middle-aged man swoop straight into the lab and directly to her, he had a tablet in hand and was very pinked-cheeked. She could already see where this was going even before he stopped at her desk and continued to rave. Clearly someone with a high position; he had a very self-entitled attitude but his attire was clearly meant to be smart and to represent.

“…and start negotiations with getting them out of the damn tree.”

She stared at him, unimpressed.

Finally, he seemed to stop and notice her expression. “What?!”

“Parker!”

The man jumped, spinning around with a squeak, of all things and gasped as Grace stood only two feet away with a very unimpressed look as well and clearly not happy. Her eyes were narrow and sharp. Ridley startled a little at her mother’s sudden appearance; she hadn’t seen her come in either.

The man jumped into the nearest desk and haphazardly put space between them but his eyes turned down and his jaw dropped before he looked between the two of them rapidly.

“W-what the hell is this?”

Grace smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ve just met my daughter, Doctor Ridley Augustine.”

[ptergwen]

love is more than a word

w/c: a very ouch 3.6k

warnings: so so so much angst and an unhealthy (ish) relationship

summary: after nearly four years together, peter has stopped trying

a/n: listen y’all i don’t know what came over me when i made this but i think it’s the saddest thing i’ve ever written? uh try to enjoy tho

-

you never thought this would happen, but you’re getting tired of peter. it isn’t your fault. that cliche it’s not you, it’s me line doesn’t apply here.

at first, you actually did find yourself believing the it’s me part. you’d came to the conclusion that you expect too much from peter. he goes to class, he works, patrols, sometimes parties, takes you out when he can. he’s got a lot going on for a full time college student, which is a busy life to lead on its own.

it’s why you don’t complain when he wants to spend the night in and order a pizza instead of cooking together like you’ve been wanting to try. it’s why every time your friends ask you two to hang, you have to reluctantly explain that peter is passed out at eight o’clock on a saturday.

there’s a lazy “wanna make out?” some nights, if peter isn’t yawning when he steps through the front door. even that has lost its enjoyment. kissing peter doesn’t give you the rush it used to, the taste of his strawberry chapstick not flooding your senses and intoxicating you. it’s become predictable. comfortable. boring.

peter is boring.

you’ve slipped into unspoken routine. say your hello’s, work on separate assignments in different rooms. peter eventually yells something like “babe, you hungry yet?” across the apartment, his passive way of asking you to make dinner. you usually order takeout because why make an effort if he doesn’t?

you might watch one of the ten movies peter has liked since before the start of your relationship. he’ll usually fall asleep during it. no surprise there. his overpacked schedule exhausts him, which you’ve talked to him about spreading himself too thin. peter is too nice and can’t say no, so this is where it leaves him.

the main reason you’ve stayed with him is that he can’t take care of himself. he’s clueless about paying the bills, sorting his laundry, simply remembering to drink water. peter wouldn’t be able to go a week without you. he even says it himself.

“crap, i totally forgot about these,” when you picked up his special ordered textbooks from your school library. “can food go in the garbage disposal?” a rare time you didn’t wash the dishes. “thank you, y/n/n. you’re literally a lifesaver,” whenever you do a task for him that someone in their 20s shouldn’t need assistance with.

you didn’t used to mind much. he watches over the city every night. you felt you should return the favor. spider-man could use some help, too. after the almost four years you’ve been together, peter has become completely dependent on you. it only got worse when you moved in together your junior year. you’re concerned how he’ll manage later in his adult life.

you’d think he’d be a little more passionate about your relationship considering how much he needs you. you know peter still loves you, of course he does. that’s not what the problem is. he’s become content with the mutual feeling, so he doesn’t try anymore. he expects the spark to keep itself lit.

no more random joke of the day texts that he used to send you. he stopped surprising you with your coffee order in the morning, the one that he memorized the first time you two went to a starbucks. what you initially found most endearing about peter was that he remembered every little thing you told him.

he put whatever energy he had into showing you that he listened. he’d do it all with rosy cheeks and that toothy smile of his. it seems now like he’s under the impression that being in a long term relationship means none of that matters anymore. there’s no need to impress you, keep you guessing, make you feel special.

tonight is your breaking point. as you go over all of this in your head while peter lays peacefully next to you, you can’t take it. you’ve been making so many excuses for him. you lie to yourself. you’re desperate to believe this is okay and normal and you can work this out, and you can love whatever version of him this is.

but, you can’t. you can’t do it. you need to tell him now because if you sleep on this, you’ll end up feeling bad and be stuck under these suffocating blankets forever.

“peter?” you whisper his name, your back turned to him in bed. you haven’t cuddled each other to sleep in a while. his arms don’t make you feel held now, they make you feel trapped. you’ve been forcing yourself to ignore his look of hurt when you reject his open embrace.

“peter?” you speak louder after a moment of silence, except for his occasional snores. a loud one escapes him before they stop altogether. his eyes stay shut as he mumbles out a, “uh... huh?” your heart is thudding through your entire body. you take a breath in from your nose. “i wanna break up.”

the breath you let out next is one of relief, those three words that have been scratching your throat for months finally out. peter slowly turns his head over his shoulder. he blinks rapidly at your motionless figure. you’re still not facing him.

“what?” is all he says. his voice is surprisingly steady, the confession not yet registering with his sleepy mind. his eyes are burning into you. “i wanna break up,” you repeat and squish your face further into your pillow. peter suddenly sits up, flicking on the lamp on his side. he tries to sling an arm around you. you move further away until you’re at the edge of the bed.

“i’m serious, peter. everything we had, it’s gone.” your words cut through him harder than literal knives he’s been stabbed with. “i- i don’t understand. where is this coming from?” he rakes a hand through his mess of curls. you turn onto your back, looking up at peter. his eyes are fixed on your lower half.

he’ll most definitely cry if he meets your eyes. he really doesn’t want to cry, not ever again when you won’t be here to make him feel better.

“it’s been coming,” you almost scoff at him as you prop yourself up against your pillows. peter’s teeth tug at his lower lip. “all we do is this.” you gesture to your bed, slapping your hand down at your side. “i get tired,” he speaks quietly, refusing to look at you. “i know you do, peter. i know, but you’d be a lot happier if you ever listened to me.”

your statement comes off as condescending to him. he works up the courage to look you in the face. “are you kidding? all you do is boss me around, and i take it. i’ve never once complained.” anger is coursing through his veins and voice. at the situation, that he’s about to lose the one stable part of his life. you’re getting pissed, too.

“that’s because you can’t do anything yourself!” you throw the blankets off you and swing your legs over the bed in one motion. peter hops out of bed entirely. “my whole life, i’ve been on my own half the time,” he spits as he comes over to stand in front of you. “sorry for taking you up on your offers to help.”

your peter would never spew that shit out. he wouldn’t guilt you for something he’s in the wrong about. this peter takes you for granted. he has no clue how fucked he’d be without you.

the first time you spoke to peter was on your way to history 227. you’d recognized him from your class, much more interested in the pretty boy taking notes with his tongue stuck out than whatever war your professor would lecture about.

he was carrying some books, a pencil case that didn’t fully zip, and a five subject notebook. you watched him do his balancing act through the halls until his legs started to wobble. a knowing smile on your face, you tapped his shoulder. it was a gentle one so you didn’t scare him and make all his things fall over.

“can i carry something for you?” you laughed out and pushed one of your backpack straps up on your shoulder. peter only stared at you, his doe eyes prompting you to reach for his pencil case. “uh, no, it’s fine. i got it. see?” he proved that to you by hiking everything up in his arms. he gave you a smile of his own.

“are you sure? we’re going to the same place,” you’d checked again and pointed at his impressive pile. “i’m not gonna steal your sharpies.” “really, i’m fine,” peter insisted with a heart clenching chuckle. “you can have one, if you want,” he offered and attempted to unzip his case, one handed. you put your hand over his to stop him.

“wait until we get to class,” you let go of him, leaving the tips of peter’s ears a shade of pink you’d later fall in love with. “i’ll sit with you.”

peter was once determined to do things on his own, to be self-sufficient. it used to be something he was proud of. now, he’s completely incapable of holding his independence.

“we’re done, peter.” your tone is short, you getting to your feet. “you’d probably forget how to fucking breathe without me, but call it bossing around, i guess,” you laugh bitterly and go over to your drawers. peter’s face falls as he grabs your wrist, stopping you when you pass by him. “where are you going?”

no answer. you pull yourself out of his grasp with your lips pressed into a stern line. peter follows you step by step over to the dresser. “wait, wait. don’t leave, baby. please,” he begs you, getting onto his knees beside you. you’re pulling random clothes out as quick as you can. a science t-shirt peter outgrew is in your hands.

peter used to give you all his old clothes. the signature smell of his cologne lingered no matter how many times you washed them. they kept you calm on nights he was out late patrolling or away on missions. peter would sport a smirk whenever you wore them out in public, pulling you closer to him and complimenting the look.

it started when he was packing for his first mission since you two had begun living together. he’d realized he became too buff to fit in some shirts. remembering how many times you’d giggle at their funny sayings, peter gave them to you. you threw one on and thanked him with a peck on the cheek. it became your tradition.

peter would set off for a new continent, but a piece of him would stay home with you.

the stretched out hoodies and ripped sweatpants just sit in your drawer now. another meaningful thing discontinued. whatever he doesn’t want goes to may for donations now. the memory of what they used to mean to you makes a fit of rage burst through you.

you slam down his ‘find x’ shirt in the space between his knees and yours. you’re on a mission of your own this time. you aren’t going anywhere until you get rid of all the stuff that went from him to you.

“y/n, don’t do this. i- i love you. i love you.” peter chokes out, tears filling his eyes. his vision is clouded while you toss more clothes to your side. “i love you, y/n/n,” he whimpers again, and this time you briskly push the drawer shut. the whole dresser shakes. this is the most emotion either of you have shown in the past few months of your relationship. it’s a little too late.

“love is more than a word, peter. you have to back it up with actions.” you’re doing your best not to cry. the memories of how loved peter made you feel play in your mind. he briefly wipes under his eyes and shakes his head. he’s so oblivious. “i thought i- i did.” “exactly, you did. you gave up at some point.” your voice gets weaker as a tear drips down your chin.

you didn’t plan on breaking down when you imagined this moment. part of you wishes you could give him another chance. most of you knows it wouldn’t do any good for you or peter. you’re not right for each other anymore. he outgrew some sweatshirts, you outgrew him.

that takes you all the way back to it’s not you, it’s me. it’s really both of you.

for the last time, you pull peter in for a hug. the two of you need this. he loops his arms around your back, keeping them loose around you as he tucks his face into the side of your neck. you’re a mix of tears and sharp breaths with your chin on his shoulder. you bring a hand up to the back of his head, grabbing a fistful of curls.

he sobs right into your ear, effectively destroying whatever composure you had left.

even though you’re not in love with peter, you haven’t stopped loving him. somewhere inside of him is the goofy boy who asked you out on a post-it during class. the kindhearted man who gave so much of himself to the world and saved enough for you. the one whose fingertips left goosebumps on your skin with every touch.

seeing him like this, having caused it feels like a dull pain rippling in every part of your body. you’ve been there to soothe him during countless breakdowns over the years. you managed to stay strong for all of them. this is the only exception. he lost people, felt down about life, made mistakes. you were there to pick up each piece and put them back together.

the one mistake peter made that you can’t fix is not loving you right. you became his rock, his anchor whenever he let grief and sadness rule over him. you’d get him back to himself. he could’ve at least bought you flowers once in a while, or done anything that showed his gratitude. every iteration of awful put together isn’t enough to describe how he feels.

“i’m so- i’m so fucking sorry, baby. i don’t deserve you. i never have,” peter murmurs as he cries, wetting your skin that his face is still pressed into. your fingers pull roughly at his hair. hot tears overflow from your own eyes. “i should’ve done more.” his voice cracks on the last word. “that’s all i wanted to hear, pete,” you breathe out and pull away from him.

“does that mean you’ll stay?” he croaks, arms still wound around your body. his eyes are hopeful when they lock with yours. a frown pulls at your lips. “only for tonight. i should... one of us should sleep on the couch.” “oh,” his voice is gravelly, so he clears his throat. “i’ll do it.” you’re not going to fight him on it for once.

peter removes his arms from your waist, you sitting back down on your thighs. you give him a blink and you’ll miss it smile because you can’t keep one for long. it’s to let him know you’re not mad. you were at the start of this conversation, then he took accountability. you also came to terms with the fact that the downfall of your relationship was a joined effort.

there are more factors than peter not giving you what he should have. time, different goals, new outlooks on life. you can’t hate only him because a whole bunch of things lead to this.

instead of a smile, since he physically can’t put one on his splotchy face, peter brushes the pad of his thumb over the corner of your lips. he gets up to leave the room, but you stop him with a “wait!” he freezes in front of you. you get out a hoodie from his pile of old clothes and stand up. “it’s cold.” you put it in his hands, earning a grin that he didn’t think was possible.

“thanks, y/n,” peter sighs and holds the hoodie against his chest. “goodnight. um,” this is the part where he’d usually say i love you. “sleep well, okay?” the replacement stings for both of you. you’ll have to learn to fall asleep without hearing that phrase first. as much as you didn’t feel it anymore, you’d become used to it. “you too, peter. night,” you say softly.

you head back to your bed while peter walks out the door. he glances at you once, and you’re already settling under the covers. he shuts the door behind him before finding his way to the couch.

your bed has always seemed too small. it’s gigantic without peter. you aren’t sure how you feel about that yet.

peter lays across the couch, the hood that doesn’t quite fit him pulled over his head. he’s only wearing it because you gave it to him. you doing that not even five minutes ago was how you backed up your love with actions. it’s so easy. silent tears spill from his eyes at the realization.

he wishes on every star that he could’ve figured out he wasn’t doing enough sooner. you’d be together right now, had he just caught on. there was a time he prided himself on knowing you fully and completely. how to turn you into the shy one with certain combinations of words, what your schedule was each week so he could plan his free time around it.

your relationship became something he thought would last unconditionally. if only he was able pinpoint the exact moment he went wrong.

you’re right in the other room. he can go in there and bawl, plead for you to take him back. how could he do that and claim to love you, though? you’ve made it clear you‘re over him.

the best way for peter to show you he loves you is by letting you live your life, without him in it.

-

you don’t see peter again for weeks. he moved back in with may, and you got to keep the apartment. you were the one who took all the care of it, anyway.

your semester ended at the perfect time because peter isn’t in any of your new classes. the city is too big to bump into each other. you’re free from the hold he had on you, which would’ve been four years long since yesterday. you’ve been good at picking up his broken pieces for too long, and now it’s time to pick up your own.

for all the hangouts you missed on his behalf, you made up for it. you called mj the day after your breakup and met for lunch. she never explicitly said it, but she took your side. peter had a feeling because when he had the same idea as you, to lean on his friends for support, she never reached out.

betty is indifferent, ned stays cordial with you. his real loyalty is to peter. you can’t blame him.

peter hasn’t been doing well since you broke up. he’s not eating enough, he can’t focus on work of any kind. you were right when you said he would forget how to breathe without you. he often wonders how you’ve been.

he finds out today.

you’re walking around campus, heading in the direction peter just came from. he has a class in the building your last one was. the two of you are on the same sidewalk, opposite sides. he almost doesn’t recognize you.

mj is on one side of you, a guy he’s never seen before with an arm around your shoulders. you’re all laughing about whatever dumb thing your professor said during the lecture. your hair, which is done in a new style, flows behind you in the spring breeze. a smile takes place on your glossy lips. the smile is directed towards that guy. your new boyfriend, peter assumes.

you look amazing, and not only physically. you seem happy with your small group of people. peter hadn’t been able to give you that happiness in years, so it’s nice to see you got it back somehow.

he must have stared too long because you notice him. you fall behind mj and your potential boyfriend, both of them wrapped up in discussing your next project. peter stops walking. you do the same. he’s not sure if he upset you, or what’s going on. his instincts tell him to apologize. his mouth stays closed.

that infectious smile of yours appears once again. you thought about peter yesterday, it being your anniversary and all. you’d only let yourself remember the good things. they outweighed the bad ones when you look back on everything.

“aye, grandma! get over here!” mj calls to you, your boyfriend nudging her side. “take your time, y/n/n. i’m not in a rush to write seven long ass pages.” you laugh to yourself at the two of them. peter fiddles with the zipper on his jacket. it’s from the drawer of things you used to wear. “one sec!” you yell back.

“hey,” you turn to face peter, who’s giving you a tight lipped smile. “how’ve you been?” “i’m okay. just, you know,” he shrugs and clasps his hands behind his back. there’s a short silence before peter says, “you seem good. really good.” he smiles for real this time. “yeah, i am. i hope you are, too,” you tell him and genuinely mean it.

you’d like to catch up soon, but it’s not right yet. you both need more time. “i’ll see you around?” you’re already starting to walk, backwards so you can see peter. “uh, sure. bye,” he gives you a quick wave and continues on his way.

you get back to mj and your boyfriend, his arm returning to your shoulders. they waited for you by the stoplight. “what’d ya get up to over there?” he teases, mj suspiciously watching your face for any tells. you carefully think through your answer with a grin. “love.”

[stufftippywrote]

not an astronaut

This is based off a personal experience. Tw for fat-shaming, homophobia, and general assholery from an asshole kid.

The bell rings cheerfully as Bitty steps through the doorway. This was one of his favorite places when he was younger. The eclectic curios, every shape and size and color, packing the shelves were an endless source of fascination for young Eric Bittle, and the owners were friends of the family, so they knew Bitty well and didn't freak out when he picked up a ceramic pepper shaker or glass figurine and held it in his hands like an ancient treasure.

He walks through the store with that same sense of wonder now, 30 years later, and brushes his hand reverently over the shelves. They’re not looking for anything in particular today, but Bitty has told Jack about this place so many times, he simply couldn’t help but visit. Besides, you never know when you might find the perfect accent piece for the new home.

Chicken-shaped serving bowls, a porcelain figurine of a girl dancing, a set of silverware in a dusty wooden case. Bitty is spoiled for choice. As he browses, there’s a movement at the back of the store, and he catches a glimpse of someone hauling boxes through a door. He wonders who runs the place now. The sign still says Thompson’s Antiques, but he knows Mrs. Thompson passed and Mr. Thompson is getting on in years. Could it be that…

A prickle of fear runs through him.

The figure in the back drags the box to a nearby aisle and starts unpacking it, placing items on a low shelf. Bitty’s curiosity overflows. He moseys into that aisle and begins to speak, but the man raises his head before he can get a word out. He has to catch his breath all over again.

The man’s face goes slack. “I know you,” he blurts.

Eric puts his hands on his hips and gives a bright smile. “Davey Thompson. So you’re here after all!”

~~~

“Davey, this is Eric. Eric, this is our little boy Davey.” Mrs. Thompson’s smile is bright as she urges her son forward. “Why don’t you two go play at the playground while Mommy and her friend talk?”

The kid is tough-looking, with ruddy cheeks and a thick build. Eric reaches out his hand to lead Davey along the way. The minute they’re out of earshot, Davey snatches his hand back like he’s just touched a hot stove. Eric turns, surprised.

“You’re fat,” Davey says.

Eric blinks.

“You look dumb,” Davey adds on. And thus a quote-unquote “friendship” was born.

~~~

Davey stands up. He still has the same tinted cheeks and stocky build that Bitty remembers, but his face is sunken somehow, and he’s built up muscle where baby fat used to linger on his arms and shoulders. He’s got a tattoo on one arm – a Japanese koi fish, mid-splash.

“Nice ink,” Bitty comments.

And Davey Thompson, for possibly the first time in his life, smiles at Bitty. “Thanks.”

“The shop looks nice,” Bitty says, surveying the shelf like it’s his domain. “Hasn’t changed much since I used to come here.”

“You’re – you’re Eric Bittle, right?” Davey says, sounding almost scared of the answer. “From school?”

“From way before school,” Bitty responds. “You’re looking good.”

“Uh. Thanks. Same to you.” Davey looks uncertain, almost sheepish. There’s a moment of awkward silence. Davey tries to break it. “Um. So. What are you –”

He doesn’t seem to have the strength, or the will, to come up with the rest of the sentence. Bitty picks it up. “I’m a pastry chef,” he says. “I have a bakery and I cater, and I’ve put out three cookbooks. Can you imagine that?”

Davey looks kind of stunned. “Wow,” he says slowly. “Good for you. Where’s the bakery?”

“Up in New England. Providence, Rhode Island, to be exact.”

Davey snaps his fingers. “That’s right, you went to college up there. For hockey, wasn’t it?”

~~~

Bitty takes a swing at the ball. He misses, and it goes tumbling behind him into the net.

“Hah, you’re the worst goalie,” Davey says.

Somehow, Bitty finds the courage to say, “Let me play forward.” But his words are swallowed by the passing of a car on the cross street.

“What?”

“You be goalie.” Bitty gives the phrase all the menace he’s got in an eight-year-old body.

Davey laughs, a cruel laugh that sounds like ripping paper in Bitty’s ears. “Why? I can score on you all I want. That’s why we made you goalie.”

Resentment simmers like a low sun in Bitty’s gut. He wants to challenge Davey to play him on actual ice. He knows Davey can’t skate. As bad as he is, Bitty can’t possibly lose to him there. But the words stay stuck inside, plastered to the inside of his stomach, making him feel sick.

“Worst goalie ever,” Kevin chimes in.

“The worst, the wooooorst,” all four of them sing to him.

Bitty crouches low and is glad they can’t see much through the oversized goalie mask. Someday, he thinks, someday I’m gonna get them.

~~~

“Something like that,” Bitty answers easily. “And you’ve been here running the store?”

“Pretty much.” He doesn’t look very proud of that fact.

“I remember you used to say you were going to be an astronaut.”

“Ah, well –” The rose tint on Davey’s cheeks grows a shade deeper. “We were kids. I figure I missed my shot to make something of myself.”

All of Bitty’s nurturing instincts come alive. “Don’t say that. You’re doing well. Doing good, honest work. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Nah, man. It was just the easiest thing to do, once Mom got sick. I had to be here for her, and I … just stayed.”

Bitty gazes at him. This isn’t the attitude he expected from Davey Thompson, not in the slightest. He seems so defeated, as though Bitty’s arrival has reminded him of everything he isn’t. Bitty doesn’t want to be that for him, but he doesn’t think he has a choice in the matter. He quashes the small, self-satisfied demon that’s cackling in the back of his head. He’s not that kid anymore, either.

Just then, the chimes jingle at the front of the store. The babbling voice of a young child brightens the room. “Ah,” Bitty says, “there they are. He had to keep them outside a while before they calmed down. Little kids just work themselves up into a dither sometimes.” He offers an apologetic smile to Davey and retreats down the aisle toward the front of the store.

Suze is quiet, but it’s clear she was crying her eyes out earlier. She hangs on to her Papa with a fierce fist. Robby’s eyes are bugging out at the sight of the store. “What’s that?” he keeps asking, tugging on Jack’s slacks. Jack himself looks a little the worse for wear, but happy. That kind of tired-happy that they see in each other’s faces every night once the kids are in bed.

“Come on, Rob,” Bitty says, holding out his hands. “Want to see Daddy’s favorite store?”

Robby holds out his hands to be picked up. Bitty obliges, despite the warning creak of his back. He turns to take Robby further into the store and sees Davey standing there, staring them down.

He points. “I know you, too.”

“Ah, here we go,” Bitty says with a laugh.

“Were you in school with us? I don’t think that’s right, but—”

Jack holds out his hand for a shake. “Jack Zimmermann,” he says. “And you are?”

“My old friend Davey,” Bitty fills in. He can’t help but put a pointed emphasis on the friend part.

Davey clasps Jack’s hand but doesn’t seem to want to let go. “You’re Jack Zimmermann? The hockey player?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

Davey pumps Jack’s hand about four more times before finally letting go. “It’s – it’s good to meet you.” He looks at Suze, still curled up in Jack’s other arm. “And these are your kids? Or—” He turns to Bitty, face contorted in confusion. “Are they your kids?”

“Both,” Bitty answers cheerily. “Davey, meet my husband.”

Davey Thompson very nearly has a coronary right there.

~~~

“Hah, you’re just small all over, aren’t you?” Davey says with a pointed glance at Bitty’s crotch.

“You can’t help how you’re born,” Bitty retorts, but he pulls up his boxers right quick.

“Yeah, some people are just born stupid,” Davey agrees. Bitty instantly regrets replying at all.

Kyle whispers something in Davey’s ear. They both laugh.

“You’re right,” Davey says. He turns back to Bitty. “He’s right. They do say things about you.”

Bitty’s heart drops to his stomach. “W-what things?”

“You know! That you’re—” Davey flaps his wrist.

He doesn’t seem to have the nerve to say the word, but he doesn’t have to say it. The others in the locker room laugh.

For not the first time, Bitty is tempted to just ask, “So what if I am?” But he can’t. Not to these people. This isn’t how he wants his coming out to happen. So he just turns away and pulls on his sweatpants, ignoring the rills of laughter that echo against the lockers, and feels small. Small all over.

~~~

Davey recovers from his shock and nods his head rapidly. “Oh, I get it. Uh, congratulations. Uh, Bittle, could I talk to you a sec?”

He has that sheepish look again. Bitty watches as he retreats into one of the side aisles. “Gimme a sec,” he tells Jack, setting Robby down, and follows Davey.

When they're isolated, Davey turns to him sorrowfully. “I, uh—” Davey looks at the floor. “I was pretty mean to you in school.”

It isn’t what Bitty expected, not at all. To be honest, demons in the back of his head aside, this sort of thing doesn’t bother him so much anymore. Why should it? He’s married with two kids and a brand new home. He doesn’t spare a lot of time thinking about the distant past. “Um,” he starts, suddenly terribly embarrassed.

“No, let me—” Davey raises a hand. “Just let me. I said a lot of nasty things to you back then. I’m really sorry about it. I think about it a lot, and I’m just – I’m really sorry.”

There is a piece of Bitty that’s happy, even smug, at hearing this apology. But mostly he just pities Davey at this point. What a thing to carry around your whole life. “We were kids,” Bitty says. “Kids say dumb things. It’s all water under the bridge.”

“Still.” Davey says.

“I can’t say it didn’t hurt me,” Bitty goes on. “But I turned out okay, don’t you think?”

Davey laughs grimly “Yeah, look at you … and look at me.” He shrugs.

“You seem to be doing all right,” Bitty says charitably.

“I’m not an astronaut,” Davey says.

Bitty laughs. “Neither am I. We’re all good.” He pats Davey on the shoulder. A moment passes between them, silent, as they both listen to the sound of the past giving way to a new, kinder present.

After the moment passes, Bitty grins “Come on, I’m going to introduce you to my kids. Do you have kids?”

Davey flushes. “Yeah, I got a teenager. A real smartass. I wonder where he learned it.”

“Pictures!” Bitty declares. “Get that phone out, I demand pictures.”

Davey struggles to pull his phone out of his jeans pocket. This time, he flushes with pride. He narrates the story of each photo as they walk back toward the front.

[emperor-palpaminty]

CAN WE PLEASE GET A PT 2 FOR THE 41 KISS PROMPT W REX OML I CANNOT IT WAS GETTING SO GOOOOODD 😭😭😭😭

ISKSKS I AM SO GLAD YOU LIKE IT

i will most defs do that for you love! am glad you've enjoyed it! I don't remember the exact dialogue so I just... Made it up???? Whoops

Part one is here!

You felt Rex's attention shift to you but you stood your ground, eyes pinned on Krell, the brilliant green shifting against the ever-present darkness rolling around your former master. You could feel it now- the haze of evil, the fog of the Dark Side rolling around him like a mist in a wood.

The captian's blasters were out in his hands and he stood even with you, voice calm but authoritative. "General Krell," He said, calmly. "You're under arrest."

Krell took in the sight of it all- you with your saber resting easily in your hands, Rex standing next to you with his guns drawn, the soldiers moving around you. "Under what charges?"

"Treason against the Republic." Rex moved closer to you, and you shifted your saber, feeling the comforting hum in your fingers.

The men closed in, eyes only on the traitor. Krell's lips pressed into a sneer, and his fingers flexed. "I feared you would say that-" You heard the Force stir before you felt it. "Clone."

The men tumbled back, Krell's sabers whipping out, pushing troopers away. The clone closest to the window crashed through, shattering the glass, and tumbled out, screaming.

You grounded yourself, skidding backwards as the pressure of the force pushed you back. Your head lifted long enough to catch Krell jumping out the shattered window. You stood, running to the ledge and glancing down, Rex behind you. "Kriff," You breathed, starting down. "I'll go directly after him. You take the elevator-"

"Hey," Rex reached out, bumping your arm with his fingers. You turned at looked at his visor, trying to discern some expression, some emotion from that emotionless helmet.

Instead, he drew his hand back, nodding. "Turn on your comm. The second you see him, tell me and wait-"

"No more of your brothers are dying today, Rex." You exhaled, moving back towards the ledge. "Not under my watch." Your breath caught, and you jumped back, tumbling, feeling the air whiz past your ears. You landed heavy, ankles screaming, the impact absorbed by the Force that dwelled around you.

You stood and ran, activating your lightsaber. "Men!" You yelled at a group of 212th troopers. "With me! Don't leave my sights."

You led them into the forest, thick with fog, the plants casting a dim glow on the breath of the twilight. You led the mem, stepping slow, your senses muffled by ringlets of the force around you. "Rex," You said, softly to your comm. "He's close. I can feel him."

"Hang on, General. We're close to you."

You exhaled, softening your voice. "I'll take care of your men. Just get here quick." You tugged your wrist away, saber humming with life.

A man screamed in the distance. You turned, eyes scanning for the familiar haze of blue and green. The sabers moved in violent arcs, aggressive, just as terribly powerful as you remembered him being when you were his padawan.

You ran ahead of the men, who were close to your tail, and you lept upwards, feet planting against foreign fauna, saber swinging. You struck down, just as violent as you had been taught, and two blades rose to meet you.

He swung, the duo of blades moving brilliantly, and you danced between them, twisting and rolling. The clones were yelling at one another in the comms, debating to fire or not, to shoot or not, in lieu of hitting the Jedi that they didn't want to hit.

You tumbled back, your blade still humming, and you glanced up at him, the grey dirt coating your vision. You stood, shakey, hands readjusting.

"My Padawan," Krell sighed, moving towards you. The words suffocated you, and you exhaled, feeling in the force for him- that betrayal earlier, your Captain, was replaced with worry. "You could have been a great service to the dark side." He walked towards you in an arc, and you mimicked it, circling each other slowly. "Instead, you chose some lab-created flesh droid with a hive mind. Does he even feel? Does he know the... Love?" Krell laughed, the sound grating your ribs. "You love him? My padawan is stupid. How unfortunate."

You spun the saber, stopping mid-circle. You began approaching him, head-on, each step a pump of your heart for him, his brothers- Rex. Fives. Jesse. Hardcase. Tup.

You sprinted, hearing Rex's voice in your comms, but the wind rushed past you and blocked his words. Your sabers clashed, and you snarled. "And my master has forgotten one thing-" The presence of Rex closened, pulsed, the fear filling as he heard your blades, your voices.

"And what is that?" Krell leaned in, his blades locked against yours.

You smiled as Rex and his men pushed into the clearing, their voices talking about the many aggressive living plants around the two of you. Your boot hit the rubbery root, and you stepped on it harder, feeling the hiss of the plant under you. "You taught me everything I know."

You shut off your saber and ducked, rolling away from him, and the vines rushing to meet you caught Krell's leg and yanked him up.

The men shot, firing, as you moved back, watching the Krell seeing wildly. You moved back towards Rex, watching him especially, and you get the fear transition to pride, admiration, even, as the General's sabers fell and he hit the ground, unconscious.

"Brilliant, General," Rex exhaled to you, watching his men hurry to cuff Krell.

You nodded, knees shaking, and you deactivated your saber, hand pressing to your thigh. A slow groan escaped your throat, a subtle burn spreading. "Rex-" You hissed, collapsing.

Rex turned instantly, body stiffening as you fell. He ran to you, rolling you over and looking at your thigh. "Kriff." He hissed. "Medic!" The pain in his voice was physical, wet, thick, more so than the pain in your body.

You felt him tug your head onto his arm. "Rex," You mumbled, the pain coursing rapidly in your muscles. "I think- when I-"

"Shh. You're going to be okay- Medic!" Rex stood, tucking you to him, and running to the straggling group of clones. "She's been hit."

Your leg stung, and your head lulled back, eyes catching the blue blurs of Rex's helmet before darkness consumed you.

___

When you came to, you had a very strong craving for tea. Your body felt sticky, thick, and you groaned and sat up. You glanced around at the pristine setting- the medical ward, you presumed, still on Umbara.

You kicked your legs over the aide of the bed and grimaced, knees popping at the use. Your upper leg felt mended, but the sutures were bruising your skin. You settled weight on it and emitted a hiss, shuffling towards the shower.

"You're up," Kix called. You turned, glancing back at the irritated medic. "If the Captain knew you were up-"

"Kix," you whined, leaning heavily on the closest bed frame. "I'm fine."

He gave an irritable grunt, holding out a folded pile of clothes. "You'd better be. Go shower. Do not-" He tugged the fabrics from your hands and you hummed, reaching for them. "I repeat, do not pull at the bacta pad or get it soaked. Damp is fine. Wet is not. Good?"

"Loud and clear." You snatched the clothes away.

"I'd better tell the boys you're up. They've been anxious. Especially-" The medic stopped, stumbling on his words

Your feet bumped into the doorframe of the refresher. "Especially... Who?"

Kid glanced up at you, eyes almost mirroring the Captian you hoped for, and he said, gently, with a grin on his lips, "I think you already know who."

___

When you emerged from the refresher, toweling off your hair, you heard a sharp intake of breath. "You're awake."

Your eyes snapped up, towel abandoned in your hands. "I am." Rex's voice held the same tenderness that had planted in your heard since the most recent tea ritual, rubbing your heart raw with the coarse affection that was running you over, again and again. "Are you alright?

Rex started towards you, eyes blazing with a compassionate intensity. "You need to be in bed."

You smiled gently, raising your hands in mock surrender, fighting to keep the searing pain of your wound at bay. "I'm getting there."

Rex met you halfway. He stooped and scooped you up, gently, far in less of a rush than he had been when you were openly injured and walked you towards your bed. "You know better, general." He scolded, softly. You didn't complain, opting to wind your fingers behind the nape of his neck and press your face softly against his jaw.

The captain exhaled a shaky breath. His hold tightened momentarily as he stopped by your cramped cot, turning his head and lowering his cheek against your skin. Your fingers intertwined and you pulled back, looking up at his face. The rolling surprise spread on his lips, his eyes, as he turned his head more against you, sitting down on the cot, simply cradling you.

You threw your arms around him entirely and allowed Rex to hold you- you shook, quietly, sobbing softly. "I'm so sorry, Rex, if I had sensed Krell-"

"No, no," Rex squeezed you gently, rocking now, smoothing a hand in your still-damp hair. "The Jedi Council didn't sense it. General Skywalker or General Kenobi didn't sense it, either. You can't blame yourself." The hand in your tendrils of hair moved to your cheek, the gloved fingers smoothing over the war-roughened skin. "You have done-" A crack in the foundation of his words, and his shoulders heaved. "More. More than I could ever ask anyone."

You bumped your forehead to him, holding his jaw in both your hands. "And I would do more." Especially for you.

Rex nodded, his hold tightening as he pulled you in again. The two of you sobbed- perhaps because of the losses, the shame of that responsibility, or perhaps you realized the unconditional depths of your love for the other, and it was something- even worse, someone- you could never truly have.

[loverdrew]

Do It For Me | b.b

Synopsis: Y/N may never be able to forgive Bucky if he goes through with his decision. (pre-endgame with a twist, very inaccurate storyline and writing I know but it’s all fiction)

Warnings: a few cuss words here and there

Based off of Greys Anatomy (between Izzie and Denny)

My first ever Bucky Barnes fanfic! I’m getting more into writing for Marvel characters.

I had been sat up in my room at the Avengers compounds for the whole day at his point; harnessing my magic, drawing/reading to calm me down, and just enjoying a nice day off. Everything seemed quiet, a little too quiet for my taste. No one had come knocking on my door to talk or check up on me. After a few minutes I started to hear talking through my headphones and it was coming from outside my door. I slowly let my earbuds drop from my ears, silently opening up my door and creeping downstairs. It had seemed to more I got down the steps, I saw more people come into view. All backs were turned, some arms crossed, but voices were definitely raised. It felt like more than one person kept trying to speak and once at the bottom step, I saw the one person who was the center of it all.

Wanda was the first one to see me, cutting her sentence short, and soon everyone followed. Steve’s face dropped, biting his lower lip and looking at the floor. Bucky stood up, eyes almost bulging out of his head. I looked around stunned at everyones faces as they all made a collective sigh.

“W-what’s...what’s going on guys.” Wasn’t so much of a question, but more of a ‘tell me now or I’ll crush you guys with just a thought’. My powers were growing, everyone knew this. With one scream, a whole city could go deaf. With no swipe of my hand, I can send more than 10 men flying 100 feet. Most of the time they wouldn’t dare bother me in fear of my emotions becoming heightened and possibly destroying something. But something tells me right now might be the first time that happens.

“I said, what’s going on.” My hands glowed purple, the color of my powers. Wanda immediately rushed in front of me and looked me in the eyes, rubbing her hands over mine. When she found out I also harnessed powers from an infinity stone, Tony made it a point to have her help me maintain my magic. Her touch softened the glow, instantly calming down my heart rate. She repeated the same phrase to me; ‘don’t let it take control of you, take control of it’. The purple glow went away, as she guided me towards the group.

“Thanos is coming, Y/N.” Tony spoke up.

“And we’re trying to figure out how to stop him once and for all but...there was an idea brought up.” Bruce chimed in, and I followed his gaze right to Bucky. His head laying low. My mind went to the darkest of places. Bucky had never looked so ashamed. All I wanted to do was hug him and rub up and down his back, he always liked that. The last time I did that for him was a few nights ago when he had yet another nightmare and I found him downstairs watching TV even though I knew he was exhausted. He was too afraid to fall asleep. I remember that night, thinking about how badly I wanted to tell him how I felt. He had been my rock since coming into the compound, even if nobody else saw it. Our friendship consisted of late night snacks and conversations, training together making each other stronger, and always communicating and tell each other the truth no matter what. But oh, how I wanted that friendship to mean more to him as it does to me. But I would panic, thinking I wasn’t ever going to be good enough for one of the best people I’d ever met. He deserved a woman who was just as great as he was. 

“Tell her.” Natasha spoke, anger laced in her voice.

“Bucky...” I whispered. 

“My greatest wish in life is to take back every bad thing I did in this world. Every person I had killed, hurt, ruined their life.” He looks at Tony with deep regret. “And I can’t ever do that physically, but maybe in another way, I can.” He was rubbing his hands together avoiding my gaze.

“Okay? Bucky that’s great that you’ve figured out how you want to do that-” 

“You didn’t let him finish.” Sam said with a monotone voice.

“We need to be ready whenever Thanos decides to come. And the only way for me to get my wish is to...be the one that’s sacrificed during the battle.” My heart stopped and the ringing in my ears began to pick up. Wanda could see my hands glowing much brighter and more rapidly this time. I could feel her hands come up to the sides of my arms but within a flash my whole body shook the entire room like an earthquake.

“What!!” I walked over to him and slammed down on the table. “Are you out of your god damn mind Barnes!”

He tried to reach out but I raised my hand, stopped his movement and moving his arm to stay at his side, unable to move it.

“No, no, no you’re not doing this. You guys please tell him he is NOT sacrificing himself! You have no idea how much power those stones are! Just look at me! I have the same powers as a stone yet I can’t control shit Bucky! It’s out of control you’ll be dead before you can even use one stone to fight off Thanos!”

“I’ve been working with Tony and Shuri on a way to help me harness the power. They’ve been working on a suit for me that is stronger than Tony’s. Y/N you have to understand that this is my way of righting my wrongs, if I die then I die a hero who saved the whole world, not someone who use to kill hundreds of people with no remorse.” I turned towards Tony, his eyes becoming scared as he held his breath.

“You...” I throw my hands up and thrashed Tony into the wall, shattering it. He couldn’t move, paralyzed by fear at what I could do to him. Wanda yelled out to stop, but I couldn’t hear anything over my own boiling anger. “You knew about this. You knew he wanted to die and didn’t try to stop him!”

“I-I was just doing what I thought was the only option.” I slammed him again into the wall.

“There’s other options Tony!” I began to cry out, tears instantly springing from my eyes so quick it took me a second to realize I was even crying. With each puff of my chest my powers weakened as I wasn’t paying as much attention anymore, my brain becoming overstimulated with dark thoughts.

Bucky came up behind me and brought his arms around mine, his cheek pressed up against the back of my head.

“You’re not doing this Buck, we’ll find another way.” I said in between cries. I looked around seeing everyone else become emotional at my breakdown. Natasha was like a mother figure to me, this was the first time I was seeing her tear up. Wanda was my protector, but she didn’t know how to protect me from my own feelings. And everyone who surrounded me, who watched me grow from a 20 something year old uncontrollable witch to a grounded and a fantastic Avenger, wore heavy hearts and hooded eyes. I turned around quickly wiping my eyes of any tears and stood tall. My breathing coming back to normal. “It’s okay we’ll-we’ll find another way. There’s gotta be another way right?” 

“Y/N...” He said sadly, clutching my hair. I pushed him off and walked away giving some distance between us, actually, between the whole crew. I stood on one side of the room while the rest remained where they were.

“Don’t do that. Don’t try to make me okay with this. Alright, you did some shit in your past Bucky, so what we all don’t have the best track records as angels. And I’m sure you don’t feel like you deserve to live with all of the trauma you’ve endured but guess what? You do! You know how you get the fix things? You become a better person, a fighter and protector of the world! People change Bucky and I’ve seen it first hand in you! You deserve to live just as much as anyone else!” Everyone remained silent, so I assumed they agreed with me. “And if you tell me one more time about sacrificing yourself because that’ll right your wrongs in this world, so help me God, I will kill you myself right now!” And without thinking, my hand shot out a purple beam of light, latching onto a glass vase and chucking it around the room, creating a whole in the wall and the glass shattering everywhere.

He walked up to me peacefully with his hands held in the air.

“Y/N, please. I’m going to be alright, you don’t have to worry this much. You should be more concerned about protecting yourself. I definitely wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t do this and something worse happens to you.”

I laughed in sadness.

“What about me? What about me when you die!” I saw multiple people begin to shed the same tears I was. We had all grown fond of Bucky when he joined us. He really proved and showed deep down, behind the trauma HYDRA had left him, he was a great man. That’s why I fell so deeply in love with him. “That’s the worst thing that could ever happen to me Bucky! I will die inside if you don’t exist in this world!”

“Y/N-” more tears sprang from his eyes. His voice cracked and got lower. It’s like he couldn’t find the words to describe the pain in his heart at the thought of leaving you behind. Without having told you that he loved you too. 

“No I get it! You’ll be okay, you’ll be fine with it but what about me? Please, don’t do it for yourself, do it for me please!” I hunched over, the grief and pain overtaking my body. I felt too weak to even stand and continue yelling at him. “Please Bucky, please do this for me! Don’t leave me please don’t do this, I can’t take it please! You have to do this for me, because if you don’t I will never be able to forgive you!”

He stepped closer at a slower pace.

“For dying? For saving the world?”

“No for making me love you!” I began to cry out harder, the ring in my voice shaking the room once again, making everyone’s hands fly up to their ears as I got louder and louder. Natasha at this point was full on bawling, along with most people in the room. I think it was safe to say everyone knew of my affection towards the man at the center of attention, and maybe that’s why everyone had left me alone today. Afraid of this exact situation. The one person, the one thing in this world that can bring me to tears at my feet.

Bucky’s eyes filled with adoration as he ran up to me and held me on the floor in between his legs. I clutched at his arm crying into his shoulder. He looked back at Tony, who only gave him a nod. They had agreed together that one of them was bound to be the sacrifice when it came to defeating Thanos. Bucky of course still wanted it to be him, he felt it was the most right option. But when he looked back at Tony, clutching the love of his life in his arms, Tony took that as a final answer. Tony was okay with the decision he had come to long ago. He was ready to die for the good of everyone else, but nobody knew that yet. Bucky wasn’t giving up the fight, but now it only became that much harder to leave her behind. It was easier not knowing her feelings, but it had come to the light. Bucky wanted a life like Tony, the kids, the wife, everything. But at what cost? He was still going to fight to the death if he had to, but the decision to be the one to end it all was fading away.

“It’s okay Y/N, I promise we’ll talk more about it and find another way if we have to.”

“We have to Bucky, we have to.” My cries didn’t stop, but my voice lowered. My eyes caught everyone else’s, almost embarrassed at my sudden outburst of devoted love to Bucky, but everyone knew, they just never heard it from me. “Just hold onto me please.” I pleaded.

“I’m here Doll, I promise I’ll stay right here.”

[somebodycall911onabc]

Some post-4x13 Buddie because ummmm no to everything that just went down and whatever the hell they're doing with that promo. Pre-relationship Eddie introspection, guest-starring sleepy Buck and Chris (how often can I have these two idiots—Buck and Eddie, not Chris—wake each other up too goddamn early in the morning; the answer is infinite).

Eddie wakes up.

The world is a quiet, washed-out hum of static and dim light. He listens to his breath, in and out, in and out, as the room comes into focus. The rhythmic beeping monitor. The rough sheets over his chest. The hollowed-out numb of his shoulder where—

fuck. Where he’d been shot.

Eddie blinks open his eyes and grimaces. He’s probably doped to hell but his shoulder aches like forest fire, like a pain that will consume him and the whole world too, if he lets it. His head feels like someone pumped it full of air right up until the point before it bursts. He grits his teeth and gathers saliva on his tongue, carefully distributes it so that when he swallows, it will feel less like he’s ingesting a quart of sand. He knows this song and dance. He wiggles his fingers and toes and notes that remarkably, everything’s in working order. He wonders how often you can cheat death before that karma comes to get you.

Although he thinks Buck would probably go to bat for him, even against death himself. The heart monitor spikes as Eddie remembers with a vicious and cruel clarity Buck’s eyes on his as Eddie shuddered and collapsed. Buck’s wide, deer-in-headlights eyes, all that Eddie could see, just two pinprick pupils until there was nothing else, just the black, blank darkness.

Eddie tips his head to the side and opens his eyes, unclenching his fists, and nearly reels back when he sees Ana. She’s crumpled in the seat beside him, her chin resting on her collarbone, her long, dark eyelashes twitching against her cheek as she sleeps.

He closes his eyes and turns his head away.

But Ana’s a light sleeper. She was already waking up when he looked at her, roused from the shallow depths of unconsciousness by the change in Eddie’s breathing pattern, or something. His eyes are still closed when she croaks out, “Eddie?”

He looks at her.

“Eddie!” She says, raising her hands to flutter them over his chest, his face, his un-wounded shoulder. “You’re awake! You’re alive! Thank God,” she says, fervent. Like a prayer.

“Guess I’m just… lucky,” Eddie wheezes out. She smiles at him, eyes watering, and he gave the PG-version of his Silver Star story in her classroom but there’s no hint of recognition in her eyes.

“Either the luckiest man alive, or the unluckiest,” she says. “I’m pretty sure a lucky man wouldn’t be shot at quite so much.” She presses a kiss to his temple and Eddie has the horrible impulse to bat her away from him like she’s an overbearing aunt.

God, he’s an idiot. And it would take getting shot for him to realize it.

“What… happened?” Eddie asks, relieved when she leans back and settles into her chair.

“I’m not sure… I heard there was a sniper on the scene. The police think he might be targeting first responders, because how could this year get any worse?” When she shakes her head, her curls bounce in a way Eddie found appealing, once. It feels like a million years ago.

“Chris?” He asks, heart racing once more. She glances at the monitor and then back to him, offering a reassuring smile that does little to soothe his nerves.

“He’s OK. Buck’s with him.” Those three words calm Eddie instantly, like someone turning off an electric kettle, the worry bubbling up inside him simmering to a still. Because it means Chris is OK, and so is Buck. “I’m really grateful to Buck,” Ana is saying, taking his hand in hers, drawing his attention back to her. “It means I get to be here, with you.” She smiles at him like he’s fragile.

Wrong.

Eddie looks at her and doesn’t know how to tell her. How to tell her that the right thing would be for her to be at Chris’s side. That Chris always came first. Chris was the first and only priority. Chris was Eddie’s heart, raw and exposed, just like Bobby had said.

He looks at her and thinks about Chris’s smile, how he lights up the minute Ana walks in the room. He thinks about Chris confessing to him, quiet and anxious, that he’d asked Santa to find Mommy. He thinks about his parents telling him that the proper thing to do was to marry the girl carrying his child, even if he wasn’t sure he loved her.

Chris has been and will always be the most important thing in Eddie’s life. But Eddie’s starting to realize that even with a Northstar as good and perfect as Chris, Eddie didn’t always make the best choices. For himself, for Chris, or for their family.

“Can you call Buck, for me?” Eddie asks, brushing his thumb over Ana’s delicate knuckles. “If it’s not too late. I want to see my boys.”

She hastily bends down to pick up her purse and fumble her phone out, tell him it was fine, Buck had wanted her to call him as soon as Eddie woke up, anyway. He catches a glimpse of a “5” as she unlocks the phone and opens her contact list.

In the early morning, hospital quiet, Eddie can hear the phone ring on the other end of the line. Once, twice. Click.

“Hello?’ Buck asks, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Let me talk to him,” Eddie says, before Ana can get a word in. She hesitates, opens her mouth, but he holds her gaze until she extends the phone to him. Eddie’s hand is steady when he takes it from her.

“Hey,” Eddie says. Buck’s bleary-eyed, curls smashed to one side of his head, half his face obscured by a dark shape.

“Eddie,” Buck says, a ragged, relieved sound. He shifts, and Eddie hears him say, “Chris, Chris wake up, it’s your dad, Chris, he’s OK!”

And then there’s another face, pressing too close to the camera, so that Eddie mostly sees a nostril and some chin.

“Daddy!” Chris whoops, and Eddie smiles, and Buck pulls Chris back from the phone screen so Eddie can see him.

“Hey there, buddy,” Eddie says, “sorry I scared you.”

“W-wasn’t scared,” Chris insists, blinking rapidly because without his glasses, the world was mostly a multi-colored smudge. “I had Buck.”

Buck—who settles Chris’s glasses over his face with heartbreaking tenderness. Buck—who wraps an arm around Chris and scoots them back against the headboard so they can both see Eddie. Buck—who had clearly been sleeping in Chris’s bed, keeping him safe while Eddie was getting several pints of blood pumped into his body and shrapnel extricated from his shoulder.

“That’s good,” Eddie says. “Really good.”

“We knew you’d be OK,” Buck says. “Right, Superman?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause of your lucky charm.”

Eddie has to close his eyes against that. Chris is still so young, still Disney-innocent and honey-sweet, and Buck knew exactly what to say to calm Chris down. He knew Chris’s favorite bedtime story and the playlist Eddie made for him to help Chris fall asleep.

“That’s right,” Eddie chokes out. “My St. Christopher medal.”

“No.” Eddie blinks at that, at the stubborn line of Chris’s mouth. “Me. And Buck.”

Buck looks just about as surprised as Eddie feels.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“What?” Buck asks.

“What?” Chris asks, confused at their confusion. He addresses Buck. “Daddy said that I was his good l-l-luck charm. Because he loves me. A-and he loves you, so you’re his good luck charm too.”

Eddie isn’t sure if his kid is perceptive or just putting together ideas in the way only kids can. But it doesn’t really matter, because he isn’t wrong.

“Got me there,” Eddie agrees. “I must be pretty lucky, since I’ve got the both of you watching my back.”

Buck’s smiling a pleased, sunshine grin. The room is too dark and the connection is too poor, but Eddie would bet money that Buck’s blushing.

Eddie very deliberately doesn’t look at Ana.

“We’ll come visit as soon as the hospital opens,” Buck promises. “It’s good you called, because we should probably get going.”

To his right, Chris gives a huge yawn.

“You sure? I’m not going anywhere.”

“You think we’re gonna be able to sleep now that you’re awake? No way.”

“No way!’ Chris agrees.

“We’ll be there in fifteen. Twenty. Ten?” Buck looks down at Chris.

“Five!” Chris shouts. “The f-firetruck could make it in five minutes!”

“But we only have Buck’s jeep,” Buck says, pouting at Chris. “Definitely not a firetruck.”

“Fifteen,” Chris amends.

“OK,” Eddie says with a laugh that barely hurts. “I’ll see you soon. Thanks, Buck.”

“For what?” Buck asks, ruffling Chris’s hair with the hand that had been draped over Chris’s shoulders. “Be there soon.”

The call disconnects with the finality of a book snapping shut. He squares his shoulders (as much as he can while lying in an inclined hospital bed with a bullet injury) and turns his head to face Ana.

Her eyes are narrowed and hard, like ice over a troubled stream.

“So,” she says, slow and calm, “Buck?”

“Yeah” Eddie says. It’s all he can say. He can’t tell her how to be what he needs, what Chris needs. He can’t tell her to put Chris first like a reflex, like an instinct.

He doesn’t blame her. He isn’t mad at her. He isn’t even disappointed. He’s as shocked as anyone that he met someone who understood, immediately and profoundly, that Chris was Eddie’s world. Eddie had never counted on someone like Buck. And it was time he stopped running from that and accepted it for the undeserved, unparallelled gift that it was.

“I’m sorry,” he adds.

“Me too.” Ana takes her phone back with a snap of her wrist and drops it in her purse. “I’m going to go home.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, feeling a little guilty. He knows what it’s like to feel left behind, waking up with nothing but a note and the realization that you could never be good enough.

Ana gets to her feet and smooths the wrinkles of her blouse, and for a moment she reminds him so much of Shannon that he’s dizzy. The straight back, the self-posession, the tumble of curls swept over her shoulder.

He hopes Ana finds a love worthy of her, someone who will treasure her and believe her when she says, “sometimes our limitations let us know who we are.”

Because Eddie looked at the world like a challenge. He threw himself into it like the world might burn up tomorrow, but he would fight to the last breath anyway. He peeled away honorable discharge and may experience lifelong mobility dilemmas and we know what’s best for him and don’t you know how hard it is to be a single father like strips of old paint.

And Buck was the same way. Buck was I had to do it and didn’t you know Jim Abbot played baseball with only one hand and I’m in. You wanted us to bond, Cap. We might end up real close.

Eddie watches Ana leave, her heels clicking sharp against the tiled floor. At the door, she turns her head.

“I am glad you’re OK, Edmundo.”

“Thank you.”

And then she’s gone.

And then Eddie waits, anticipation mounting, for his boys to bring him home.

[beegyuz]

simple, but complicated ; sunwoo

genre: sad, fluff, gn!reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings/themes: a lot of flashbacks (written in italics), best friends to lovers, reader gets cheated on, some swearing here and there (very light tho).

Lost. Lonely. You wouldn’t be able to find words enough to describe the overwhelming pain you were feeling. The hot cup of coffee wasn’t enough to warm up your hands, or your heart, like it used to some months ago. The snow was slowly falling down, and you watched it carefully through your window, wondering how many bad choices you made all along the way to feel so empty and sad.

Deep inside, you knew that a break up was painful, but the pain of losing a friend was even worse, and you were terrified of realizing it so late, when he wasn’t even close to you anymore.

— I honestly don’t know who you are anymore — he said, the pain in his eyes killing you inside.

— Sunwoo, I just said that we can’t go out as often as before — you reply, tears about to leave your eyes.

— We haven’t seen each other for weeks, y/n, you ignore my messages for days! It’s not about not seeing each other every day, it’s about you cutting me off of your life all of a sudden.

— I’ve just been busy, I have a boyfriend now, and I don’t think it’s right to go out with another boy and leave him all by himself.

Sunwoo never thought that words could hurt that bad, but the realization that he wasn’t that important to you anymore, when you were still the only one he could look at, broke his heart in countless pieces.

— I knew this would happen, I knew he wasn’t good for you, but you never listen! — he says. — It looks like you are already blind.

You sigh: — You’re just jealous at this point, Sunu. I promised I would forget what you said but…

— No, don’t throw this shit at me, I am not doing this just because I like you in a romantic way, I am doing this because you are my best friend, but it looks like you forgot it.

The tears rolled down your cheeks and burned your eyes like never before. When you first started dating, you thought he was the one, he took you to a lot of different places, fancy restaurants, so many adventures full of cool stories to tell, just like you imagined while reading the books that were in your tall and enormous bookshelf. The concept of love for you was adventurous and full of romance. Looking back then, you couldn’t even find a tiny bit of love between the trips and fancy restaurants, you could say there was a tiny bit of passion, but passion is something that lasts short, not love.

You knew love was complicated, to understand, to express, but, at this point, everything in your past just seemed so simple, and you felt so dumb. Looking at your front door, your beige coat was so inviting, he seemed to ask you to do something, so you did.

The sky was already becoming dark, but there was still a glimpse of pink and orange all over it, and the snow flakes falling in front of your eyes made everything even more beautiful. At this point, you weren’t really sure where you were going, the air was cold, and you had no idea where you could find him, and if he was even willing to talk to you. The reality hit you hard at that point, he would never, ever, look at you with the same eyes, his brown eyes wouldn’t turn your way the same way they did before, the same way you never paid enough attention.

When your feet were about to turn back to your house, you saw it: the small record store, the one Sunwoo always went to when something was bothering him. The one where he would sit on the same armchair, use the same headphones, and listen to the same record over and over again. With a glimpse of hope, your feet took you to the small store, your hands placed on the front glass, your eyes analyzed inside, on the left, there he was, sitting on the blue armchair: eyes closed, head tilting a little to the side, feet swaying, his backpack on the floor. With the tiny bit of courage you had left, you opened the door, and walked to him.

When his eyes met yours, you froze, but managed to say: — It’s been a long time.. Sunwoo.

After a walk down the street, you and Sunwoo were sitting in front of each other in a cozy and empty coffee shop, it seemed like a good place to talk to him. You kept playing with your fingers, nervous about the distance and awkward atmosphere between you and your long time best friend.

— Is there a reason why you talked to me? — he asked suddenly, making you rapidly look at him.

— I just… wanted to see you — you say.

It wasn’t the full truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. You just had no idea how you were supposed to tell him he was right, that you were blind and being fooled.

— Did your boyfriend allow you to come? — he paused before letting the word boyfriend slip through his lips.

You laugh, without energy: — I don’t have a boyfriend anymore.

— Ah, so that’s why you decided to look out for me — he says, his eyes anywhere but your face.

It wasn’t his intention to be harsh, deep inside, he wanted to hug your tired body, and take that sad and destroyed expression out of your face. He knew you way too well to know something was wrong, that you were sad and regretful, but sometimes pride takes the best of us.

— I have been thinking about some things since the last time we talked to each other — you say, ignoring his words. — You were right.

— About what?

— About being blind, about him, about everything — you say. — He cheated on me, not only once.

He never wanted to hold your hand so bad. The feelings Sunwoo had for you were still there, but he wanted to hold your hand and hug you, firstly, as a friend, as the friend he was before letting you go, before letting you drown in a bad relationship.

— I’m so sorry for that, y/n — he says, sighing, — he never deserved you.

— Don’t worry, you are the one who always told me he wasn’t good enough.

He gets up to get something to drink, you expected him to come back with his usual, but, instead, he holds a hot chocolate, your favorite, with lots of whipped cream. You smile when he places it in front of you.

— It’s the first smile you show off today — he notices, smiling a bit too.

You drink your hot chocolate, your eyes closing a bit because of the smile you showed once more, the warm and sweet filling you inside.

— Sunwoo — you say, the courage coming from the hot chocolate in front of you, — I’ve been thinking a lot about something these days.

— What is it? — he asks, genuinely curious, making you feel like you were back in time, when you were both as close as ever, best friends, soulmates.

— Do you remember when we had that talk about what love is?

He nods: — Yes, I do, and you said it is adventurous and magic.

— Yeah, I kind of remember that — you laugh. — It’s not really true, honestly. I don’t think that’s love anymore.

— Then, what is love?

— Honestly, when I started dating, even if bad things happened, in my head I was having the romance I always read about in the books, the same romance I always told you I wanted to have, the one I wrote about in some of my stories, full of adventures, cliches and serenades — you say. — Now, after living it, I know love is more, or less, than this.

He looks at you with attention, wondering what you meant with all these words. He wonders if you lost hope in love, if you will start to believe it is not real because of the bad experience you had.

— I just feel like love is simple, but complicated at the same time, do you know what I mean?

— I don’t have lots of experiences with love, but I think, yes? — he tilts his head.

— Me neither — you reply, knowing there wasn’t love in your last relationship.

The silence between you both made you almost give up, but you keep thinking about how to choose the right words to tell how you were feeling deep inside, since the first day.

— I think… — he says, after some silence — love is more than just the romantical part, it’s about trusting and taking care of the one you love, and having patience, waiting.

— You’re right — you say. — Honestly… Never mind, you don’t need to hear all of this.

The courage you had, disappeared like the warmth on the mug on your hands, without you even noticing.

— I always like to hear what you want to say, you know that.

You look at him, even though you can see a bit of pain in his eyes, he smiles softly, encouraging you. The feeling of being heard truly after so long made your heart flutter, so you hold that opportunity. When you think about everything, you know that, at this point, you have nothing to lose.

— Love can be about stolen glances…

You hold the book in front of your face, your back is comfortably on top of your mattress, and you can hear and feel Sunwoo moving a lot on your side. He’s probably bored, you’ve been reading for the last two hours and he probably wants to watch a movie like every afternoon he spends with you.

When he suddenly stops, you take your eyes off of your book, just to lock them with his eyes, that watched you fondly. As soon as he notices he got caught staring, he looks away, a blush on his cheeks, making you laugh.

— … and holding hands during horror movies…

The black screen of the television suddenly made a loud noise, making the boy on your side scream his lungs out.

— This is bullshit! — he screams. — She’s so stupid why is she even inside this house!

The scared look on his face was already funny enough, but then he hid his face on your shoulder, making you laugh even more. He looked at you with an annoyed pout on his face, what made you force your laugh to stop.

— I’m sorry Sunu, here — you reach your hand out to him — you can hold my hand.

He stops for a second, and, if it wasn’t dark, you would be able to see the red on his cheeks, but then he happily grabs your hand with both of his, and holds it on his lap, close to his belly, and cuddles close to you. For some reason, he wasn’t that scared at all after that.

— … or even playing the guitar on a monday morning, skipping class.

His eyes light up a bit, and you know he was starting to understand the in-between the phrases you were saying.

You cross your arms, an annoyed look on your face: — I am not skipping class, Sunwoo.

The boy in front of you pouts, one of his hands holding the guitar on his back. You sigh, knowing you’ll never be able to say no to your best friend. Some time later, you’re both by the Han River, sitting on the grass, the sun warming up your body.

— Aren’t you going to play? — you point to his guitar. — I’m here for the songs.

He laughs, then grabs his guitar and, after thinking for a bit, he starts playing, you soon notice is Best Part.

— Can you sing?

He smiles: — If you think I am good at singing, yes.

You smile, knowing he has one of the sweetest voices in the world.

— What do you mean? — Sunwoo asks, not sure if he is understanding well.

— Love is about going to convenience stores at three in the morning, just because your loved one craves ice cream — you say, answering him, but ignoring him at the same time.

Sunwoo sighs, looking at the television screen with annoyance. You try to ignore him for a while, thinking he probably just wants your attention, because you didn’t want to stop the tv show you were watching.

— Y/n… — he whines.

— Sunwoo — you pout at him, pausing the television. — I hope you have a good reason to make me stop Sky Castle in the middle!

— I want ice cream — he says, smiling at you.

— And I want to date Hwang Woojoo — you reply, turning on the tv show again.

He shakes your arm, whining like a kid: — Please… Let’s buy some ice cream, I promise I’ll watch two more episodes with you.

You look at him, and think for a bit. Even though you don’t think you can watch two more episodes without falling asleep, you nod and get up. You both put on warm clothes and leave your apartment, and Sunwoo puts his arm around you as soon as you step foot outside.

— What are you doing?

— Protecting you.

Sunwoo’s eyes can't leave your face, his heart is about to leave his chest. Honestly, the first time you told him you were dating, he was scared, and when you two talked for the last time, he knew he had lost forever, but now, there you were, confessing to him, in the most you way. Even after him letting his jealousy break your friendship, even though he left you to deal with everything by yourself, there you were, telling him your honest feelings.

— So… You’re telling me… — he starts.

— I like you, Sunwoo — you say. — If you want me to clearly say, I can repeat this how many times you want: I like you, I like you, I like you.

He laughs, and a smile stays on his face, the prettiest you ever saw. When he gets up, you widen your eyes, worried he is going to kiss you there, in front of the people working at the coffee shop. But he just gently grabs you by your hand and hugs you tight, holding you as close as possible, his face on your neck, then he looks at you and smiles, still holding you tight.

— Don’t worry, I’m not going to kiss you in front of everyone — he whispers.

You blush, and hide your face on his neck, wondering how he knows you so well, to even know what you were thinking. When you look at him, you kind of want to peck his lips, but instead, you give him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

— I know I said this before — he starts, — but I’m in love with you, and I feel I should say this again, now that I know I won’t be rejected.

— I don’t remember doing this — you joke.

He laughs, and looks at you fondly. Then, something seems to lighten up on his mind, so he smiles at you: — But there’s something I remember.

— What?

— That you said you wanted to watch that new horror movie with me.

You look at him, confused: — I thought you were scared of horror movies.

— And I am — he says. — But you said love is about holding hands during horror movies, and I’ll do anything if I get to hold your hand.

In the middle of a coffee shop, you finally had the opportunity to feel what real love felt like. There, in Sunwoo’s embrace, you allowed yourself to forget about all the stupid books you’ve read, all those love stories, just so you could finally understand what real love is about: confessing in empty coffee shops, after a heartbreak and a cup of hot chocolate.

hi! so.... this is kind of a comeback? i guess JNSNXNS i’m honestly very proud of how it turned out, not sure if this is exactly how i wanted to show this idea to the world but !! that’s what i came up with and i hope you like it :]

also, i’ve changed my writing style a bit. here i am using the em dash ? ( — ) for the dialogues because that’s what i use in portuguese now, but i have no idea if this is right, so if this is wrong or you prefer that i use quotation marks, please !!!!! let me know.

you can check my masterlist here!

[the-lady-of-stars]

In Another Life

Fives x Jedi ! Reader

Requested by: @marvel-starwars-nerd​ and an anon (I combined your prompts, hope thats okay!)  “I don’t want this to end” and “Whatever you do don’t cry, because if you cry I’ll start crying too”

A/N: Sorry in advance, troopers.

A traitor to the Republic. That’s what they’d called him. They had said that Fives was conspiring against them, accusing the Kaminoans of planting chips in the clones’ brains to control them.

The chip, which Fives had broken protocol to remove from Tup, was called an ‘inhibitor chip’ by the Kaminoans. Something to keep them from adopting Fett’s strong will and violence. Fives insisted otherwise, leading you to this very moment on the lower levels of Coruscant.

With Anakin and Rex by your side you slowly edged into the darkened warehouse, calling out for Fives as you went. The lightsaber ignited in your hands was merely standard protocol. You knew that Fives would never hurt you, but the Republic branding him as a dangerous individual meant you had to keep up the act. The excuse of Fives being your boyfriend wasn’t exactly something that could be put on the reports.

The deeper you went into the building, the more you could sense him. The force signiature coming off of Fives was something you would normally bask in and draw peace from, but not today. He radiated nothing but fear, anger and mistrust, still not showing himself to you and your companions. The boys all knew about the relationship between you and Fives. He wasn’t quite the most secretive man in the galaxy, and had the tendency to brag.

Anakin, clearly sensing the pure worry and unease radiating from you, sent you a reasurring look, although it never met his eyes.

“Fives,” you called out, trying to pinpoint his location. “It’s okay, we’re not here to hurt you. Just come out, everything will be okay.”

“Thank you, thank you for trusting me,” Fives’ voice echoed through the crate-filled warehouse, making it hard to figure out where it had come from. The three of you span slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of the rogue trooper. His voice was shaky, the notes wavering in his throat. “Have you come without troops?” He insisted, too nervous to keep his fear hidden.

“We have,” Anakin reassured, voice steady so as not to startle Fives.

“Put down your weapons then!” Fives sounded frantic, like a loth cat cornered by hungry varactyls. You felt your heart twist at the notion that your own boyfriend felt the need to defend himself against you, his brother and his friend.

Anakin, casting aside emotion to stick to military protocol, denied Fives’ request, still slightly on edge about his accusations about the Jedi and the chips.

“Please sir, please- I’m unarmed,” Fives pleaded. You turned to find Rex and Anakin both with expressions of sorrow that matched your own.

With a nod, Anakin sheathed his saber, and Rex set his pistols down on a nearby crate. You copied them, attaching your saber to its hilt at your belt.

“What are we here for, Fives?” Anakin pressed, knowing that every moment they wasted was a moment the Coruscant Guard gained on them, and he knew they wouldn’t be as willing to accomodate.

“I need your help,” he called, desperation thick in his words.

Anakin reassured the trooper that he was here to help, telling Fives that he understood he ‘wasn’t well.’ Clearly, this was the wrong thing to say, as Fives suddenly became upset, voice raising.

“I’m not crazy! Please- just hear what I have to say,” he begged, voice growing clearer, allowing you to pinpoint him behind two stacks of crates.

With one last shared look, the three of you drew closer to Fives’ location. Before you could reach him, Fives entrapped you all in a ray shield, then finally emerged once he knew you couldn’t harm him.

Anakin, knowing this wouldn’t do Fives any good once the Coruscant Guard arrived, slammed his fist against the shield in anger. He already knew how low the chances were for his friend, the Kaminoans were fond of reconditioning for even the slightest misbehaviour, but this would only serve to make things ten times worse.

“I just need you to listen to me,” Fives reassured, raising his empty hands to show that he meant no harm. “Please!” he cried out.

“I’m not really sure we have any other choice!” Anakin snapped, worry for Fives turning into anger due to his lack of control in the situation.

Fives’ voice broke, almost whimpering as he yelled “I was framed- because I know the truth! The truth about a plot- a massive deception!”

Fives’ body was shaking, arms restless as he panicked, pacing fearfully, clutching his head and tensing his fists. He looked wildly overwhelmed, almost in pain at how he couldn’t get anyone to believe him.

“There’s a sinister plot,” he shouted, “in the works, against the Jedi! I have proof of it! I can prove- that everything that I know is true beyond a shadow of a doubt!”

“Fives, please-” you tried to speak calmly but you were nearly in tears over seeing your Fives like this, your voice trembling. His eyes raced from side to side, peeled wide in terror, desperation in every breath he took.

Anakin interrupted you, voice stern. “Show me the evidence.”

Fives dug his fingers back into his head, as though he were trying to rip the thoughts out of his brain. Pink marks crowned his head from the way he was scratching into it.

“The evidence- it’s- it’s in here-” Fives pointed aggressively at his brain, fully aware that the Kaminoans had injected him with something to make him lose his memories before he could speak to the Chancellor. His eyes held nothing but devastation, gleaming with unshed tears and pain. “It’s in all of us!” he recalled, desperately trying to explain, “every clone!”

“What is it?” Rex pushed, trying to extract clear words from his brother.

“Organic chips- built into our genetic code,” Fives said, defeat swallowing up his voice. He leaned exhausted to rest on a stack of crates, pressing his arm and forehead against them. “To make us do whatever someone wants.” Fives felt powerless in that moment. The Republic had always made him feel like a pawn, but this was the first time Fives truly understood what his older brothers meant when they spoke about being nothing but property. What difference could one clone make, especially one who had the entire coruscant guard and a Jedi on the hunt for him. “Even kill the Jedi. It’s all in here-” he repeated in a frenzy, poking his head again and again.

Anakin scowled, not believing Fives’ words. You turned to look at Rex, seeing how upset he looked. He ran his hand over his hair in stress, sending you a dejected look when he caught your gaze.

“Let’s just get you some help first then we can review everything,” Anakin spoke, trying to deescalate the situation. “It’ll be okay, Fives, we’ll sort this out.” Anakin said the words as though nothing major were happening, as if everything was fine.

Fives finally reached his limit, feeling shattered at the lack of understanding.

“You don’t believe me!” he howled.

“Fives,” Rex tried to soothe him, brotherly instinct overwhelming him. “We are listening to you. We only want to help.”

“How do I know you’re not tricking me?” Fives asked rapidly. “How do I know it won’t be a trap?”

You couldn’t stand back and listen any more.

“Fives, please, look at me. You know for a fact that not one of us would lay a finger on you. We all care about you Fives, and we want to hear everything you have to say. I mean it. We’ll listen,” you pleaded with him, pressing one hand up against the ray shield.

Fives shakily stumbled forward, lifting a trembling hand to press it against where yours lay on the other side of the shield. He looked deep into your eyes, the look he gave you making you want to sweep him away and hold him for the rest of your life. You wished more than anything that you could take him away from all of this. Why did it have to be your Fives getting caught up in this mess. If only you could take him to some outer-rim planet where you would never be found, and soothe all of his worries with tender kisses and soft spoken words.

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

“Princess?”

“Yeah, Fives?”

“You ever thought about after the war?”

“What about it?”

You lay secure on Fives’ chest in your bed, resting your eyes as he swept patterns into the skin of your back.

“What you’d like life to be like, I mean. Like, I d’uno, a family maybe?”

Maybe you were just tired, but you were sure you could detect a hint of hopefulness in his words.

“A family, huh? Yeah, I s’pose have. Is that something you’d like?”

“Y-yeah,” Fives felt himself flush. Get it together, trooper. “W-with you, I mean. Maybe a kid or two if you want. We could have a little house out on Naboo. It could be in the countryside. We could go swimming in the waterfalls. I’m sure General Skywalker could set us up with a place. Get- get married maybe?” Fives subtly wiped his sweaty palms on the sheets, hoping you wouldn’t notice how nervous the proposition made him.

“I’d like that.”

He let out a sigh.

“I’d like that a lot.”

If you had secretly been awake when Fives had whispered “gn’a make you my wife,” he didn’t need to find out.

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

Fives gasped, thinking about what would happen if the clones were ordered to take out the Jedi. Even the brief thought of him mindlessly shooting you caused him to jolt back. He began to explain how he thought everything linked back to the Chancellor, how every part of his intuition told him to believe it.

“He’s capable of it, I swear to you, General,” he tried to reason with Anakin, but before he could get another word in the Coruscant Guard leapt out from behind some crates, pointing their blasters at Fives.

Calls of “stand down, trooper” and “get on your knees” rang through the building. You watched in horror as Fives turned his gaze to Rex’s abandoned pistols.

“Fives, no- stop!” you screamed, but it was too late.

He lunged for the pistols, clutching one with a yell of “get away from me!”

Then silence, deafening silence. Your vision turned to slow-motion as Commander Fox fired a shot square into Fives’ chest. You felt a cry escape your throat but never heard it, feeling like you were about to faint.

Fives collapsed, hitting the ground in a position which allowed you to see the large short-range blaster shot staining the pure white duraplast of his armour. Rex beat his hands against the barrier, desperatley trying to break through to hold his brother. The second a member of the Guard shot the shield down you fell to your knees at his side, Rex at your side.

“Fives,” you sobbed, tears flowing freely. You reached over to cup his cheek, bringing his gaze to look at you. Fives was dazed, feeling the life force drain from him as he bled out on the duracrete floor. The blood loss began to make him dizzy, his thoughts no longer focused on the conspiracy, turning to you instead. You were crying. His girl was crying and he wasn’t doing anything about it. He’d always hated seeing you cry.

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

“Hey, Princess, I’m hom- woah, woah, woah-” Fives froze, startled by the image of you curled up in a ball on the floor leaning against your bed while crying your eyes out. He immediately ran over, sliding to his knees by your side. “Hey, what’s the matter?” he cooed, reaching to pull your hands from your eyes. He felt his heart tighten at the sight of your reddened eyes, the tears clinging to your eyelashes. “Oh, shhh,” he soothed, bringing you into his chest as you sobbed wildly. Fives sat and rocked you gently in his arms until your sobs slowed into hiccups and gasps, murmuring sweet nothings tenderly into your ear.

“Feelin’ better?” he spoke softly, punctuating his question with a kiss to your cheek.

“Mmhmm,” you nodded, leaning into his touch as he wiped away your tears.

“That’s my girl. You’re okay, Princess. I’ve got you. I’ll always take care of you I swear. Now, make a promise for me?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to state his promise.

“I need you to promise me that you won’t cry alone ever again. Next time you need to cry, come find me or send me a quick comm and I swear I’ll be right there to hold you. Promise?”

You smiled lovingly, “promise.”

“Thas’ my girl.”

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

“H-hey- hey, don’t you go crying on me now, pretty thing. ‘Cos if you cry I’ll start cryin’, you hear me?”

This only made you weep harder, clutching at his shoulder.

“Fives, no, no- don’t do this. Don’t. You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be fine. I’m here, Rex is here, we’ve got you,” your voice shook heavily as you barely managed to get the words out between choked sobs.

Fives chuckled after a gasp, shooting a beaming smile in your direction.

“C’mon, you’re a clever girl. You and I both know this is the end of the line for me. I’m not gonna be here too much longer, Princess, but you remember that promise you made me, yeah? When I’m gone, you’re not gonna spend your time cryin’ over me. You’re gonna go find a friend, someone you trust, and cry it out with them so they can look after you. Okay?”

You burst into tears again, unable to respond to him.

“I’ll look after her, vod. I swear it, you have my word. We’ll look after eachother,” Rex choked, tears flowing down his face. He reached over and grasped his brother’s hand tightly, squeezing it in reassurance.

Fives smiled, a look of peace overcoming him at the thought of his girl and his brother looking out for eachother when he wasn’t there to do it himself.

“Thas’ good. Mmm. Good.” Fives blinked, finding the idea of sinking into the darkness more and more tempting every second.

“Fives, no, don’t go. Please- I don’t want this to end. I love you, I love you so much Fives, please don’t leave me!”

Fives mustered up all the energy he had left to grin at you, the cheeky grin that showed off his teeth he’d always give you when he’d make fun of you.

“I love you too, Princess. I always will. I’m sorry I have to go, but I promise I’ll see you again some day. Even in another life, I’ll find you. You’ll always be my girl.”

And with that, Fives slipped away, succumbing to the peace that was sinking into his heart. He’d find you again. In another life.

[kindness-ricochets]

Genya tailoring wylan while he explains everything that went down to his older sister and brother zoya and Nikolai

W: ok so he says I’m going to music school right? And I’m like “hmmm sus but on ig” and like it’s all the way in another place so I’m like when I’m there I’ll just

N: book it?

W: EXACTLY book it. BUT YA WANNA KNOW WHAT HE DID. THE CONVIER

Z: tell us

W: HE TRIED TO HAVE ME KILLED

everyone in the room collectively chokeing while wylans still talking

W in a tone much more Jovel and annoyed then should be for discussing attempted murder: AND LIKE, ok I’m a little annyoed by the whole attemped infantacide thing but like, THEY DIDNT EVEN TRY??? LIKE they could shot me, or stabbed me, or punched me or EVEN LIKE IDK boat out to sea and throw me over but nOoOoOo, they try get this. Choking.me.out WE ARENT EVEN FULLY OUT OF THE CANEL YET AND THEYRE NOT EVEN CUTTING OFF MY AIRWAY. Kinda sad how bad they were at that. So I konked em and jumped overboard and - wait why are your guys faces like that

Z,G n N: no reason at all continue

Okay... I am so much better with drama than comedy, so this turned into a drama, but it DOES include the major beats of Wylan telling his Ravkan friends about Jan! I hope you like it :)

Wylan hadn’t been sure he could say it at first. “Miss Genya.” Was that too forward? Would it tip off the others? He had thus far kept his Ravkan connections secret. Kaz would have wanted to leverage that somehow.

He had been close to tears of frustration when Jesper stayed in the room. Wylan wanted to talk to her alone, but Jesper, going halfway mad from his impatience, had stayed so long with him…

When Jesper left to grab a cup of coffee, Genya spoke first.

“Are you all right?”

Wylan nodded. “I wasn’t for a long time, but I made it.”

“When this is over, you can come with us.”

His throat ached to hear it. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go. He wasn’t halfway to tears at the prospect of going to Ravka. He was halfway to tears at the prospect of being wanted.

“But maybe you’d rather stay with that cute boy, hmm?”

Wylan blushed.

“Good, keep blushing. Keep your circulation strong.”

They didn’t get much time to talk before Jesper returned. Wylan wasn’t sure how much the Ravkans would want him revealing about their connection, so he kept himself quiet on the subject and trusted Genya to understand that when he thanked her, he meant for all of it, for fixing him, for having been his friend.

He got his answer not long after.

About how much the Ravkans wanted him to tell.

Jesper and Wylan were on the settee together, enjoying the closeness. The kiss seemed to have spoken some promise of access to one another—nothing too intimate. Just long, clever fingers in Wylan’s hair while he leaned against Jesper.

“Jesper. Wylan.”

At Kaz’s voice, they both turned. Wylan only stood when he realized who was with him.

Nikolai had been a steady presence in Wylan’s life. A mentor, a friend. A brother. He had been someone worth sticking around for. Seeing him there, standing beside Kaz, Wylan wanted to go to him. But Sturmhond had only ever been there to “escort him to Ravka”. They were not publicly friends, and every secret even implied to Dirtyhands…

“Our new friends would like a word, Wylan,” Kaz said.

“Privately,” Sturmhond added.

Wylan took a step toward him before Kaz asked, “Why?”

“Surely you can understand—”

“And you can understand the need for a little oversight.”

“Not from you, Brekker.” Ah, there was the Zoya Nazyalensky he knew and loved!

Nikolai looked to Wylan. “Ignore him,” he said.

So Wylan stepped forward and hugged the privateer. Nikolai had the same impulse. For a moment they held on tight to one another and Wylan had that same soreness in his throat he had felt with Genya.

“Whatever he did to you, you didn’t deserve it.”

Wylan swallowed.

Nikolai had been the closest Wylan had ever seen him to furious when he found out. He offered to keep Wylan in Ravka, but there was no way to do that without starting an international incident. He sent a letter, even, but Jan refused and it wasn’t everyone who would kidnap a Councilman’s kid.

Telling Nikolai seemed… possible, but Wylan glanced at Kaz. And at Jesper.

“Um… since when are you friends with pirates?” Jesper asked.

“Privateer,” Wylan and Nikolai said.

Wylan looked between Jesper and Kaz. They both had questions—albeit very different ones.

“Jan sent men to kill me,” Wylan said.

“What?” asked Jesper.

Zoya said something Wylan was pretty sure was a Ravkan swear. They had all made a game of not teaching him the naughty words, so he could only guess.

Kaz looked intrigued.

Nikolai gripped Wylan’s shoulder tightly.

Wylan shook his head. Somehow remembering that day on the browboat made his throat hurt. “I was sloppy. They shouldn’t’ve been able to get me. I remembered that move Tolya taught me, but—I’m fine! Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason at all,” Zoya said.

Jesper was stroking his revolvers, a gleam in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Wylan insisted. He was! He just wished that ache in his throat would ease. “I’m fine! Anyway it was six months ago!”

“He knew you had a place in Os Alta,” Nikolai said.

Somehow that stung the worst, because it was true. Jan didn’t have to kill Wylan. He had shut him out of the business years ago, so there were no secrets to spill, no treason to commit. Just last summer Nikolai had offered to keep Wylan there, made clear he was welcome, Jan could have… but he wanted to…

Wylan took a deep breath. His eyes were prickling like he might start crying again, in front of all these people!

To make it worse, in the split second Wylan had that realization, someone else had come into the room.

“Wylan has a place in Os Alta?” Nina asked. Matthias, beside her, looked grimmer than usual. “You mean his family owns property there?”

“The King has a soft spot for lost princes,” Zoya said. “And redheads.”

“You know King Nikolai?”

“Of course she does, I’m sure the whole Triumvirate knows him!” Jesper said, and Wylan wanted to kiss him again for redirecting the conversation when it was all getting to be a bit much. Kaz was watching him closely. Nina was staring. Zoya and Nikolai were both dealing with what Wylan had told them and he felt foolish for having done so now. Maybe all he had wanted was for them to say it was okay he wasn’t able to use the skills he learned sailing when Tolya tried teaching him to fight.

“I meant Wylan,” Nina retorted. She turned her attention to him once more.

“I visited him in Os Alta a few times,” Wylan said. He left out the time Nikolai, then a student at the university, had come to visit him in Ketterdam.

“This would have been useful to know earlier, Wylan,” Kaz said.

Which was a good reason not to tell him!

“Wait a minute,” Jesper realized, “we actually could have ransomed you! Hey! Kaz’s plan almost worked!”

“Almost,” Wylan repeated, deeply dubious. Kaz had never tried to ransom him to Nikolai. “N—um, not that I’m recommending ransoming me. Um, I… the thing is… it’s my mother. She was—my father had her locked away and I—if I could…”

“King Nikolai will doubtless do all he can to assist you,” said King Nikolai, despite everything clearly amused at speaking in third person. “And your mother. As any good king would. Exceptional, even! But I must insist on a private word.”

This time even Kaz didn’t object. Wylan felt a twinge of guilt leaving Jesper and cast him a look he hoped communicated an intention to tell him everything later. He followed Nikolai into the next room, anyway. Although Nikolai had never shown him any frustration or disapproval, Wylan still worried. What if this was it? What if he had reached his limit?

Nikolai was not at his limit.

Instead, he said, “It’ll be all right, Wylan.”

“You’ll help us?” Wylan asked. “Me and my friends.”

He nodded. That was already the deal, Wylan supposed, but he still appreciated hearing it from Nikolai instead of having to trust it from Kaz.

“Is there anything you didn’t want to tell me in front of the others?” Nikolai asked.

“No.” The ache in his throat was back. Wylan swallowed. He blinked rapidly, but his eyes wouldn’t listen. “He tried to kill me…”

Nikolai squeezed Wylan’s shoulder.

“Brekker is a… unique sort, but I doubt there’s anything he can’t think his way out of. Between the two of us, we can tweak this plan if necessary. You shouldn’t have to see him.”

“Thank you,” Wylan said, “but I can take it. You don’t have to protect me.”

“I never protected you because you needed protecting, I did it because I wanted to keep you around. It helps that you look at me like I can do anything. See, that’s the one!”

Wylan found himself smiling despite it all.

“And Jesper is in love with you. You don’t always pick up on these things, but it’s very important you know this time.”

“We…” Wylan looked away, blushing. “I kissed him.”

“Well done, Wylan!”

“Whatever happens next, I’m glad I got to see you again, Nikolai.”

[fanfoolishness]

Finding the Way (The Mandalorian)

(Cara Dune & Din Djarin.  After the events of The Rescue, Din Djarin could use a friend.  Cara Dune doesn’t know what it means to be a Mandalorian, but some things are universal.  Friendship, angst, alcohol, religious questioning.  ~2400 words.)

***

She found Din Djarin alone, after the Jedi left with the child.

Cara wasn’t sure exactly when he’d slipped away from the bridge; there’d been a lot happening.  Bo-Katan and Kosca had been deep in conversation about their next destination, Fennec was pinging Boba to set up a rendezvous, and she’d busied herself with gagging the unconscious Moff and stowing him away in a corner with extra restraints.  The bastard had a lot to answer for.

In all that, though, she hadn’t wanted to look at the Mandalorian without his helmet.  It had felt too private, too close, to watch his goodbye with the kid.  Once the Jedi left, it seemed he’d taken advantage of her inattention.  

Without a ship, though, he hadn’t gone far.  He’d only been missing for fifteen minutes or so when she realized and started searching for him on the security console.  She gave a hasty request for the others to watch the Moff -- not as if Bo-Katan would let him try anything else -- and took the lift downstairs.  

She found him the next floor down from the bridge, inside the officers’ mess.  The half-opened door was scored with blaster fire; likely Din’s work when the doors wouldn’t open for him.  She peered in through the half-opened door, glancing away when she saw his mussed brown hair, a glimpse of his face.  She still wasn’t used to it, and still wasn’t sure if it was okay for her to see him like this.

“It’s me,” she called, rapping on the door with her knuckles.  Surprising a Mandalorian was a surefire way to an early grave.  “Can I come in?”

His voice sounded strange without the mechanical filter.  Human.  Almost small.  “Do what you want.”

That was encouraging, at least.  He wasn’t kicking her out entirely.  

She entered the room, rolling her eyes at Imperial waste.  Real wood paneling lined the walls, and instead of the spartan standard issue bench tables in the rank-and-file’s mess, individual tables with sleek surfaces and cushioned chairs dotted the room.  Gideon himself must have taken meals here.  

Din sat at the bar at the back of the room.  There was a half-drunk cup of liquor beside him, his helmet resting next to it, its visor turned away from him. 

“So… you okay?” Cara hazarded, taking the seat beside him.  It looked like he’d made a decent dent in a slim bottle of aged Corellian whiskey. Only the best for the officers, of course.  This stuff went for big credits in the Core, enough so that she’d never tasted it herself.

“I’m fine.”  He didn’t look at her.  He just stared straight ahead at the wall, brown eyes fixed on nothing in particular.  From the corner of her eye she could see the color of his face seemed off, red and blotchy in places.  Hell.  He’d been crying.

Her stomach twisted.  “Look… I’m sorry about the kid.  I know that had to be hard.”

He was silent for a moment.  When he spoke again, his voice was strained.  “Grogu.”

“Sorry?”

“I found another Jedi a few weeks back.  She said she couldn’t train him, but she was able to talk to him, mind to mind.  He told her about his life before I found him.  His name is Grogu.”

“Huh.  Grogu.” She chuckled.  “It’s cute.  Suits him.”

A slight dip of his head, angled toward her.  He was very still.  She could see a muscle in his cheek twitching. 

Blast.  She was no good at this crap.  She fished around for something to say, something that could help.  Maybe she could get him to talk; listening might be easier.  “You’re sure you’re fine?  Because you don’t look fine.” 

“I needed to help him find a Jedi,” Din said hoarsely.  “I did what I was tasked to do.  This is the W—“

But he cut himself off, turning his face away from her. His whole head moved to the side to shift his gaze, remnants of long years wearing a helmet.  Every martial style had its tells, and she could see the differences between the ways Bo-Katan and Koska moved, and how the man beside her moved and battled.  He was different from them, in fundamental ways, but she wasn’t sure why they could remove their helmets and he couldn’t.  Until he did.

Cara shook her head.  Think of something helpful.  You can do this.  “He’s gonna be okay, you know,” she said suddenly.  “I know who that was.  We droppers heard rumors during the war that a powerful Jedi took out the Emperor on Endor.  It has to be him.  Skywalker.  What other Jedi would fly in here in an X-Wing?”

“Good,” said Din.  He still wouldn’t look at her.  “So the Imps will never take him again.”

“I’d like to see them try.  I never knew a Jedi could do that,” said Cara.  She’d heard stories, of course, but stories were one thing.  Proof was another.  “I’m just glad he was on our side.”

Din turned back to facing forward, jaw tensed.  He nodded, a tight gesture that somehow seemed too broad for him.  Without the helmet, it was disconcerting to see emotions popping up on his face, vanishing as quickly as they came -- sorrow, pain, shame.  It almost would have been funny if it wasn’t so hard to look at.  Live your life in a helmet, guess you never have to learn to control your face.

She took a guess at the emotion that flicked past, marked in the set of his eyes, the downturned lines at his mouth.  “I’m sure you’ll see him again.”

“Maybe,” he said, and his gloved hands clenched on the table surface.  He reached out and took a drink.

“I didn’t know you drank,” she said.

“I don’t.”  His throat worked as he swallowed and drained the glass.

Oh.  “Right.”  

She reached out and took the bottle from him, pulling back a long slug on it.  It burned, clean and fierce, but it was strong stuff.  No wonder it sold for the price it did; she was surprised he wasn’t slurring already.  “Be careful with this stuff, then.  It’s not for lightweights.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, then lapsed again into quiet.

Like talking to a durasteel wall, she thought.  “Look, I wanted to make sure you were okay.  That was rough up there.  I just -- if you want to talk about it, or something, I can listen.”  She leaned back in her chair, taking another drink of whiskey.  It seared.  “That’s all I’m trying to say.”

He turned toward her, canting his whole head instead of just moving his eyes.  There it was again, the tell that he’d lived in his helmet for a long, long time.  He took a deep breath, but he still couldn’t make eye contact with her.

“I know he has to do this.  I can’t teach him, not the way he needs.  I have -- I had to let him go,” he said.  The words sounded well-practiced, like he’d said them many times before.  

“I know,” she said.  “I’m so sorry.”  She tried a small smile, though her eyes watered suddenly.  “He -- Grogu -- he was crazy about you, you know?”

A slight shrug, shoulders scarcely moving.

“Well, he was.  Looked up to you like anything.  You guys have a bond.” 

“I did what I could for him,” said Din, closing his eyes.  “I hope it’s enough.”

“It is,” said Cara fiercely.  “You loved him, man.  No kid could ask for more than that.”

He was silent, and when he opened his eyes again, she could see that they were damp.

She swallowed, took another drink, unsure of what to say.  The quiet filled the space around them, a weighty, crushing thing.

Eventually she forced herself to speak again, casting around for something to say.  “So….  They’re making arrangements upstairs.  We’ll be rendezvousing with Fett soon, but you’re always welcome on Nevarro, too. Greef was heartbroken when I told him the Imps had the kid again, so I know he’d want to help you now.  Have you thought about where you want to go?”

“I don’t know.”  He turned away again, shoulders squaring beneath his armor.

“Well, if you don’t want to stay planetside for a while, it sounds like those other Mandalorians want your help. Honestly, if anyone could take back Mandalore, I’d put even credits on them. And on you.  Dank farrik, you even have that sword now.”

“I don’t want it,” he bit out.

“Yeah, I heard.  But you have it.  May as well use it, right?  Why give up a tactical advantage?” asked Cara.   “Sounds like it belongs in the hands of a Mandalorian anyway.”

“All the more reason for me not to wield it,” said Din, and there was something sour, something wrong, in the way his face twisted.

She stared at him, raising her eyebrows.  “What?  Wait. Are you saying —“

“I broke the Creed.  I showed my face,” he said, his voice cracking.  “I had a choice, and this is what I chose.  I am no longer worthy of my beskar.”

Cara tried wrapping her mind around it, remembered dragging him in from the battlefield, his blood hot and slick on her hand, the panic in his voice when she tried to remove his helmet to save his life.  “You chose to show your face to your child who needed you.  You did the right thing for you both.”  It didn’t make sense to her.  “I thought your people wanted to help foundlings.  Well, you helped him!”

“It is forbidden,” he forced out.

“You’re still a Mandalorian—”

Anger, grief, pain, rapid-fire flashes in his eyes and face, every muscle tensing for battle.  “You have never sworn the Creed.  You know nothing about it!”  

She bristled, fighting the urge to say something harsh, or worse, throw a punch at him to knock the sense back into him.  Beside her he was breathing harder, chest visibly rising and falling rapidly.  She bit her lip.  

“Okay, okay, maybe I don’t know what it’s like to be a Mandalorian,” Cara admitted sharply, lifting her hands to calm him.  “But I do know what it’s like to turn away from something you spent your whole life believing.  Alderaan had no army, remember?”

He breathed a little slower.  The flush of red in his face receded.  “You never told me why you became a soldier.  I assumed, after what happened --”

Her mouth twisted.  “Close, but not exactly.  I started seeing what my people couldn’t, before it happened.  The Empire was rising and people were dying.  Diplomacy stopped working a long time ago.  When I told my family I had to fight, even if that meant killing, they turned their backs on me.”

“They were blind,” said Din.  “The Imps weren’t going to stop expanding with peaceful protest.”

“Maybe,” she said.  This was the hard part.  The part that had taken her years to understand, that she was still trying to figure out.  “I think now… we wanted the same thing.  We just saw different paths to peace.  They thought pacifism was the way.  I saw the Empire killing people, terrorizing them, and that wasn’t peace.  I had to fight for peace to even begin to exist.”  She wiped her cheek, fingertips brushing over the tattooed Tear.  “So I was offworld, trying to become a new recruit, when the Empire showed Alderaan what they thought about peaceful resistance.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gave him a tight, painful smile.  “But the thing is, Mando, I’m still Alderaanian.  No one can take that away from me but me.  Not the Empire, not my family, not the royal house of Alderaan.  Even if my family didn’t understand why I did what I did, I knew I was fighting to bring peace.  That’s what makes me Alderaanian.”  No matter what.

He gazed at the beskar helmet, shining beneath the overhead lights.  Its black visor was an empty void, disconnected from its bearer.

She let out a bark of a laugh, blinking away tears.  “I don’t know, man.  It’s your life.  Your Way.  But if your Way won’t let you show your face to your own kid when he needs you, maybe some of those rules should change.  If you still feel like a Mandalorian, I think that’s what makes you one, and not what anybody else says.”

He closed his eyes, hanging his head slightly.  He shifted in his seat with a small clink, one armored arm now resting against his helmet.  “I don’t know what I am now.”

Cara took another drink from the bottle, finishing the last of the whiskey.  “We’ve got two women up there who’d kill you in a heartbeat if you said they weren’t Mandalorian, and they show their faces clear as day.”  She shrugged.  “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk to them about some of this stuff.  You could put it together with the old Way and make something new, something that feels right.  But for what it’s worth, Mando… you’ll always be a Mandalorian in my eyes.”  She clapped a hand over his shoulder, the beskar cool beneath her palm.

“It’s not --”  He struggled, mouth thinning, before he let out a long breath.  “That’s very kind,” he said slowly. He turned his head to look at her at last, searching her face.  He looked strangely vulnerable like this, far more so than he had dying in the dust of Nevarro. 

She nodded, attempting to smile, her mouth not quite getting there.  “Well, it’s true.”  

His face shifted into uncertainty.  “Perhaps the Way of the Mandalore is not… the only way to be a Mandalorian.”  He looked down at his helmet and swallowed.  “I’ll speak with the others, at least.”

“It’ll take time,” Cara said softly.  “You don’t have to figure it out right away.  Just… maybe hang on to your armor for a while, that’s all.”

He was quiet.  “Thank you.  Truly.”

“Sure,” Cara said, nudging him with her shoulder and giving him a quick smile.  “Any time.  After all, what are friends for?”    She leaned over the counter, pulling down another bottle of Corellian whiskey and grabbing an empty glass.  “What do you say to a toast?”

A dry chuckle.  “Sure.  You’ll have to tell me if I’m doing it right.  I’ve never done this before.”

“I think you’ll get the idea.”  She poured them each a glass, and raised hers high until it caught the light.  “To Grogu.”

The edges of his mouth turned up, just slightly.  Just enough.  He raised his glass to clink to hers, his brown eyes bright, his voice warm.  “To Grogu.”  

The whiskey burned in her throat, clean and pure.  To finding the Way.

[tundrainafrica]

So, it took months for me to finally let go of my anger & disappointment towards Yams for writing ch132. But then recently I found this tweet https://twitter.com/helmn9R/status/1315427848467947520?s=19 and suddenly it all came back to me. Nevermind the backstory, her character development is alr strong enough w/o it. But she had so MANY unresolved story with Eren, Flegel, most importantly, herself (read the tweet for more explanation). What a waste of character for her death being so pointless that it didn't give any improvement to the plot at all, neither to any other characters development. We all know, Armin would still be Armin in recent chapter with or without her death. So WHAT'S THE POINT ACTUALLY? ;-; I'm sorry for ranting:(

Okay, I really agree with you here. There are times I find myself realizing that I will never be completely satisfied with Hange’s death. Yams can pull off the most mind blowing ending to AOT and I will still have this hole in my heart left by her  death. And I’ll be writing Levihan fanfiction and metas for an incredibly long time because Hange is really an underappreciated character in this fandom and Yams just gave her the most beautiful yet most unsatisfying and unnecessary death. 

That is… if you look at it in the grand scheme of things. 

I feel like if we meta Hange’s personality a bit and follow the story from Hange’s POV and put her character as a focus we could actually paint the story as a good tragedy for her character and somehow we could put meaning into her death. 

Although Hange had started off a little wide eyed and naive, we can all agree that Erwin, Moblit and the death of the whole survey corps did a number on her psyche. Even before she could completely process their death, Hange was placed in one of the highest and most important positions in the government and suddenly she has to deal with the opening up of Paradis, diplomacy issues and the rapid progression of technology. 

As the commander of the survey corps which brought all these hopes and possibilities in, which also brought the threat of a war from an external force in, Hange had responsibilities much larger than Erwin ever had. I think given the fact that she started her position in such an inopportune time, and she got placed into a position so unfamiliar even for her, she would be incredibly uncertain. I mean who could have been prepared for what lay outside the walls really? Hange may have been a genius but her experiences were limited to the simple life that lay within the walls. I think her being dropped into that type of position from a medieval setting to a 1940s world war 2 setting would be a lot even for a genius like her to handle. 

And that uncertainty and the stress of just everything changing and having to take the reins would have eventually lead to some self esteem issues on her end. And mind you, even before they opened up paradis, Hange had self esteem issues with becoming the commander. One hint of this is in the scene in season 3 where Levi and Hange had a meeting with the reporters and Hange was still reeling from her sudden rise to power and suddenly, Levi (who usually never talks) had to be the one to face the reporters because Hange, (for the first time) had nothing much to say. 

And what if she never really completely recovered from that?

Imagine what happened after with everyone just coming in, technology rapidly progressing and Hange having to quickly adjust her plans and her way of thinking with the endless developments she has to address. And here’s another thing which can completely trample Hange’s self esteem. She is the leader of the country stuck in the medieval ages. She is literally the least up to speed among all the other diplomats and representatives of other countries and a war is brewing and she had to deal with that too. 

And things just take a turn for a worse when they attack Liberio and when Eren, the person who she believed to be the hope of humanity, the young boy she had somehow raised herself decides to betray them.  I mean they will have their scenes in season 4 when she references their conversations and how he used to listen to her until dawn years ago. Dam that scene where Eren grabs her by the collar of her shirt is just so dam heartbreaking.

Then all the soldiers under Hange, who she was tasked to lead suddenly turn against her. And before she knows it the rumbling starts and the world is about to be completely destroyed. 

Of course Hange would manage to twist it to her own fault. If we look at everything at face value and think ‘who the hell was in charge? How the hell did this happen to the survey corps? Who was supposed to look out for Eren?’ Anyone would blame the person with direct responsibility over that. The one who was supposed to be leading the survey corps and the development of Paradis, Hange. 

So it is not too outrageous to think Hange would have blamed herself for everything there and her shitty self esteem is obviously feeding into that too.

 I mean she never had the confidence to begin with. She never had the time to adjust to her new position and she could easily rationalize every loss to her own ‘lack of capability’ as a commander. 

And what does Hange decide to do with the weight of all those mistakes on her back. She decides to scramble for a way to atone for them in whatever way she can. She wanted to sacrifice herself. She wanted to give her life for them. 

In the grand scheme of things, yes her death was pointless but when I watched the build up of her psyche and the battering of her character, I couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t a horrible way to go out. 

It was unnecessary. It was pointless and it was unsatisfying. 

But god, the build up and just the analysis of her storyline all the way to that point made it so depressing. Made it so heart wrenching to analyze the desperation which had pushed her to the point of thinking…

“I’m useless. I’m stupid. I’m careless. It’s every bad decision I made that pushed Eren to betray us. For two separate factions of the survey corps to be created. Erwin would have done a better job.” 

And the cumulation of those thoughts and the trampling of every bit of her self esteem probably led her to think. I may be commander but I’d probably be the most useless one on the field. I’ll try to be as useful as I can, even if I die in the end. 

And that’s why when they were desperately looking for a way out, Hange obviously volunteers herself. After all she’s been through, after seeing her psyche and self esteem break one by one, I don’t think Hange would have been the type to volunteer anyone else. Her guilt and her self loathing wouldn’t have allowed her too. She probably genuinely believed Armin and Jean would have done a better job leading than she could, I mean she’s probably still reeling from the fact that she couldn’t keep the survey corps in one piece as their commander and she was probably thinking “Erwin would have kept it in one piece” 

So I think somehow there was build up to her death character wise and the build up was beautifully tragic. 

I wouldn’t say it was a masterpiece though because honestly Yams, could have just have avoided a situation with Hange dying. But I can’t help but think, Yams has been giving pretty sad ends to a lot of his characters and AOT has been pretty dark and a lot of deaths turned out to have been pointless anyway. 

I mean how many people have died for Eren only for him to turn into the asshole of the century? 

Hange died selflessly, she died for what she believed was right and at her last moment, she couldn’t send anyone else to die in her stead and I think this very much aligns with her character. 

Really, I probably would have lost a lot of respect for Hange if she left Connie behind instead or something. The only other person I think I would have found reasonable seeing there sacrificing their life would have been Levi. Hange and Levi would not have let anyone else go. It’s just not in their character. The 140 cadets are all their babies after all.

Thanks for asking this though. Really interesting question.

I actually wrote a fic recently analyzing Hange’s psyche towards the end of the story which I’m linking here for anyone who’s interested. 

[onecanonlife]

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

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

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

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

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

Chapter Word Count: 7,499

Chapter Warnings: swearing, smoking mention, implied s.uicidal ideation, mentioned past s.uicide (c!Wilbur)

Chapter Summary: Technoblade arrives, finally putting all four of SBI in the same place at the same time. There’s too much bad blood for things to run smoothly.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

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

Chapter Ten: midnight wire

It’s a waiting game, from there.

Because Sam says that they’re likely to only have one shot at this, and Puffy seems inclined to agree with him, and they need to gather allies and make preparations and be as sure as they can be that all of them will come out the other end intact, which, when dealing with a giant egg that can mind control people, is never as certain as it sounds. So it’s a waiting game, and Wilbur finds that Puffy and Sam are spearheading everything, and he is left mostly out of the loop.

Were things different, he might protest. But he is a long way from his general days, and he’s not sure he has that in him anymore. Not sure he’s capable of that kind of leadership. Not sure he would deserve such a position, even if he could successfully execute it.

And then there’s the fact that Phil’s around, and everyone’s tiptoeing around everyone else, and Tommy is expressing his displeasure in glares and Tubbo makes himself scarce whenever Phil is in the vicinity, and Phil himself barely seems to know how to make any overtures, so they’re all at a standstill, an uneasy equilibrium that seems wont to fall apart at any minute. They are allies of necessity, of circumstance, but if it weren’t for their common enemy, they would be scattering to the winds.

He knew, of course. He knew that somewhere between countries forming and countries falling, between exiles and alliances and betrayals and destruction, that they had all come undone at the seams. But it is one thing to know it and quite another to be confronted with it, to be confronted with sons who no longer trust in their father and a father who does not know how to speak to his sons, and they all believe that they are right and the others are wrong, and there is truth in everyone’s perspective but that hardly matters if no one is willing to make the effort to understand.

So, here he is. On top of Tommy’s house, just sitting. Listening to what crows remain—there are fewer, now, but still plenty—and concentrating on the breeze in his hair, the fresh scent of the grass. Little things, things to ground him, things that will continue to exist whether he has a functional family or not,

(whether he is here or not, and he should not be left alone to his devices at the moment, perhaps, but he does not want company, because company means Tommy’s sullenness or Tubbo’s avoidance or Phil’s pained floundering, and he can’t, he can’t put up with it, and he’s not going to make them put up with him)

(though that’s not fair, it’s not fair and he knows it’s not, because they’re worried about him, they are, and all the preparations and rushing about that everyone seems to be doing doesn’t mean that Tommy hasn’t stopped trying to talk to him about it, awkward and so very sincere, or that Phil is not shooting him worried glances when he thinks he’s not looking)

and he wishes he had a cigarette. It’s a terrible vice, but there was comfort to be found in the smell of it, back then, in the curl of the smoke in the air and in his lungs. It was something he had control over. Something to prove he was alive. Something to seek refuge in.

But he has no cigarettes, and he knows that if he tries to go to find some, people will start being concerned over him, more than usual, and he’s tired of people treating him like he’s made of glass, like he’ll break if he hits the ground too hard or like he’ll break himself if he’s allowed to be alone for too long. Even now, he probably doesn’t have too long before someone seeks him out. He’d better enjoy the peace while it lasts.

(he’s still not being fair but it has been a bit longer, now, since his revival, and perhaps this bitterness has always been present, under the guilt and the grief and the determination to never unleash that side of himself again, perhaps it was there but masked, but whether it was or not, it is here now, and he has no idea whether he has the right to be angry but he is, he is, he is)

He has no cigarettes, and going through his inventory reveals nothing of note. He has the weapons that Tubbo gave him, though the longer he has possession of them, the more he dislikes them. He is more than capable of holding his own in a fight, but it is never his first choice, and the feel of the sword against the palm of his hand has begun to sicken him.

(or perhaps not the sword itself, but what he could do with it, the way he could paint the air with blood rather than words, because his words have gone dry and stale and he’s not sure he will ever recover them)

(you could defend yourself but you don’t like that much either you always liked a crossbow because if you failed to kill your enemy if your enemy reached you armorless as you were and your flesh ready for the blade’s bite it was over it was all over and that’s what you wanted and it is luck that you survived as long as you did survived to ruin it all and perhaps they would all have been better off for it if you were a little worse at aiming)

He doesn’t have any blocks. No building materials, nothing crafted. No one seems keen on giving him anything to do. He could take the initiative himself, but that invites the same problem as trying to go off on his own. People worrying, fretting, Tommy telling him not to stress himself out and Puffy telling him that they’ve got a good handle on things.

He’s still got those cornflowers. He pulls them out, turning them over in his hands, and experimentally crushes one. It takes so little effort to turn flowers into dye, and the petals stain his fingers and palm, streaks of blue standing out starkly against skin that is, perhaps, paler than it should be.

Blue. He likes the color. He crushes another flower. Breathes. Tries to just be for a little while. He never used to have much of an affinity for the color before,

(and there is a part of him that wants soft blue wool under his hands, warmth and safety and love unconditional and a friend that does not leave him, does not judge him, does not expect him to be anything other than what he is, but he pushes that part of himself down to suffocate because there is no time for that)

but some things linger, he supposes, even when he would rather they not. A liking for blue is not the worst thing rattling around in his brain.

A crow settles right next to him. He blinks, frowns, stares at it. It stares right back, almost accusatory.

He doesn’t remember Phil’s flock being so annoying in the past. But then, perhaps that’s just another thing he has to get used to. More irritating birds, and more of them in general.

He sighs. “I can’t say that I’m in the mood right now, Phil,” he says.

“Oh, my mistake. I’ll be sure to let Phil know.” A low drawl, almost monotone, coming from directly behind him, and he jerks, twisting around, and it is not Phil at all. The bird lets out a caw that sounds distinctly smug, and then flaps its wings rapidly and takes off, but he’s hardly paying attention, because of all the people to come looking for him up here, he didn’t anticipate Technoblade.

“When did you get here?” he asks, too surprised to say anything else.

Techno snorts. He is decked out in blue rather than red, and Wilbur is struck by the resemblance to earlier days, different times, another server entirely. That was his first brush with war, but it had all been in good fun, then, and when they’d had enough, they’d walked away. There is no walking away now, and there is something in Technoblade’s stance that says he is well aware of it; there is a harshness to him now that has never been there before, even with all of the voices and all of the blood and the way he has been called to violence every day of his life.

Was he like that, in the tundra, those first hours after Wilbur returned? He remembers thinking he looked tired. He’s not sure that he would have noticed anything else, then.

“As far as anyone else knows, I’m not yet,” Techno says. “Thanks for the welcome.”

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean—I was surprised. I wasn’t expecting to see you, is all.”

“Phil called,” Techno offers, as if that explains everything. Perhaps it does. But then, there is a sardonic twist to his lips, a discontent in his eyes. “Said somethin’ about an egg cult and makin’ omelets.” He shrugs. “If you’ve dragged Phil into this, might as well have me too.”

“I didn’t drag Phil into anything,” he says. “He showed up on his own. He didn’t have to.”

“And what did you expect?” Techno asks. “That he’d just sit down and take radio silence from you? After everything?”

Anger flares, white-hot. Irrational, maybe, that this should be what does it, but the dam that holds him back is strewn with rotting planks.

“He seems to be just fine taking radio silence from Tommy,” he snaps. “Why not me too? Why not me, after everything? After everything, what do you even mean, after everything? Do you mean after the two of you worked with Dream to destroy L’Manberg? Do you mean after you basically disowned Tommy for the high crime of standing by his best friend? Tell me what you mean, Techno, because honestly, I don’t think that Phil or you has the right to demand anything from me or Tommy.”

“I was talkin’ about how you used Phil to commit assisted suicide five minutes after he set foot in the server,” Techno replies evenly, “but sure, Wilbur, let’s get into it.” And to Wilbur’s consternation, he gathers his cape around himself and sits to his side, about a meter away. “I wasn’t going to talk about Tommy, but you want to talk about Tommy? Fine, let’s talk about Tommy. I have a whole list.”

“You have a—what?”

“I’m sick of bein’ used, Wilbur,” Technoblade says, and his voice is still even, still cool, still lacking even a trace of anger, and perhaps that is the scariest part. “That’s all you and Tommy ever seem to do, these days, is use me. I don’t know how many times I have to say that I’m not a weapon before people start to get it, but it hasn’t worked yet. I have to admit, I’m tired of tryin’.” He fixes him with a stare. Wilbur feels rooted to the spot. “So let’s talk about Tommy, Wilbur. Do I regret not bein’ there for him before? Sure. But I tried when I could, and he threw that away. And I wouldn’t have minded if he’d sided against me from the start. But I laid it all out in front of him, and he chose to join me, and then he chose to betray me. That’s a choice that he made.”

“You were destroying something that mattered to him!” he exclaims. “You were hurting his friends! What did you expect him to do?”

“I expected him not to turn on me. Again. That’s all you and he have done since you came to this server. You bring me in to deal with your messes, and then you get all shocked and outraged when I do what I said I was going to do the whole time.” He shakes his head. He’s still not angry. He’s still not angry, though from his words, he definitely should be. But instead, there is resignation. Perhaps some acerbity. But not anger. “I wasn’t going to get into this. I didn’t want to get into this. But I’m not here for you, Wilbur. I’m here because Phil asked me, and that’s all. I’ll help with your omelet, but that’s all. I’m finished. I tried to be finished a long time ago, but you all kept dragging me back in.”

“Does it not matter to you, then?” he asks. “Any of what came before? Any of the old days?”

Techno raises an eyebrow. “‘Course it does,” he says frankly. “Let me ask you something, Wilbur, when exactly did you stop seeing me as a person with feelings?”

It’s clear that he’s not expecting an answer. And still: that pervasive resignation. Wilbur feels his animosity draining away, replaced by numbness.

(this is on him, isn’t it? he brought Techno here, he recruited him into the first war, he promised him anarchy when he had no intention of delivering, he provoked the first rift, it was all him, him, him, and the worst part of all of it is that he cannot deny any of what Technoblade is saying)

(because they all have their truths, and the problem lies in the refusal to understand. wasn’t he just thinking about this?)

“That’s where I stand, then,” Techno says, turning his head away to face forward, toward the rest of the SMP. There are blood vines visible from this vantage, if you squint just enough. “I thought you should know.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t want to fight.”

“Neither did I,” Techno says. “But sayin’ ‘I didn’t want to’ never seems to accomplish much of anything.”

Wilbur doesn’t have anything to say to that. He flexes his fingers, stares down at his hands, still covered in blue. Blue, blue, blue. If he were Ghostbur, he would smile and chirp something untactful and naive, and perhaps it would not make Technoblade happy, but it would take away the resignation, at least, would distract him from—would distract him from what? The way he seems to expect his family members to treat him as a tool for their own ends? There is no distracting from that. And as much as Wilbur would like to deny it, he cannot say that Technoblade is wrong,

(a history: he and his brother sparring on the grass, he and his brother tormenting Tommy, he and his brother on opposite sides of a grand war, but having so much fun with it, every clash underlain by quick-flash smiles and inside jokes and the knowledge that despite it all, they are still there for each other)

(a different history: summoning the Blade to fight in their war, digging the Blade a pit to fight Tommy in, stringing the Blade along with promises of anarchy, of a tyrant toppled, knowing full well that the Blade will not like the end result, knowing full well that he intends to betray everyone in the end, knowing full well, knowing full well, knowing full well that he will not have to deal with any of the consequences at all because he intends to end his own story without regard for the people still living in it)

“I am sorry,” he says, and this time, he means something entirely different. “For what it’s worth.”

Technoblade sighs. “I am too,” he says. “For what it’s worth. Not for all of it. I’d do a lot of it again. But for the things that are worth bein’ sorry for?” He looks to the sky. Wilbur wonders if he’s counting the crows, as he has taken to doing himself. “I’ve got plenty of regrets. Don’t mistake me there.” He sighs again. “Maybe there’s somethin’ to be worked out, yet. But nobody’s ready for that. I’m not ready for that. I would be astounded if Tommy was ready for that. You don’t seem all that ready for that. So how about we make an omelet and save the rest for later?”

It’s not what he wants. But perhaps it’s not what Technoblade wants, either, and perhaps that is a good sign.

Prime, what a mess they all are.

“Alright,” he says. “Omelet.” And as if summoned by his words, he spots a figure coming down the path toward Tommy’s house. Or, wait—two figures. One is easily distinguishable as Puffy, but he’s not sure about the other, not from this distance. They have dark hair, and they’re wearing a lot of white, and—is that a headband?

Wait.

“Is that Sapnap?” Techno asks doubtfully.

“What the fuck,” he says.

Puffy better have a damn good reason for this.

----------

The reason is, apparently, this: Sapnap stands before all of them and says, with fire in his eyes and white-knuckled fists, that be barely recognizes the man that Bad has turned into, that the Egg has made him become. That he’s been busy at home, with his fiances—and how interesting it is, to learn that Sapnap and Karl, of all people, are Quackity’s fiances—and that he didn’t see a good opportunity to do anything about it before now, but if they’re taking the fight to the Egg, he wants in.

“The Bad I know would never have pulled any of this bullshit,” he declares. “He basically raised me. I know him better than to think this is him. So yeah, mark me down for whatever you’ve got planned.”

And isn’t that achingly familiar.? Except for Sapnap, the positions are reversed: he is the son trying to talk sense into the father, trying to save him, rather than the other way around. He conspicuously does not make eye contact with Phil, who is standing off to the side, Ranboo hovering near him—did he arrive with Techno?—hunched over and looking like he’d really rather be anywhere else.

They’re gathered on the Prime Path outside of Tommy’s house once again. It’s become a de facto meeting place, of sorts, which is strange to him. Tommy himself has always been central to events on the server, but his little dirt hut? Wilbur has never spent so much time here before, and he doesn’t think anyone else has, either. Regardless, they’re all here, Puffy next to Sapnap and Sam come down from the prison, Phil and Ranboo, Tommy and Tubbo both very obviously glaring at Technoblade, who has taken up most everyone’s attention by his sudden arrival. He doesn’t think Sapnap has spotted him yet, lurking around the edges of the conversation as he is, but if Sapnap’s going to be here, he might as well get this over with.

“And we should trust you why?” he asks, stepping forward smoothly, in the way he knows makes his coat flare out just so. If no one else is going to ask, he will.

(it’s not paranoia if it’s common sense, it’s not, he’s being careful, he’s watching himself, it’s easy to trip but he hasn’t yet)

Sapnap jerks, all the color draining from his face as he turns. His eyebrows furrow, his lips parting, and Wilbur can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to make sense of what he’s seeing, tries to make sense of a dead man walking.

“Holy shit,” he says. “You’re—”

Something settles. Old patterns emerge. Here is someone he doesn’t have to watch himself with. Perhaps not an enemy, not anymore, but no friend, no one he cares to keep close.

(he fought by Sapnap’s side once but that was a thin alliance and he was hardly concerned with just who had flocked to his banner, not anymore, not when he’d already made the decision to betray them all, to light the fuse no matter what)

“Yes, yes,” he says, airily waving a hand. “Hello, I’m alive, back by unpopular demand, all of that. I need a guarantee that you’re not under the influence. Being close to Bad gives you a good motive to come and help, I’ll grant you, but it also means that you could be infected through your proximity to him. I’m sure you understand my caution.”

(the words are back, dripping off his tongue like fine wine, like rich confidence)

“He’s—” Puffy starts, but Sapnap’s voice overlaps with hers.

“Wait, am I the only one who didn’t know about this?” he asks. “You’re just—back? Alive again? How the hell did that happen?”

“Not particularly relevant,” he says. “I assure you, it’s something we’re all grappling with at the moment. Would you answer the question?”

Sapnap is still gaping. “I—I guess, I mean, I’ve only been near the Egg once. Bad’s tried to get me to get close a couple of times, but I always give him an excuse. I don’t know how you want me to prove that.”

He lifts a shoulder, half a shrug. “And your fiances? They’re not here because—?”

“Karl hasn’t been feeling great lately,” he bites out. “Completely unrelated to the Egg. But Q’s staying with him for now. I also don’t want either of them anywhere near this thing. Can you blame me for that?”

Against his will, he glances at Tommy and Tubbo, the former of whom still glaring at Technoblade, shock and rage warring on his face, and the latter of whom seeming to want to look anywhere except at Technoblade.

(you want to keep them safe you want to keep them far away but they will not go because the fight is in their blood and this is what you have made them into and the battlefield is different but they still will not leave it and they were adventurous as children to be sure but you did the rest and you know it you cannot protect them and you have only yourself to blame)

“Alright, then,” he says. “I’m not the one to welcome you aboard. But welcome aboard.”

“Okay!” Puffy says, clapping her hands together. She’s scowling, slightly, and Wilbur realizes that they’ve pretty much been running roughshod all over her. “Thanks for that, Wilbur. As you can see, Sapnap, we’ve got a bunch of war criminals, former dead people, irritating little twerps, and Tubbo, but we’re all working together and not provoking anyone more than we need to, because taking down the evil mind control egg is what takes precedence here.” She shoots a glare at him as she speaks, which frankly, he feels isn’t entirely justified. He wasn’t provoking Sapnap. He would have said a lot worse if he was trying to provoke Sapnap.

“While I’m at it, hi, Technoblade,” Puffy adds. “Glad you could make it. Just, nobody blow up any city-states while we’re here and we’ll be fine, okay?”

“I will make no promises,” Technoblade says, “but as long as you’re not hiding a new one from me, we should be good.”

“Oh my god,” Tommy breaks in. Wilbur’s surprised he’s abstained this long. “Why the fuck are you like this? You can’t just barge in here and claim to be all about helping now and expect us all to go along with it. You blew up L’Manberg! You and him!” He jabs a finger at Phil. “You worked with Dream! You, with your stupid withers, over and over again! And you just think you can come back and butt in here like none of that happened? I mean, maybe you can, since I guess no one’s trying to lock you up over it, but that doesn’t mean it’s fair, and it doesn’t mean that you get to be so fucking, so fucking like that about it! Like none of it fucking matters.”

It’s curious to watch everyone’s reactions. They don’t all have a stake in it, not the way that Tommy does, not the way that Tubbo does, not the way that Wilbur does. Sapnap doesn’t seem to know how to react, and Sam’s fingers are clenched around his trident. Puffy just looks tired, which he supposes is fair. He doesn’t think she’s paid enough to put up with their bullshit. Because that’s what it is: their bullshit. To be sure, all of the things that Tommy is saying apply to everyone; he’s talking about general crimes, actions that Techno has taken that have affected the whole server. But Tommy’s not concerned about how they affected the whole server. He’s concerned about himself, and Tubbo. That’s all.

(he can’t blame him, not when he’s the exact same way. he wouldn’t be upset with them at all, wouldn’t care one whit about the ruin of the country that once was his, if it weren’t for the fact that Tommy and Tubbo were hurt over it)

He meets Puffy’s eyes. Jerks his head at her. Go, he says without saying it, and she nods.

“I’m going to show Sapnap some of the stuff we’ve been working on,” she says. “C’mon, Sam. Oh, Ranboo, you too, if you want.”

“Oh.” Ranboo sounds surprised to be addressed. Which is fair, considering that Wilbur forgot that he was there entirely. “Um, sure, I guess. Glad to uh, glad to help out.” He casts an uncertain glance at Phil, looking for cues, and that should tell him all he needs to know about their relationship right there,

(and he’s not jealous, he’s not jealous, he’s not, not jealous that Phil has picked up another kid because this is just how Phil is and there’s no need to be jealous and having another brother might be nice, actually, but why would he do this when Tommy is right here and so clearly in need of support, and why would he drag another child into the mess that is their family in the first place?)

because Phil nods at him reassuringly, and Ranboo follows along with Puffy and Sam and Sapnap as they leave the rest of them alone on the Prime Path in what has to be the least subtle statement of here’s some space so you guys can talk about your family issues that Wilbur has ever witnessed.

Techno was right. They’re not ready for this conversation. But they’re going to start it.

“So, what exactly is the problem here?” Techno asks, in exactly the tone of voice that will not help at all, lazy and unaffected. And Wilbur knows he knows better than that, so it has to be on purpose. “You rattled off a lot, there, and I wasn’t takin’ notes.”

Tommy lets out an inarticulate screech of rage and starts forward, hands clenched into fists. But Tubbo reaches out and grabs his shirt sleeve, and he stops in his tracks.

“You know what the fucking problem is,” he spits. “I fucking hate you. You’re terrible, and you’re the worst, and I want to never see your face again.”

“Oh, so I’ll just leave you to fight a bloodthirsty Egg cult by yourself?” Techno says. He raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, Tommy, no can do. I’ve been told they’re calling themselves the Eggpire. That’s right up my alley.”

“Yeah, maybe you fucking should!” Tommy yells. “Maybe you should leave! I don’t want you here! Tubbo doesn’t want you here! We don’t need you, either of you! We’ve been doing just fine all on our own, and now we’ve got Wil back, so we doubly don’t need you! We never have! You haven’t—you haven’t been here before, so why should you suddenly start being here now, huh? Why don’t you just fuck off back to your, your stupid snow fort and your stupid dogs and leave the rest of us alone?”

Phil closes his eyes. The picture of weariness.

Wilbur considers stepping in.

(not yet)

(Tommy needs this)

“I literally just told you why?” Techno says. “Have your listenin’ and comprehension skills gotten this bad? I’m not sure why you’re mad at me, Tommy, you’re the one who used me as a weapon and betrayed me. Again. Feels like I’m preachin’ to the choir, here.”

“I didn’t—” Tommy squawks. “I couldn’t just let you do that to everyone! Why don’t you fucking understand how shitty of a thing that was to do? You destroyed L’Manberg, Technoblade. That was people’s home. That was my home! That was the place, it was the place that Wilbur created, it was Wilbur’s country, and it mattered so much to all of us, and you fucking destroyed it like it was nothing.”

(he thinks you wanted it to be here why does he think that does he not remember what you did what you wanted you wanted it gone and if anything Technoblade fulfilled your greatest desire)

“Well, gee, Tommy, I don’t know,” Techno says, “maybe if L’Manberg didn’t want to get its ass kicked, L’Manberg should’ve left me in retirement, where I was completely content to live out the rest of my days in peace. Or maybe, and consider this, they shouldn’t have set up a corrupt and tyrannical dictatorship just like the last one was.”

Tubbo has gone pale. His face is blank. “I’m right here, you know,” he says.

“I see you,” Technoblade says. “I don’t see you arguin’.”

“Would it do any good?” Tubbo asks. “You’ve made up your mind. Not like it can make a difference now.”

“Of course he’s made up his mind!” Tommy says. “He’s a stubborn fucking pig. He thinks he knows everything, and he doesn’t give a shit when people tell him he’s wrong, because he’s the great Technoblade and Technoblade is never wrong, and he doesn’t care about people, he just cares about his stupid fucking anarchy and his stupid fucking fights, and nothing else matters to him.”

It is Wilbur’s turn to want to close his eyes. But he doesn’t let himself look away.

Technoblade’s face darkens.

(he understands, he understands how Tommy can accuse him of not caring, he understands, but at the same time, he doesn’t, because they grew up together, the three of them, so Tommy should know better, should know better than to think Techno an unfeeling creature, because Techno cares deeply and abidingly and desperately loyally, and that is why he despises betrayal so very much, because it is so rare for someone to grant him the same amount of regard and trust that he is prone to giving away. Tommy ought to know that, so how can it be possible that the events of this server have washed away years of shared history?)

“Okay, I think everyone needs to calm down,” Phil says, but Tommy wheels on him just as quickly.

“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down,” he snaps. “You don’t have the fucking right. You did all the same things that he did. All the same things, when I thought—” He cuts himself off suddenly, shaking his head, grimacing like he was about to give something away. “Nevermind what I thought. But I went through hell, and you weren’t there for me. Neither of you were there for me. In the end, I had to claw my way out myself, no thanks to either of you. So I don’t know where you get off coming around here and claiming to want to help when you’ve never done shit to help me before.”

“I let you—” Techno begins incredulously, but then Phil strides forward, closing the gap between them, and Techno falls silent.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says simply. “I’m sorry for a lot. I can’t say that I’m sorry for L’Manberg, because that, I’d do again. But I’m sorry for hurting you. And most of all, I’m sorry for not being there for you when you needed me. Either of you,” he adds, with a glance at Tubbo. Tubbo doesn’t react. “I honestly didn’t think you’d want to see me, after what I did to Wil. By the time I realized how badly I’d fucked up, it was a bit late to do anything about it.” His mouth twists. “I don’t have anything more to offer than that. I can’t change the past. But I’d like to start making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

Tommy stares at him for a long moment. And then turns on his heel and marches off after Puffy and the rest.

Silence falls.

“For the record,” Tubbo says, “I’m not too mad anymore. But really, that’s just because he’s mad enough for both of us. And being angry all the time is really exhausting, you know?”

Tommy calls over his shoulder: “Tubbo, come on, let’s go make fun of Ranboo!”

Tubbo gives them all one last, searching stare. And then follows Tommy.

Silence again. Even the crows are quiet.

“That could have gone better,” Phil murmurs.

“Look on the bright side,” he offers, and Phil looks at him, eyes dark. “It could also have gone worse. He could have tried to kill you.”

“Couldn’t help but notice you not bein’ of any help,” Techno says.

“And who was I supposed to help?” he asks, and laughs, not bothering to hide the acidity. “You two? Maybe. I’m pissed at you, but that’s for Tommy’s sake, not L’Manberg’s. I probably should have helped him; Prime knows he needs the support. But at the same time, he’s hardly seeing things clearly either. None of us are. We’re all very fucked up, I’ve noticed.”

The last is supposed to be a joke, or at least, something to lighten the mood a little, because he can’t stand Phil looking so tired and old. But Phil just sighs, something miserable flashing in his gaze.

“And besides,” he continues, softening his tone a bit, “Tommy needed to be able to say all of that himself. He didn’t need me speaking for him or defending him. He needed to air all that out.”

“Do you think there’s hope?” Phil asks. He’s still standing stock still, gazing out over the path in front of him, though Tommy and Tubbo have both passed from sight.

“I really don’t think I’m the one to ask about that,” he says. “But you’re here, yeah? You’ve apologized, and you’re going to try to make things right? I’m not accepting anything on Tommy’s behalf, but it seems like a good first step.”

Phil doesn’t answer. Technoblade makes a low noise that is not quite a scoff, but when Wilbur glances at him, the expression on his face is contemplative rather than angry, rather than derisive. And it’s a start. It’s a start. It has to be a start.

(because if it isn’t if things carry on in this way you’re going to have to choose between them and you already know what your decision will be but it will hurt you will break you to tear out those connections at the roots and no one can be more important to you than Tommy is but you still want Phil you still want Techno no matter their faults no matter what they’ve done they are still your family and you don’t want to have to choose but brace yourself Icarus there is always a fall and the storm wall hasn’t blown through yet)

----------

The plan, in the end, is a simple one: they’re going to gear up, take a shit ton of weapons and firepower, and do their damnedest to crack the Egg’s shell wide open.

There are more complicated factors, of course. The Egg is not a natural thing, and they don’t know what kind of defenses it may have. They also don’t know whether harming the Egg will harm the people under its influence, so that is something to watch for; Puffy and Sam are both insistent that if that happens, they abort the attack immediately.

(though he and Phil meet each other’s eyes across the room, and he knows they are thinking the same thing, thinking about the nature of conflicts such as these and the necessity of sacrifices)

It’s not a particularly solid plan, but it’s the best they can come up with, under the circumstances, and they’re prepared as they’re going to be. Wilbur doesn’t object to it in theory.

But in practice—

“The fuck do you mean, I’m not coming?” he demands.

Puffy meets his gaze head on.

“We need someone on the outside, watching to see if they bring in reinforcements, or if any other weird stuff happens,” she says. “Sam volunteered, but Sam also needs to be at the prison to make sure no one takes advantage of this to try a prison break or something, and he can’t really afford to divide his time. That leaves you.”

“That leaves—what about one of the literal children?” he asks. “You’re fine with bringing the minors near the fucking mind control egg cult?”

“Obviously I’m not fine with it,” she says, “but if I told them to stay behind, they’d follow us in anyway, except I wouldn’t know where they were in order to protect them. This way, everyone knows exactly where everyone else is.”

“Damn straight we would,” Tommy mutters, and Wilbur wheels on him.

“And what the hell are you thinking?” he asks. “Why would you—”

Tommy glances away from him, and all at once, he understands. His chest goes cold.

(red in his mind and red in his heart and the world aflame and he raises his sword)

“You don’t want me to come,” he states.

“I—look, Wilbur? I don’t want to lose you, okay? And I can’t hear the fucking thing, and you can, and I don’t—I couldn’t stand it, if what happened last time happened again. I don’t want to go through that, and I especially don’t want you to go through that. Not again. So, yeah, I’d rather you be just outside, so that we can call you if we need you, or you can call if you need us, but I would feel a whole lot better if you didn’t go in there.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Phil open his mouth to ask something, and then shut it again, his brow furrowed.

The thing is—the thing is, he understands. He understands where Tommy is coming from. If their positions were reversed, he would want the same thing. But it stings, like splinters in his heart, and he tries to tell himself that Tommy is just worried about him, that Tommy just wants to keep him safe, but that is bad enough, because it should be the other way around, should be him protecting Tommy, should be him keeping Tommy safe, and it smarts to know that Tommy doesn’t think he’s capable of doing even that much.

(but he is right, of course, right to doubt him, right to keep him at arms’ length, because he has proven himself susceptible to the whispering and the enticement and Tommy is right to look him in the eyes and tell him to stay behind)

“We’re taking a whole lot of holy water with us, just in case,” Puffy says. “So in case of an emergency, it’ll probably be fine. But I agree with Tommy. I think for your sake, this is where you can do the most good.”

“Right,” he says, and his voice sounds hollow to his own ears. “Right, no, yeah, I get it. I can do lookout.”

(you were their general and how you have fallen)

(they do not trust you and they are right not to)

“Wil—” Tommy starts, but he shakes his head rapidly, cutting him off.

“No, I’m serious, it’s good. You’re probably right.” He smiles, or at least goes through the motions; his lips curve upward, at any rate. “Can’t say that I’m eager for a repeat either. But you’ve got to promise that you will call me in if you need me.”

“Course we will,” Tommy says, and he

(doesn’t believe him he’s lying he’s lying he’s lying)

nods. That’s the best he’s going to get.

There’s not much to say after that. Sam wishes them luck and returns to the prison. The rest of them head off toward the Egg, and he holds his head high and his back straight and pretends there is no shame curling in his gut, no wounded animal clawing at his chest, no hurt, no fear, no bitterness. And he pretends that he does not feel the weight of Phil’s gaze on his shoulders, curious and concerned. Phil has not been told about his encounter with the Egg, no details, at least, and he would like to keep it that way, if he can. So he pretends not to see, and he pretends that the growing density of the vines as they march forward does not strike a chord of

(longing)

dread in his heart.

There is no reason to worry, probably. Techno and Phil are armed to the teeth, and Puffy is no lightweight, and they will all work to keep the kids safe. And Tommy and Tubbo themselves are very capable, even though they shouldn’t have to be, and he doesn’t know Ranboo very well

(though there is something terribly eerie in his bearing, at the moment, in the way he almost seems to be taller, in the blank, glazed look in his eyes, in his almost mechanical movements, and it is very unsettling but perhaps the kid is just nervous)

but he lives with Techno and Phil, so he must have some measure of skill.

So it’ll be fine. It’s going to be fine.

He wishes he could persuade himself. But he can’t, not on the way there, and not after they arrive, not after they leave him at the top of the ladder with several bottles of holy water and a repeated promise to let him know if something goes wrong. Not after they all descend the ladder, out of sight.

He is alone.

He tries to breathe, tries to steady his nerves. He used to be better than this. He used to be able to go into battle without this anxiety clanging in his bones. But he can’t stop remembering

(red red red and don’t you want peace, brave heart, don’t you want to rest)

the previous ordeal, and they all took holy water with them, but what if that isn’t enough? What if the Egg worms its way inside their heads regardless of the precautions? What if the Egg takes Technoblade? What if the Egg takes Phil?

He takes to obsessively checking his communicator, only placing it down for a few seconds at a time before picking it up again and searching for new messages. There is nothing, and he tries to tell himself that radio silence is a good thing, that it means they’re not in danger, but before fifteen minutes pass, he’s about ready to jump down the ladder himself, regardless of the risk, regardless of the consequences.

It grates, being left up here on his own, like a child that can’t be trusted with his own safety, when the literal, actual children went down there, could be fighting for their lives right now.

(and it was one thing to be left out of planning, because he doesn’t want to be a general anymore, not really, doesn’t want to be a leader, not when it all brought him to such grief, but it is one thing to let others take charge and quite enough to be left out entirely)

(they’re pulling away they’re abandoning you they know what you are and this is just the excuse)

He sighs noisily, running a hand through his hair. Sets the communicator down. Picks it up again.

It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be—

There’s a message.

He reads it. Once, twice, three times, just to make sure he’s not hallucinating, that it’s real, that the words glaring up at him, swimming in front of his eyes, aren’t some error, some mistake, aren’t a glitch with the worst possible timing. He blinks, hard, but they remain the same, and terror reaches into his chest and stops his heart.

(there is something very wrong at the heart of this server the beating living heart is choked and stuttering staccato black with poison and clotted with misery and you can see it in the sky can smell it on the wind and in that cell that obsidian cell where the walls weep and the lava enters your nose and lingers you knew it you saw it there is poison creeping a monster waiting and the monster is loose and he is coming and death on his footstep and it is as the tide and the tide must always return and the tides are black and cold and they want you to drown)

The words are still there.

Awesamdude was slain by Dream.

Without a second thought, he grips the top rung of the ladder and vaults over the side.

[ddarker-dreams]

Home. Yan!Shigaraki x Reader [COMM]

Japan brings with it a plethora of memories.

Memories ranging from the highest of your life to the lowest. Times that you can recall with a special fondness, reserved in your heart for the rest of your life. But always balanced out with numerous hurts, times that you wish you could erase from your mind. All of it remains a mixed bag within you, serving only to befuddle your true feelings further as you get off the plane. 

Going through customs felt surreal, the bustle of the airport one that struck you with a sense of  nostalgia. The people, the scents, the sights -- it all left you with a weary heart, but you had already expected to feel this way. Returning wasn’t an easy decision, the dividing thought leaving you with numerous restless nights.

But ultimately, your choice has been made. With suitcases in hand, you look down towards your phone. Traveling always sounds nice in theory, but jet lag and exhaustion were taking you hostage. Still, it won’t do to get tired now; you still need to make it to your new apartment after all.

‘If I could survive that long flight in economy class, I can last through one more Uber drive.’

Blurry images of the airport scenery go by, the music in the car all but tuned out by your chaotic thoughts. It all reminds you of how you left in such a hurry in the first place, in the dead of night. How conflicted you were then -- constantly doubting your decision and wondering if you should just turn back.

But turning back to Shigaraki at the time didn’t feel like a viable option. 

You don’t think of it as running away from your problems. Even if that’s what it may sound like, you tried all you reasonably could do. From countless heart to heart discussions, to tearful phone calls. All of it fell on deaf ears, or worse, served to irritate him. Neither of you would back down from your given positions, despite the care you shared for one another. The care that led you to overlook your own morals for a time being. 

Shigaraki was always someone who was firmly planted in his ways, and didn’t care for having his morals challenged. Though he was considerably more tolerable towards your verbal opposition than anyone else would even have the opportunity to attempt, it didn’t mean he’d change his mind in the end. 

So you left. It’s bizarre to believe that eight months have already passed since then, eight months of your life being vastly different than before. Even when you weren’t in Japan, you would still hear news reports of the League of Villain's activities. Every time a headline popped up of what was happening, it made your stomach drop. 

His hold over you didn’t feel as less constricting as you had originally hoped it would. Even if he was no longer physically with you during those times, you could still almost imagine his presence by your side. His mannerisms, what he would say to you if he was there. The nightmare never ended, it only got worse as the days went on. Shigaraki would never stop haunting you.

Which leads to where you are now. Having left the car with a quiet thank you, staring up at your new apartment building. Getting your keys from the main office, you desire nothing more than for this to be a positive beginning in your life. If leaving Japan didn’t help you feel any better, it only made sense for you to come back. There’s no place like home, after all. 

But you’ll still be living your life on the down low. It’s unnerving, since the League never stayed in one area for long. If you knew where they were hiding now, you would gladly put as much distance between yourself and them as possible. But given the nature of Shigaraki’s vision, they were always on the move. 

Turning your keys until you hear a click, your last burst of energy goes into opening the door. Inside showcased an apartment devoid of furniture, but still your new home nonetheless. With a deep sigh, you tug your heavy luggage through the door frame. 

‘I’ll at least need to unpack some things before I can sleep…’

Briskly walking to the sink, you splash cold water onto your face in a desperate attempt to stay awake. Your new mattress won’t be delivered until tomorrow, so sleeping on the floor is all you can do for the time being. Shaking your head at the thought, you sluggishly get to work.

Grabbing your favorite blanket and pillow, you lazily throw it where your bed will soon take its place. Everything else can wait for tomorrow, it’s not like you’ll have any company to entertain. With the sun already having set thirty minutes ago, you close your blinds and gratefully lay down. 

Even if it’s on the floor, it feels like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders to finally relax.

It doesn’t take long for sleep to find you, all of your pent up emotions and nonstop thinking having sapped all your energy. All you can hope for, as your heavy eyelids flutter shut, is that tomorrow will be the fresh start that you have longed for.

---

“Mnh…” 

Rubbing your eyes, you almost panic for a moment at your new surroundings. Before recalling all that had occurred, and that this place is your home now. 

‘What time is it…?’

Blindly groping around your pillow for your phone, your eyes squint in pain at the bright screen. Displaying that it’s only 11:25 PM, and that you only had been asleep for a few hours. The effects of sleeping on the floor make themselves known, your back aching at the lack of proper support. 

Grimacing at the throbbing discomfort, you put your phone down before sitting up with a yawn. With intention to get up and soothe your dry throat with a drink, you never get the chance before a voice pierces through the dark.

“All that running sure must’ve been exhausting.”

Jumping at the sound of a lower voice in your pitch black room, your eyes rapidly dart around for the possible source. Breathing growing unsteady, you feel your lips tremble at the thought of a stranger in your apartment. Would your quirk be useful enough in fending them off? 

Hugging your knees against your chest in a reflexive response, your mind scrambles to come up with a plan. 

Reaching to grab your phone out of desperation, you finally let out a weak response. “W-who’s there? I’ll call the police!”

“Like that’d do any good.” The voice responds in a mocking lilt. Like a sudden wave crashing over you, you’re finally able to discern through your fatigued state who this is. You feel as if you’re being dragged beneath the waves, the air all but smacked from your lungs.

‘That’s--!’

Footsteps approach you slowly, methodically. You feel frozen, incapable of even forming a coherent thought. As the person gets closer, you realize you need to run. But before you can even get the opportunity, you feel a foreboding weight around your shoulders.

And four fingers tapping against your bare skin.

“Did you forget about me, [First]?” 

You know that voice all too well. The fact that even sleep managed to dull your guess of who it was is astonishing, but no longer do you feel uncertain of who it is. Goosebumps line your exposed skin, the sound of your own shaky breathing filling the otherwise silent room.

“Sh-Shigaraki…?” 

“So you didn’t,” he responds with a low, humorless snicker. Tightening his grip around you, you can feel his hair tickling your face. “I’m glad I don’t have to remind you of that, at least.” 

Swallowing thickly, you feel tears prickling the edge of your eyes. There are too many overwhelming things on your mind, too many questions without answers and silent pleads. It all feels too suffocating, air becoming a luxury that you miss. In the moment, all you can will yourself to do is choke out your next words. 

“How,” you exhale shakily, mind screaming your tongue drier than sandpaper. “How did you find me?” 

For a brief moment, you feel his coarse fingers cease their previous drumming movements. In a motion that could only be described as flinching, Shigaraki quickly recovers himself while answering your question with a malicious bite. 

“After all this time, that’s what you want to say to me?” Shigaraki growls out towards you, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut. You desperately wish that none of this is real, that the cruel events unfolding before your very eyes are all but a dream. 

From all the time that you had spent with Shigaraki, you had grown accustomed to his mannerisms. Being able to pick up on every little nuance of his words, to what every twitch of his muscles meant. But now, you feel incapable of doing just that. Is it bitterness hidden in his words? Disappointment, frustration? Something tells you that it’s all of that, and more. 

“Whatever. I’ll humor you with the answer. Imagine my surprise, I get a phone call from Toga. I was barely able to understand her at first, her voice was so frantic and excited,” Shigaraki pauses for a moment, recalling the prior events. “Eventually, she manages to explain that ‘big sis [First]’ is back. And well… here we are.” 

At first you didn’t pick up on it, but there’s a slight tremble in Shigaraki’s voice. You realize now how difficult he’s trying to hold himself together, feeling his body shaking against your own. Each of his words come out more forced than the last, almost as if a lump was forming in his throat. 

Unable to conjure up a response fast enough, you hear Shigaraki’s labored breathing growing more unsteady.

“Well? Say something! Don’t just sit there.” 

All false impressions of control start to slip through his fingers, true emotions no longer being able to hide. Cracks beneath the surface reveal to you just how much pain he is in, the mere thought enough to tug on your own battered heartstrings even more. You open your mouth, wondering if there’s anything you can say to diffuse the situation. 

He clings to you tighter.

“Shigaraki… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you sniffle, small sobs unable to be suppressed any longer. His muscles tense at the sound of you crying, a battle within ensuing. “I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t take the violence, t-the constant living in fear! I don’t know, I don’t know…” 

Much to your surprise, a rough hand wipes away the tears leaving your dampened eyes. Jaw agape, you feel deft fingers working hard to dry your skin. You remember long ago how he told you once that he hated seeing you cry, that it made him unsure of what to do.

Hiccuping, you feel your lip tremble at your next question. “Are you going to kill me too now?” 

“I don’t know, probably not. Just… just stop crying already.”

Shaking your head, you know the waterworks won’t be stopping anytime soon. Now it was your turn to take Shigaraki by surprise, stuffing your head against his chest to muffle your own cries. He subconsciously moves his fingers to make sure they don’t all touch you at once, and you feel how tense he becomes at your unexpected touch.

Eventually, he places a tentative few digits against your back, awkwardly attempting to soothe you. It all brings you to the pinnacle of your emotions, unable to hold back your full fledged sobs any longer. Gripping onto the fabric of his hoodie, you take in his familiar scent. Shigaraki begins gnawing on his lip, having not expected his confrontation to go like this. 

He eventually returns your serpent tight hug, placing his head into the crook of your neck.

“Don’t think you’re getting off easy,” Shigaraki finally grumbles against your skin, his own emotions too unsteady to even understand. “I’m not ever letting you out of my sight again.”

[bregee13]

A New Home

It wasn't before long until the Raposa family wandered into the snowy fields. At first the snow barely dusted the grass beneath their feet, but eventually the snow became almost knee deep. It was a good thing Polly thought of bringing blankets with them. Even then, the three wished they had the time to change into warmer clothing. 

Polly, while squeezing her dad's arm for support, shivered uncontrollably. "D-dad??? Why did-didn't we u-use the S-snow G-gate...?" 

Nixie, who was also freezing, couldn't help but glare at her husband. "That's a g-good question, Polly! Bobby, why DIDN'T we use the snow g-gate?" 

"Nghh..." 'How's this my fault? Movin dis way was YOUR idea...' As much as Bob wanted to say it out loud, he was much too tired to butt heads. Besides, after trudging through the snow for that long, you almost HAD to blame somebody. Though, if he didn't say anything, Nixie would freeze him to death before any snow could. "Well, if we w-went through the snow gate, we could've walked right i-into darkness. A-and dat wouldn't be fun, would it?" 

Nixie, who was starting to remember her plan, felt her cheeks flush a little more than they already were. Though embarrassed, she welcomed the extra warmth on her face.

"B-but.... Why did-didn't we go to th-the dock?? A-and r-ride a boat somewhere?" Polly asked, hoping asking more questions would distract her from the cold. 

Her mother shook her head. "N-no... We couldn't have done that. The d-darkness might've covered the dock by then..." 

"M-might've!?! Y-you didn't k-know?!" 

"I...I... Um... f-figured there wouldn't be any more boats sailing to and from there anyway... With all this darkness, of course... Of course...." 

"Th... That... s-sounds..." Polly tried to call her mom out on her poor excuse, but she was just too frozen to speak. 

"Dat sounds like a c-cra... crummy excuse, N-Nix.." 

Nixie turned her head toward Bob in confusion. "Wh...what? Are you saying, Bobby?" 

Bob stared off into the distance. He longed to go back home and sleep in the warmth of his bed, but he knew that was impossible. "D-dere was no h-harm in checkin first... Ya k-knew dere was a chance of esc-cape dere.... W-what the Rapo stopped ya...?"

"Oh... U-um... You know, um..." 'Well, you didn't bother to check either! Why blame me...?' It took a moment for Nixie to regain some of her composure. She knew she was the only one planning anything out, and that Bob likely didn't even think of checking the docks in the heat of the moment. She actually thought about leaving the village by boat many times. But the one thing that stopped her every time was her fear. "...E-even if there was a way.... Th-there's no way to know what to expect... The o-other villages might be worse off than where we w-were.... There's no way... There's no way...." While she did fear the darkness in other villages, she did have one other small fear that she was afraid to admit. She was scared of returning to her parents after going missing for so long. 'Only Creator knows how those two would react...' 

"...Y-ya got a point.... I haven't h-heard from Jack in a real long time... H-Hope he and the folks are alright in Lavasteam... N-nice.... hot..... L-Lavasteam...." 'Rapo... This snow is messin with our heads n' makin us lookin all ridiculous!'

Bob looked back toward Polly. She hadn't spoken for a while now, which was odd for her. On top of that, she was moving at a snail's pace, slowing everyone down as a result. "Polly? Ya doin okay?" 

"..." Polly, shaking rapidly, fully relied on her father's arm for support. She had a hard time gathering her words and saying them out loud. She felt horrible. "D-dad....." She cried. "I...I can't feel my legs......." 

"Dat can't be good.... Hang on..." Bob walked up to Nixie and handed her the clothes he was carrying. "Hold dis for a s-sec?" 

"O-oh... Of... Of course..." 

Bob then proceeded to lift Polly off the ground, and carry her in his arms. "Urk!" 'She's heavier than I remember!' "It's okay... you're o-okay... Y-you you're gonna be okay, okay?" He tried to reassure her, but it only seemed to make everything worse. 'Oh Creator, she's real cold....' As worried as Bob was, he knew he couldn't show too much concern. For all he knew, it would just jinx everything. "...Y-Ya got uhh... Um... Bangle with ya? Ah! I..! I m-meant...! B....Bon...Go?" 

Polly, squeezing her stuffed friend in her arms, didn't even bother to correct her dad. Though the fact that he caught the mistake on his own really meant a lot to her. "Mhmm..." 

"G-good. Dat's good... "

Nixie took the clothes that were handed to her and covered her daughter with them as if they were extra blankets. "There. H-hope that will help s-somehow..." 

"Th-thank thank you..." 

The three silently continued on their journey through the snow. The bitter wind brushed their cheeks. Eventually, the snow began to die down, and the air was less stiff. The knee-high snow turned into mere frost. Needless to say, everyone was relieved. The ice life is NOT a nice life.

The wide open snow fields slowly turned into a chilly forest. The trees were of a purplish hue and had seemingly no end to them. It was clear that they had entered the forest gate region. 

Bob, now getting tired of carrying her around, set Polly down by one of the many trees. "There ya go. Are ya feelin any better?" 

Polly slowly nodded. "Y-yeah." 

Nixie leaned down to feel Polly's arm. "She's still really cold..." She turned to her husband. "What should we do now?" 

Bob looked up at the sky. Even after all that time, was just as gray as it was before. "We gotta get some shelter. Can't rest out in da open..." 

"Where are we going to find this shelter, anyhow?" 

"We're gon have to build it from scratch... Don't expect nothin fancy, I don't got no tools to work with." 

"That's fine... But..." She looked down at Polly before returning her gaze to Bob. "Are you going to be alright by yourself?" 

Bob tried to reassure her with a smile. "I'll be good on my own. Don't worry bout me. Just worry bout her." 

"...Okay. Just be back soon." 

"I will." Bob stepped back from his family and got to work.

Now, Bob may be a carpenter, but he wasn't exactly experienced in wilderness survival. Lucky for the three Raposa, he managed to put a small shelter together out of branches and leaves. And for the restrictions he had, it was relatively spacious. Just big enough for everyone to lay in comfortably. 

Nixie had Polly wrapped up in her arms. "How are you feeling, baby? Are you warmer now?"

Polly yawned. "Yeah. I'm okay. I think Bongo's a little tired though. Are you tired, Bongo?" 

"..." 

"Yeah... He's pretty tired..." Polly's eyes had grown heavy from the exhausting journey she had been through. 

Nixie, who was tired as well, softly chuckled to herself. "It seems that you're tired too. How about we get ready for bedtime?" 

"Yeah… Okay." Polly stretched. 

"Are you well enough to get up on your own?" 

"I think so..." Polly slowly started to get up off of the ground. Although her legs were a little wobbly from sitting too long. 

Nixie reached out for her daughter in an attempt to stable her. "Are you alright?!" 

"I'm okay! I'm okay! My legs are just sleepy." 

"Come on, I'll help you over there." Nixie had her arm wrapped around Polly's body, helping to guide her to the makeshift home Bob had made. "Bobby! Is the shelter finished over there?" 

Bob looked back at his wife, and sighed. "It's 'bout as done as it's gonna get... Hope it works just fine." 

"It looks wonderful. Why don't you take a break and get some rest? It's been quite a long day." 

"It is gettin pretty late, huh? Alright. I'll take a breather." 

"That's what I wanted to hear! Besides, a good sleep in there will make the perfect test for the structure you made." 

"That's true..." 

Polly pulled her mother's arm toward the shelter. She was starting to get cranky from a lack of sleep. "Mooom... C'mon! We gotta go to bed! Bongo's really really tired!"

"Alright, Polly! Settle down! We're on our way. Why don't you go on ahead and get ready for dreamland?" Nixie suggested.

"Okay..." Polly yawned. "G'night...." She squeezed Bongo in her arms, and stepped inside. 

Nixie glanced at her husband. "We should follow her." 

Bob nodded. "Yeah, I guess we should..."

The two stepped inside the structure. The dirt floor was covered in a bedding of grass and leaves, which in turn was covered by the largest blanket they had brought. It was cozy to say the least.

Polly was already laying down, curled up underneath her very own blanket. She held onto her doll as tightly as she could. Her eyes were shut. As far as Nixie and Bob could tell, she was already fast asleep.

“She looks so peaceful…” Nixie whispered.

“That didn’t take very long at all, huh?”

“That journey must have drained all of the energy from her. I don’t believe I blame her.”

“Poor Polly… I sure hope all dat snow didn’t leave her sick…”

“I hope so too. She didn’t seem to be all that ill, just tired. ...I have faith that she’ll turn out alright."

Bob sighed. “Rapo, what’d we do to deserve any of this? We lost nearly everythin, and now we gotta live in this… this… whatever this is!”

“You’re the one who built the shack… I don’t see why you’re the one complaining.” Nixie mumbled.

“...What was that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s fine.” Nixie clearly sounded annoyed. “It’s not a permanent solution, anyhow… We’re not staying too long.”

“...Are you insulting my work?”

“Bobby, please.”

“No no, I get it. I understand! I don’t wanna live here either! Who the Rapo would? In fact, it’s so awful dat any normal Raposa would rather sleep outside on the dirt and die!”

“We may as well be…” Nixie muttered.

“Excuse me?! I worked real hard to set this up! All by myself with no tools, no help of any kind, and you’re talkin to me like that?! A lil while ago, you said it was fantastic. I worked the best that I could under these circumstances, and now you’re mad it ain’t good enough?!” 

“Bobby, you know that isn’t what I meant.”

“Really? What else could you have meant by that?! I don’t understand anything you’re saying, Nix! First you said one thing, then you say the opposite? I don’t understand at all...” Bob crossed his arms and hung his head low. His eyes were starting to water in frustration. “...Explain to me, Nix. What’s wrong? What’d I do wrong? What the Rapo did I do to you to make you insult me like dat?!”

“Rapo, you didn’t do anything! Nothing is wrong! Why would you come to the conclusion that everything is your fault?! What the Rapo do you even think you did?”

“I-I dunno… I was just askin you that! Ya can’t just say ‘nothin is wrong’ right after complaining your rear off to me!”

“Well maybe I’m just feeling a little peeved.”

“Peeved?!”

“Of course I’m peeved! I didn’t want this! I didn't want to be forced out of my home, I didn’t want to have to worry about whether or not we’ll make it out of this okay, and I surely didn’t want you to yell at me!”

“Yell at ya?! Nix, you’re da one dat started it!”

“Bobby, what the Rapo are you talking about? I didn’t start anything! You just got mad at me out of nowhere!”

“Out of- What?! I-I would never do dat to you! I would never yell or get mad at you for no reason!”

“Then why are you yelling at me right now then?”

“B-because... I’m mad because you insulted me!” He began to cry. “I’m mad because you decided to be mean at me for no reason! I’m mad… because I don’t understand why you would do that…”

“Bobby?”

“That… that really hurt, Nix… Why would you go and do that?”

“Bobby… I… I’m so sorry.” She gently lifted his chin up so she could see his face better. “I’m sorry.”

Bob looked at her and sniffled. “I don’t understand, Nix. I-I know it ain’t the best I’ve done, but you ain’t gotta be mean about it…”

“I wasn’t trying to be mean to you… I… I was just frustrated. And I ended up saying the wrong thing… I know that wasn’t right for me to snap like that, but… I’m sorry…”

“I know you’re sorry… I know you’re just stressed out. Dat just… really got to me for some reason. I-I’m sorry I overreacted.”

“Bobby… You didn’t overreact. It’s okay. It’s my fault for upsetting you.” She sighed. “We’re both just... frazzled from all of this. I understand.”

“...I forgive ya Nix. I know ya didn’t mean what you said.” He faintly smiled for a moment. “But… There’s somethin I don’t understand. Why’d ya say it looked good earlier? I don’t get it.”

“...You want me to be honest? I... was trying to be polite. I didn’t want something like this to happen. Especially not in front of Polly. ...Wait a minute. Polly!” She turned around to face Polly, hoping that she was fast asleep and didn’t hear anything they said.

Polly, who was watching the entire time, hid under her blanket once she got caught. ‘Rapo! She saw me!’ She then pretended to be sleeping, hoping that she wasn’t in trouble.

Nixie sighed and turned back to her husband. “We really need to pull ourselves together, don’t we?”

Bob nodded. “If I were her, I wouldn’t want my folks arguing over nothin… I’d want em to be happy. I’d wanna be sure that it’s all gonna be okay. ...We gotta do better for her.”

“You’re right. From now on, we have to stay positive. No matter what happens.”

“Of course. We gotta set an example. It’s what Polly deserves. It’s what Hunter deserves too.”

“...Yeah.”

“...I wonder if Hunter’s doin alright. Maybe… Maybe he’s alive somehow?”

“I don’t want to talk about Hunter...”

“Alright, I understand.”

The two stood there for a moment in awkward silence. With all the chaos in their lives, it had been a long time since either of them found a moment of joy. When Hunter disappeared, arguments began to take his place. And with each new horrible event, it just kept getting worse. And that was something nobody wanted.

The two couldn't help but get lost in thought. They truly wanted to set a good example for Polly and be positive, but where would they even begin? It wasn't like there were many positives that came to mind. But neither of them wanted to go to sleep on a negative note, so the two thought in silence.

"...Our anniversary is tonight, ain't it?" Bob broke the silence.

"It is? I didn't know that... Are you sure?"

"Sure I am! I mean, don't ya feel it in the air?"

"...Do you even know what the current date is, Bobby?"

"Ah... No, but you don't know either! It's close enough, ain't it? Besides, dates don't matter now anyway!"

"Well, you're not wrong!" Nixie laughed.

"...You remember when we first met?" Bob reminisced. "You didn't have a home for yourself, and I let ya stay with me."

Nixie smirked. "Oh, how could I forget? It was obvious you fell for me the moment I met you."

"I was, huh?"

She nodded. "...You know, Bobby, it's funny. I feel as homeless as I felt that very day."

"Oh really?"

"Oh~! Mr. Builde, I have been left abandoned and homeless! May I stay here in your fine home~? Only for a short while~!"

"Oh! Are ya sure you want to stay in this shack of mine?"

"Bobby, please. I don't want to start that again."

"Hey, I'm just stating facts here! And to be honest, our home at the time wasn't that much better than this shed. "

"Oh Bobby, stop being so hard on yourself. Come on, why won't you let me inside your cozy home~?"

"Ah.. I dunno~" He blushed. "I think it'd be more romantic out under the stars~" He leaned in for a kiss.

"Bobby! No!" Nixie laughed. "It's too cold out! Besides, the stars disappeared a long time ago!"

"Ah, c'mon Nix! Can't we pretend there's stars?" He smirked. "It'd be just like that one romantic time we had in twilite years back~"

She flushed a bright red. "B-Bobby!" She hid her face and laughed out of embarrassment. 

"Oh... I uh... I didn't mean it like that!" Bob blushed from embarrassment himself. "Just... We were so in love back then... I miss it, Nix."

"Bobby..." Nixie held Bob's hands in hers, and smiled. "You know that never went away. We're just... going through obstacles. It's normal. ...Though I admit these latest obstacles are far more extreme than anyone could anticipate."

"That's true, this ain't exactly something I expected to deal with." Bob kissed her hands. "But we just gotta tackle these problems head on, huh?"

Nixie nodded. "We just have to stick together from here on out."

"I can handle that." Bob looked back at Polly, who was asleep for real this time, and turned back to Nixie. "You ready to hit the hay?"

"I'm not sure..." She said, hesitant. "Something doesn't feel right. Maybe it's only my nerves, but..."

"...Ya scared?"

"...A little. I mean, what if something shows up while we sleep and... makes us sleep for good?"

"That's not gonna happen. I won't allow it."

"Bobby, I'm serious. We could get really hurt." She glanced over at Polly. "...Or worse."

"Well I'm serious too. I'll stay up and keep watch for anythin that'll go bump in the night."

"No, you need sleep. Especially after you've done so much..."

"You done a bunch too though." Bob pondered for a moment. "Alright, why don't we take turns then?"

"...That could work. But what if-?"

"Hey, no 'what if's! Just go and get some sleep. I'll watch first." He yawned.

"You know, I'm not that tired." She said before yawning herself. "I think you should rest while I watch first."

"Nah, I've already made up my mind. I'm watching first."

"After all that labor? Aren't you being stubborn? Let me watch."

"Nix. Remember we said no fighting over nothin."

Nixie looked at the ground, ashamed. "...Yes. You're right, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry 'bout it. Now go get sleep. The sooner ya do, the sooner my shift starts. And the sooner my shift starts, the sooner it ends."

"Alright." She kissed him on the cheek. "I'll see you again soon. Love you."

Bob blushed. "Love ya too hun."

Nixie walked further into the shelter, checking her sleeping daughter before laying down to sleep herself.

The two followed through with their agreement and took turns keeping watch while the other slept. Nothing posed threat to them then.

Bongo was held tight in Polly's loving arms. It had been absorbing as much energy as it could, but it knew it only had a fraction of the energy needed to reach it's goal of a long life. 

Luckily, Bongo managed to absorb a massive amount of energy a few months back. It wasn't near enough to reach it's goal, but it was just enough for it to go and seek enough. 

Bongo had been waiting patiently and desperately for the opportunity to fully feed off it's host, but no good opportunities presented themselves. It wouldn't dare risk everything with other Raposa present. If it failed, it would waste it's precious energy. And if the Raposa found out what Bongo was made to do, it could get destroyed. So Bongo needed to be as careful as possible. 

It quickly scanned the area, checking if it's opportunity finally arrived. 

It knew there was no longer a town of Raposa to potentially catch it, but Polly's parents were still there. 

Bongo considered making it's move while the parents slept, but it would be far too high risk considering how protective they were. And with the new environment, the two were more high alert than usual. 

Bongo knew the only chance it had at draining it's host would be when Polly was all alone. 

Bongo rested once more. It couldn't drain itself now. 

The waiting game wasn't over yet. And Bongo knew if it played its cards right, it would surely win.

[ziracona]

Another update because I was really in a groove with it this week. 

[Fate Grand Order AU fic] The Kid (pt: 1, … 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, ?)

“Careful. Just because we’ve been doing well so far, don’t let it go to your head,” says Emiya, eyes shut as little geometric patterns run from his palm all along the locked door, unlocking seals. I’m not good at this yet, I know, but I can sense what he’s doing a little—I can tell there’s a lock, and just how much he’s…not breaking, so much as…well, it's weird—I-I’ve never really felt anything like this before, but, we’re really in sync right now, and it’s like he’s….un-stitching a complicated pattern, unravelling a tapestry. Not breaking it. Undoing what was done. I know there must be a reason, because it’s way harder to do that than to break things. I…I really hope, maybe, if he doesn’t have to go do something else, or…or want to leave right away, once this is all done…maybe he can teach me something.

I’d like to know.

Beside me, Billy taking a long look around the hall, and David and Robin are behind us, talking quietly about what Emiya said a minute ago—which, is probably why Emiya just told us all to focus. I can’t blame them though—I keep thinking about it too.

Emiya’s right; security here is crazy. I thought I was gonna die, when I broke in. But right now? Now that I’m paying attention, I hear alarms going off and people shouting, but, it’s in the wrong part of the building—and not just where we launched our diversions when we came in, either. It’s…Weird, it is. And. …And I feel…responsible. I know it’s…it’s probably stupid, but, all of these Heroic Spirits, they contracted with me—I said; ‘Trust me, and I’ll trust you, and we’ll work together,’ and every one of them chose to trust me. I promised to help them, and ground them, and get us all out, so, I feel like I really can’t let anybody down. I want to save all of us, and I want to be okay too, and to get to go home to Mom and Dad and Dao. So I have to work hard, and be smart, and responsible; I have to do this right. I’m not gonna let them all down.

The patterns disappear from the door.

“Guards, heading this way,” says David, eyeing the far hall, “I’ll take care of them.”

“I’ll go with you,” offers Robin.

“Wait,” says Billy, holding up a hand as they start to move. They pause. “Listen.”

I try and listen too, but whatever they can hear, I can’t. They can really hear it though, because their expressions all change. Even Emiya glances over, brow furrowing.

“They left,” says Billy, glancing at me and seeing the look on my face, “Just…all of a sudden. Rerouted fast, like they were…runnin’ towards somethin’.”

“…The second they were about to be in range,” says Robin, expression so similar to Emiya’s knit brow it’s a little funny.

“Someone is definitely doing this,” agrees David, brushing it off as fast as he makes that assessment, “Won’t help us to guess, so we better just keep going, and hope they keep going too.”

“R-Right,” I agree, shaking myself. He’s got a point. Why assume it’s a bad thing when it’s been good so far? Just keep our guards up, and hope. Seems…pretty safe.

“Sounds good to me,” says Emiya, turning back to the door and forcibly activating the automatic switch with brute force. The hinges whine in protest, then the reinforced hulking metal door gives and slides very slowly and unhappily open.

“This room seems especially reinforced,” I note, trying to see past Emiya inside.

“Maybe,” says Emiya, “But I’m not sensing a bounded field like the one David was in. It shouldn’t be difficult for us to get inside a-“

Surprised he’s stopped moving and talking, I almost bump into him and Billy does bump into me, and we both look up to see what’s happened, and I see Emiya’s eyes wide with shock and something else I’m not really sure of—maybe…worry? Or dismay? –locked on whoever is in the room.

As one, Billy and I both turn to look, and I vaguely notice Robin and David doing the same on the other side, and I can’t see so well in the dark from where I am, but I can see enough, and I put a hand over my mouth reflexively. It’s so awful. The smell alone…I. T-There’s someone –there’s a rock, a tall thin one—like a type of gravestone almost, in the middle of the room, and someone is chained to it, arms above their head, sort of stuck standing, and sort of dropping over. And. Th-they, he?, -they have what looks like a spear clean through their stomach, just…hanging there. Th-there’s stuff hanging out of them too, not just blood, a-and- Oh my god oh my god. It’s intestines. Some of them are on the floor. I start to gag and try to fight it back.

God, it looks so awful, so painful. Oh my God this poor person.

Their eyes are shut—they haven’t noticed us at all, or moved—I-I don’t even think I can see them breathing. Oh God, the others said they might start killing the Heroic Spirits here if they figured out what we were doing. They killed them? W-we’re too late? We failed… But—  -But. No—no, if they were dead, they’d have vanished. Right? So they must-

“I have this one,” says Emiya, which he’s never said before, striding into the room.

I just stare at him for a second, then my brain comes back to me and I hurry after. “You do?” I ask, “Are you sure? –Are they even alive? -Can we—“ Emiya has a completely unreadable expression on his face, except that whatever else he’s feeling, he’s very intent right now. His eyes are fixed on the person in the center of the room, and as we get closer rapidly, I think I was right, and it’s a man—tall, wearing blue and with blue hair. He still hasn’t moved. I look back up at Emiya. “-h-help him? … Do you know him?”

I’m aware of Billy moving just behind me. I think Robin and David are hanging more back. W-which is good, someone should watch the door. I wish Billy was next to me instead of behind me, though. I don’t know what to do, and I feel like if we were thinking together right now, maybe I might. I…

We reach the man then, and Emiya looks at me for the first time since I started talking and he says nothing at first, then just, “In a way.”

You…know him ‘in a way’? I wish I knew what that means.

The man hanging from the stone is still completely motionless. He’s got dried blood trails from his mouth down his neck, and…a-and some down his legs and stomach, along with…his intestines. Just. H-hanging out. And on the ground… It's okay it’s okay it’s okay—he-he isn’t gonna die if he’s still alive. Billy told you only heads and hearts are connected to their spirit cores right? So it’s not like a human looking like this; we can still save him.

I look at Billy over my shoulder, for reassurance, but his face is pale and a kind of horrified and full of dread like what I’m feeling.

…No. That’s right. I forgot so fast; usually it’s only heads and hearts, but their real deaths in life are an Achilles’ heel too. And…if this guy died being impaled on a spear, which, which it really looks like he must have. Maybe…they…overdid it.

Please be alive, please be alive.

Afraid of the answer, I reach out my hand towards his face, hoping to feel breath on my hand. Emiya has me beat though—same idea but better. His arm goes past mine and he places a hand on the man’s shoulder. I hear him whisper what sounds like ‘Trace on,’ and the little geometric patterns that appear when he does magecraft light up along the man’s body, arcing from his shoulder to his chest. It’s good news, thank god, because Emiya lets out a breath, and for just an instant, I see relief in his face. Then he’s all serious again, and turns to me.

“He’s not dead, but he’s on death’s door. If we remove that spear, he’s going to die. And if we leave him like this, he’s also going to die.”

“But then—we have to try something!” I start.

“I know-” says Emiya like he means it, but whatever he’s about to say after, he doesn’t, because the man in blue stirs, and he stops immediately to look down at him. The man groans weakly, and unconsciously lulls his head a little to the side. Very slowly, I notice his chest begin to rise and fall with enough depth I can actually tell he’s breathing, and there’s movement behind his eyelids, then he slowly blinks, before finally cracking his eyes half-open and looking out blearily at nothing.

Very carefully, Emiya lets go of his shoulder and moves back beside me. The man in blue doesn’t seem to see either of us for a few seconds, then his eyes clear just a little, and he weakly tilts his head up to look at uh.

The instant he does, recognition flashes across his face and his eyes go a Oh fuck kind of wide and become much sharper, and he stares right past me at Emiya in disbelieving, almost offended horror.

D. Do they hate each other?

“Oh, you gotta be fucking-” starts the man in a weak, angry rasp, then surprise and agony wash over his features and his face contorts in pain as he chokes and struggles, then loses the struggle and starts hacking up blood and convulsing. I think it might be the most awful thing I’ve ever seen, and I want to help him, but I’m afraid if I touch him I’m just gonna make it worse so I just stand there watching in horror as he tries to hold back sounds of pain and fights to stop his body from convulsing, each cough aggravating the wound through him in a way I think it would be unfair to describe even as agonizing looking. I. I want to help; I don’t know how. I want to cry. It looks so awful. I try turning to Emiya for help, but he has that almost unreadable expression on his face again. I...there’s something in his eyes like worry, though. I think? Just barely not hidden right. I am at least sure he’s not enjoying watching this at all.

I try looking over at Billy, and realize he’s moved up almost beside me now. He doesn’t seem to know what to do either, but it’s still weirdly reassuring, because even though he still looks worried, he looks a lot less full of dread than he did before, so, that probably means this is a good sign even though it looks terrible, right? I try and hang onto that.

When the wracking coughs stop, the heroic spirit is breathing raggedly, soaked in sweat and fresh blood, head slumped forward in exhaustion. Very slowly, he manages after a second to raise his head to look at us again with bleary eyes, but he doesn’t try to say anything this time, and he can only keep his head up for a second before giving up and hanging limp again.

Like that’s woken him up or something, Emiya blinks, glances at me and says, “Stay here,” then moves up to the man.

The man in blue watches him in silence the best he can with eyes he’s struggling to not let close. Emiya gives him a little nod and says, “Lancer,” like it means something to the other guy that I don’t really understand. I can’t even tell if there’s any kind of positive or negative feeling to the words at all. It’s strange. The way the guy—the Lancer, I guess, looked at Emiya before, I thought he hated him, but I don’t think Emiya hates him. And as soon as Emiya says that, the Lancer almost looks comforted for just a second, or relieved, like there’s a hint of smile on his lips, and I don’t think he’s scared of Emiya at all right now, not even as much as you’d be scared of a stranger if you were hurt like this—he actually gives in and just shuts his eyes then and lets his head hang forward against his chest again after hearing his class as some kind of weird greeting.

I have no idea what any of this means at all.

I guess it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting him out of this.

“Things are fine out here,” comes David’s voice in my head, “No rush yet. We’ll keep you updated. Do you need any help with the Lancer?”

“Not yet,” answers Emiya mentally, not even looking up while he circles the man, taking in the setup and the spear. When he finishes, he glances at him and says, “They should have known better than to do this to someone with a time limit attached to their death. How long have you been here?”

“…Two…and a half…days. …I think,” manages the lancer between ragged breaths, with a voice that’s barely there at all.

This seems to worry Emiya.

“That’s bad?” I ask him, “Not just normal bad, but-?”

He gives me a serious nod.

“Can I help?” I ask. I look down at my right hand. I wasted one spell, hurting Billy on accident. I’d like to use the second for something good. “I could use a command spell.”

“You may have to,” says Emiya quietly, “But not yet. And not without contracting.”

Oh. Right.

The lancer’s brow knits weakly at that, and he turns his head to look at Emiya and then me questioningly for a moment before giving up again and hanging still.

“Lancer,” I say nervously, turning to the man in blue, “Would you accept a contract with me? I pr-“

“-Yes,” he cuts me off.

“… Really?” I ask, “But I didn’t even tell-“

“-Don’t care. Won’t—Can’t. be worse…than this,” manages the lancer between labored breaths, and he musters the strength to open his eyes and give me a very weak wink, “I’d take. …a devil.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling very worried about this man. Emiya moves behind the rock and poises himself to break...something, I’m not sure from where I’m standing. Part of the chains, maybe, and then he pauses and gives me a nod. I reach up and place my hand on the lancer’s. It’s covered in blood. I guess he…fought, before he ran out of strength. Trying to break free. Dried blood. I try not to think about it. I give Emiya a nod and hear something metal snap behind the rock as I turn my focus back to the Lancer and say, “My soul becomes your will, your spirit becomes my destiny. If you agree, accept me and answer my call, Lancer,” maybe too quickly.

“I accept,” comes the lancer’s exhausted voice.

There’s a now familiar feeling, a pulse of mana, and I feel connection like an invisible cord between us.

Heal, heal, heal, heal, I think, extending my hand and focusing all my energy on him, but then Emiya’s hand is on my arm, lowering it, and I look at him in surprise.

“Not yet,” says Emiya gently, “It won’t help him until we get the spear out. You’ll just waste your energy.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling my face heat up. I turn and look worriedly at the lancer, “But. You said he’d die if-“

“I did,” says Emiya with a nod. He straightens up and turns to face the lancer himself. “Lancer?”

The lancer looks up at him with some amount of effort, almost annoyed. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to change the spear into something else,” says Emiya, meeting his gaze before very carefully setting his hand down on the spear shaft, “If it’s not a spear anymore, pulling it out won’t kill you.”

“Yeah?” manages the lancer more happily.

“… But, if I make it smaller, technically, it’ll still be removing the spear. So. I’m going to have to make it just the smallest bit bigger, then pull it out of you.”

“…Ah,” says the lancer much less happily.

“It’s going to hurt like hell,” warns Emiya, closing his fingers around the spear.

“It already does,” replies the lancer quietly. He lets out a breath and shuts his eyes, then gives a nod.

“Wait!” I say, surprised to hear Billy say something at the same time. I’m not sure what it was, but we glance at each other, and Emiya pauses.

“Here,” says Billy, stepping forward and sliding off his belt. He holds it up for the lancer to bite down on, and the man accepts it with a grateful glance. Similar idea, I move up and place my hand on his for moral support. Emiya looks like he’s considering telling me that’s a bad idea, but he changes his mind and doesn’t.

“Okay,” I tell him.

“Brace,” warns Emiya. The lancer does. I hear Emiya whisper what I’m sure this time is ‘Trace on’, and the spear lights up with those geometric patterns again, but this time the whole thing glows, and I watch in surprise as it changes form. The lancer screams in pain through the belt and jerks as the thing through his middle morphs, and then I’m not thinking about anything at all because he’s CRUSHING my hand. I scream too.

The glow stops and Emiya rips the object through his torso out with one clean yank, and the man screams again, and then it’s over and he’s let go of me and I fall to the ground, cradling my hand. Or—I thought I had—Billy comes out of nowhere and catches me, and I realize after it’s been happening for a few seconds that he and Emiya and Robin and David are all asking me if I’m okay.

“I…” I look down at my hand. It’s…broken. How strong IS that guy? He was dead, and he—

“It’s broken,” says Billy out loud.

“It’s okay,” promises David mentally a second before appearing beside us, “I have this. You make sure the lancer doesn’t die,” he tells Emiya, kneeling by me and Billy.

Emiya gives me an almost sorry glance, then David a nod.

“Here,” says David gently, placing his hand on top of mine. He gives me a warm smile. “Quite a break. Looks like we picked up a strong ally, didn’t we?”

Reassured by how calm he is, I choke back tears and give him a nod.

“Don’t worry. You’re not the only one who can heal.” David holds up a hand and a little harp appears out of thin air. He takes a knee and starts to play on it, and it’s the strangest sensation I’ve ever felt. The music is really beautiful—I know I’ve never heard the tune before, but it still feels…emotional, like deep nostalgia. And I at once feel comforted, and calm, and not worried or sad at all. I feel okay. And as I do, I feel a sensation like putting your hand in cool water after burning it run along my right hand, and I watch in wonder as the bones in my palm set themselves, and the pain vanishes.

“H. How did you do that?” I ask him in amazement, holding up my hand and turning it.

“I was blessed to have skill that helped people through music on a kinnor in life,” says David, still smiling, “And if anything it has only gotten stronger after death.”

“That’s amazing,” I say without thinking, “Can you teach me?”

He looks incredibly tickled and gets an very interesting look on his face for a moment, then says, “I’m not sure. I’ve never tried. But maybe.”

Right. Stupid! You barely know him and he probably can’t teach you to have magic Heroic Spirit powers, Ritsuka!

“Better?” he asks, standing and holding out a hand. I nod and take the hand, and he and Billy help me up.

“Yeah, good as new, actually,” I say, surprised, flexing my fingers. I look over at Emiya and the lancer then. The lancer isn’t moving at all and his eyes are shut, his body hanging limply. “…Is he okay?” I ask worriedly.

“Well, he’s alive,” says Emiya. He removes his hand from the lancer’s stomach and I see the wound is gone.

“You healed him?” ask, amazed. How many healers do we have?

“Not…healed as such,” says Emiya with a grimace. He summons the little curved swords, or, big daggers—whatever they are—that he uses so much, and slashes through the chains holding the lancer up, then catches him as he falls and slings his body over a shoulder, and turns to me. “I closed the wound forcibly, but it’s more like I stopped the damage from getting worse than actually healed any of the damage.”

“Oh, I guess I should then,” I say, walking over, “Or David.”

Emiya looks like he’s going to say something again, then doesn’t. Instead he says, “…Sure.”

I put my hand on the unconscious lancer’s, and focus all my energy into trying to heal him. I picture holding my hand out, and feel it work a little. Feel some mana leave me and pass to him. It’s still…really hard to do this, if I’m honest. I feel like I ran up two flights of stairs every time I try. But I’m getting it! And that’s all that matters.

When I open my eyes, though, the man is still unmoving, just hanging there unconscious.

“…Did it not work?” I ask nervously.

“No, it did,” says Emiya, “He’s just got…a rather complicated wound.”

“I can try,” says David. He summons his harp—kinnor? again, and starts to play. Just being near it, I feel better again myself. David gets a strange look on his face, though, and gives Emiya a worried glance, still playing. Emiya returns it, and I think…I think they said something to each other, mentally, but…didn’t tell me? …Why?

“Well,” says David, cheerful again, “That’s the best I can do for now. I think he’ll wake up in a little bit, but he might not be the most useful in battle right now.”

“That’s okay,” I say, unsettled by whatever just happened, “So long as he’s okay.”

“We good to keep moving?” asks Robin mentally from the door.

“Yes,” replies Emiya the same way, “We can get going.”

“Who’s your friend?” asks Robin out loud as we join him.

“A lancer,” replies Emiya. There’s a weird moment between them then I don’t really understand. Emiya looks…like he’s not sure he believes Robin doesn’t know who it is, and Robin seems a little irritated by that. Gives the lancer another hard look. And there’s…recognition then? But not like with Emiya, when he saw the lancer. It’s…a weird mix of recognition and confusion, and he looks away.

I wish I knew what to do when you guys were weird about each other.

Emiya glances over at me and I think misinterprets why I look the way I do, because he relents a little and says, “I can tell you who he is, but that would probably piss him off; he’d want to do it himself.”

“Oh, I can wait—I mean, unless knowing would help us help him right now,” I say, surprised.

“I don’t think it would matter right now,” says Emiya.

“I’ll wait then,” I say.

“We only got two left, right?” says Billy, “We know where they are yet?”

Every single spirit stops. I have no idea why—I don’t sense or hear anything, but. Their faces; I know whatever it is it’s-

“Nobody move,” says Emiya in my head.

Nobody does.

“What is,” that, comes Billy’s voice mentally. He sounds…scared?

“Whatever it is, they summoned it. Which means they know we’re here, and what’s happening,” says David mentally.

“They summoned something?” I ask in my head, “To fight us?”

That’s. Wait, that’s weird. I hear…ringing in my ears all of a sudden. It’s kind of painful.

Emiya get’s a look on his face like Oh God please no.

“What? What is it?” I ask mentally, really worried now, “There’s six of us now—five of you are heroic spirits! Even with the lancer out right now, we-“

There’s a loud CRUNCH from above us and the ringing in my ears is suddenly unbearable. It sounds like…

“Is that…rattling?” comes Billy’s voice in my head.

Something massive comes plummeting through the floor above and slams down into the hallway behind us, and the second there’s little enough dust in the air I can see at all I am looking at a skull so big it could eat me, with big white eyes like it has ones made out of glowing bones, and it’s looking at me, and the ringing is louder and I realize it’s coming from its teeth, and I know suddenly, I know what that is. It’s shifting its shoulders and torso in the tight fit even this huge hall is for something its size, and I know I’m looking at-

“GASHADOKURO!” yells Robin at the top of his lungs, and I swear I feel my heart stop.

“Are they out of their FUCKING minds!” shouts Emiya, turning and running. He moves to get me with his free arm, but Billy snags me first, and all of a sudden we’re all moving faster than I have ever gone before—so fast I can barely see.

That’s insane! That’s insane! Why would they summon a yokai! It’ll eat them too; it’ll never stop! I don’t understand; oh god we’re all going to die.

I didn’t think they were real I didn’t think they were real I didn’t—I—I’m terrified. You can’t kill those! You can’t! They just go on until they run out of energy!

Oh god, it’s coming after us. The massive skeleton with its horrible eyes is crawling through the hall, and it’s still looking at me; why me?

“Shit!” shouts Robin as we round a corner so fast Billy and David both leap and shove off the wall, trying to bank as fast as we’re moving, “It wants the kid!”

“Because she’s human!” shouts back Emiya, furious, “They’re trying to kill our Master so we burn out!”

“I should have realized—when there were no people on the floor,” David calls, and I hear him saying something in a language I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure he’s cursing.

“Well we’ll just have to fucking kill it!” shouts back Billy, “How do you kill one?”

“You can’t!” Emiya and I shout back at the same time.

The gashadokuro reaches the hall we just turned onto and crawls after us. How is it MOVING that fast! It has to mess up the walls to move at all, but it’s crawling so fast we’re not losing it! They can’t move that fast! Nothing should be able to keep up with a heroic spirit!

“Well we’re gonna have to invent a way!” replies Billy, doing the same no-time-to-slow leap onto a wall, run a few seconds, then back to the floor bank he did before as we reach another hall.

“They vanish if they run out of energy!” I call, because I am all about finding any way to end that thing.

Oh god, what if it gets outside? H-how could they do this! I’m barely a mage, and I know one of the cardinal rules of magecraft is not to let other people know about it, and they’re risking a monster to beat all monsters getting out, in the middle of the city? How bad do they not want to lose these trapped spirits! That’s insane! How can ANY amount of money possible be worth unleashing a gashadokuro onto the city to anybody!

“Like this, I’m not sure if we can run it out of energy before we do,” calls back Emiya, “But we can try—Billy, take her and get her out of here, and we’ll try and burn it out-“

“—No!” I snap, “That’s a terrible idea! I don’t care if you’re heroic spirits, I’m not leaving you with a gashadokuro while I run and hide!”

“It doesn’t want us unless we’re with you,” replies Emiya pleadingly, “It’s safer for all of us if you-“

Something shoots up through the floor and I hear Billy cry out in pain and see Emiya’s expression turn into a mixture of anger, shock and horror, and then I feel something hit me and I look down and see a skeletal hand. I. I don’t know if it moved somehow, or if this means there’s two. But it’s beneath us, coming up through the floor. I see a giant skeletal hand close around us. And I’m remembering they crush you to death and bite off your head. It’s starting to squeeze. And then I hear Billy shout something—it’s not Thunderer. It’s something else. But I feel a surge of energy ripped out of me. We’re not in its hand anymore somehow. We’re above it, in the air. I don’t know how we got out. I’m confused, and I feel faint. I feel…Billy’s hand around mine. He raises his gun and I do hear him call the name of his noble phantasm this time, and the hand shatters into shards of bone beneath us, and immediately starts to regrow.

Something’s wrong though. I feel sick. And. The newest one—the lancer. he’s…He’s still hanging over Emiya’s shoulder. I can see Emiya firing shots from his bow, at the one behind us. Oh god, there are two of them then. Emiya looks okay. But. The lancer. He's…transparent.

Oh no. I’m using up too much mana, I think faintly. I try really hard to focus. What did Billy do that got us out and made me feel like this? Or was it one of the others.

We land, and Billy trying to carry me and shoot at the same time, dealing with the one in the floor. Everyone in the building must know where we are now. The monster’s head comes up and it tries to bite us, and Billy chucks me like a baseball, and Robin catches me out of the air and we vanish.

“You okay?” I hear his voice worriedly in my head.

“No, stop,” I plead. I don’t think I’m crying, but I sound like I am. “I’m okay. Don’t use your invisibility on me—help them fight. I can do it! I can! I can keep all of you up!”

I’m trying so hard to focus on my connection to the lancer. I wish I knew his name; I wish I knew it. I know it wouldn’t matter, but I feel like it would. I feel like if I could keep thinking it, it would anchor him better. Come on. Don’t die, Lancer. Stay up, stay up.

“I know you can,” says Robin quietly in my head, “But none of us are exactly fighting at our best right now. One of our tankiest spirits is unconscious, and the other’s basically a walking glass canon. David and I can’t do a lot without risking vanishing, and Billy just overextended himself. I’m amazed your conscious at all after supporting all of us and a noble phantasm. We need to pull back.”

“But we can’t leave anyone here,” I whisper.

“I know we can’t,” says Robin, looking down at me with sympathy. The others are all so fast. I can barely see them move, and Robin says this is them fighting at a disadvantage. “But right now we don’t have a plan. We need to get away from those things, and think.”

He has more to say, but there’s suddenly the sound of an alarm. Lights start flashing on the ceiling above us, we both look up in shock as the security doors all along the hall close. One tries to slam on the gashadokuro in the hall and can’t, but seems to sort of pin it down, even if only momentarily. Another shuts between us and everyone else.

“No, no, no!” I say, struggling to sit up. I almost black out, but I make it to my knees. Robin is up with me, a hand on my shoulder, staring too. “We have to get back in there—you can help them!” I say. Above and below us, I suddenly hear faint voices shouting and screaming. People? Some of the staff?

Robin hesitates, agitated. Looks from me to the others, struggling to fight off two of those things. “No,” he decides, “No—we can’t leave you alone. It’s what they want.”

“But look!” I say, pointing, “They’re not coming! They aren’t even looking at me anymore. If they let one of those loose in the building, it must mean they have a way not to get killed themselves, right? I’m barely a mage, but I can tell there’s a shield on the doors—there has to be! Otherwise the one on its belly would have snapped through them the second they closed. Those things haven’t taken their eyes off me since they appeared, and I’m like thirty feet away, and neither of them is even looking in my direction! I’ve got to be right. Aren’t I?”

I point at the door, daring to be proved wrong. Robin grimaces and looks at the security door. He moves over and puts his hand on it and shits his eyes, then looks at the bone monsters, and back at me. “Doesn’t matter,” he says with less conviction, but a lot of worry, “It’s stupid to leave you alone.”

Behind him, I see Billy swatted into a wall so hard it dents, and Robin sees my expression and turns to look too. He gets up, firing, but he’s bleeding.

There’s indecision on Robin’s face. They’re struggling. He knows it; I know it.

“Robin, please,” I say, “I’ll be right here, just through the door. We need to have a plan; I have one! People are screaming—that means they’re freaking out. Emiya said he thinks someone is helping us, or, is using us to try and sabotage Ur-shanabi. If people are worried when the doors changed, it means the person probably opened the ones keeping those stuck on our level, right? If we can lead them up or down, then they’ll have to un-summon it, to protect themselves! We won’t have to kill it.”

“What if they don’t have a way to,” counters Robin. Behind us, David narrowly misses being bitten in half, and takes a shot at one of their skulls with a slingshot. It takes out an eye-socket, which immediately reforms.

“Would you summon a monster that eats people that can’t be killed without some plan to get out of it if things went wrong?” I ask.

Robin makes a face. He looks back at the others. One of the gashadokuro’s makes a grab for Emiya and almost gets the lancer as he ducks, but he manages to roll out of the way and keep his grip on the unconscious body, a barrage of swords appearing out of thin air and slamming into the thing to push it away from him as he does.

“…Fine! Fine,” snaps Robin, turning to me, “You’re not a bad strategist, and it’s a better plan than whatever those idiots are doing. Worst case, they have no plan, but the gashadokuro become their problem for a minute, buying us some time.”

Wait I don’t want people to get eaten though.

“Don’t give me that look,” he says, stressed, “I’ll do what I can! I know you don’t want people to die, but look at that thing! . … Okay! I’ll try—we’ll try.”

I give him a watery smile.

He sighs, then takes my right hand with fervor and kneels, giving me the most intense look he ever has. “Listen to me. You have two command spells left. I’m not going out there unless you swear to me. On everything you have ever cared about—the second you think you even maybe aren’t safe out here alone, while we’re doing that, you will use one of those spells to call us to your side to save you. You don’t wait till there’s no option, you don’t try to force your way though it. The second you think you might need one of us, you call us. I do not want you to die because I left you alone. I need you swear this to me, okay?

I stare at him.

He sighs, and puts a hand on my shoulder kindly, giving me a worried almost smile. “Ritsuka, trust goes both ways. You want us to trust you to be okay while we do this, we will. But only if we can trust you’re not going to throw your life away on something stupid. You can’t die on us. We all die too. And on top of that, none of us wants you dead. You have to take your own life seriously. Hero shit isn’t being careless, or stupid. ‘I might be okay’ isn’t what it is. There’s a big difference between knowing you take out something and die, or everyone does, and flinging yourself at the first dangerous thing you see because it might be better for someone.”

“Okay,” I promise, taking that to heart, “I promise. If I get scared, or think I’m in trouble at all, I promise. I’ll call for you.”

Robin looks into my eyes, checking to make sure he believes me I think. I’m not lying, though, and I think he sees that. He smiles and pats my head, then hesitates. Reconsidering, he takes off his cloak, then reaches up and removes the scrunchie I’m using for my little side ponytail. “I need something that smells more human than me,” he offers by way of explanation with a smile, holding it up. I give a nod. He slides it around his wrist, and then puts his cloak over my shoulders and slides the hood up. “Here,” he says, giving me a smile that’s still a little worried, even though he’s trying to hide, “Unless you attack something or use magic, you’re pretty much impossible to see or sense so long as you keep that on. It’ll keep you safe if something happens to the door. Don’t take it off.”

“But. Don’t you need it?” I ask. The fabric of the green cloak is worn and rugged, but it somehow still feels comforting, almost soft. Like…a well-worn favorite jacket does. It feels safe inside it. Like hugging your mom and dad.

“For this?” says Robin with a snort. He straightens up and tugs an arm behind his back, making a show of stretching, and cracks his neck as he moves over towards the door, “No. I only need it for serious threats.” He gives me a smile over his shoulder, then vanishes into spirit form, reappearing on the other side of the barrier near Billy, launching a barrage of arrows at the nearest monster. I hear them in my head, going over the same plan I gave to Robin, and to my relief, they take it. Billy fires a barrage of bullets into one of their faces, then runs dangerously close, before leaping up, shooting a hole through the floor, and vanishing into the next story up. Emiya fires a similar barrage at the one near him while David breaks a hole in the floor above, and Robin, scrunchie still around his wrist, rushes dangerously close to both, trying to rub off the scent, before vanishing up one of the holes, followed by David and Emiya. Agitated, both gashadokuros follow them, ripping absolutely terrifying paths into the ceiling as they go.

Robin’s cloak wrapped around my shoulders, hood up, I make it to my feet and watch, kind of stunned. I hear lots of noise from above, but it’s hard to tell what’s going on. I focus on the connections, and I know they’re all still alive right now. So that’s good.

It's…funny. I wasn’t scared at all to be alone until I was, but now that it’s quiet on this floor, and I’m alone, I feel…vulnerable. Isolated. Defenseless.

I hold up my hand and look at the command seals there. Two left.

It’s okay. You can call for help if you need it, and Robin said they’ll appear right at your side, but right now you don’t need that. You’re okay. You have Robin’s cloak, and nobody can see you. You just need to wait, and trust they can do this, and keep giving them energy. You can do that.

Behind me, there’s a sound. I spin on my heel, terrified, but it’s just the Slick of an automated door opening.

Wait. That’s not normal at all.

I’m alone. Why would?

Trying to think fast, I dart to the side of the wall and press against it. It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay. You’re invisible.

The door that opened is about eleven doors further down the hall, at basically the far range of what I can see.

Nothing comes out.

After a few seconds, the door shuts again. Then opens. Stay open. Shuts partially, opens again.

What the…heck?

It closes. Then opens again. Partially closes, opens. Partially closes, opens. Closes fast. What? It. It’s…a pattern?

I try to focus. Wait for it to start over. Open. Close. Long pause. Open, partially close, open, patially close, open, close, partially close, open. Long pause.

It’s – it’s dashes and dots?

Nope—no—no way! I have to be safe right now, and stay put. I am not engaging. I don’t know what this is, or if whoever has been interfering with, or, helping—I’m not really sure anymore—us wants? But I can’t. I can’t do that right now. I have to sit here, and just stay safe.

….

It keeps happening. I close my eyes and try to focus on my connections, trying to make sure everyone is okay. Try to shut out the sound of the door opening and closing.

Finally, when I can’t take it, I look over at it in distress.

It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter what you want me to do; I can’t do it! Please stop!

The door does not stop.

Chewing myself out internally for doing this, I take my phone out and look up a Wabun chart, because I have no idea how to translate on my own. Wait for a pause I can tell is the end of a letter.

‘---.-‘ ---that’s… ‘Su’. ‘-.--’ is…’Ke’? …Wait. ‘.-.--’ Thanks… ‘Te’. It goes again. Just a single long open, quick close. ‘-.’ ‘Ta’.

Oh no. I wasn’t at the start of the word, and I know what the person moving the door is saying. They’re saying ‘Tasukete’. They’re saying, ‘Help me.’

But I can’t, I think desperately, squeezing my eyes shut, I can’t I can’t I can’t! I have to stay put, and stay safe, I’m sorry; I’m sorry! I can’t, I promised Robin I’d be safe!

I can still hear the door. Someone who doesn’t know me at all is trying so hard.

So hard.

…It might be a trap. It’s probably a trap. But. It’s gotta be the same person who closed the doors and opened the ones on the other floors, right? That helped us. It’s…it’s probably still them, and someone has kind of been helping us, or, Emiya thought so. Maybe it’s real—maybe. Maybe somebody needs help in there.

I know, I know, I know it’s stupid but.

The door keeps making it’s slow Slick and Thump sounds, and I’m hearing it as ‘Help’ over and over in my head now that I know what it says. ‘Help me, help me, help me.’

I…

I. …

Chest full of guilt and anxiety, wishing anybody at all was with me, I push off the wall and turn slowly towards the door.

You don’t have to do this.

I take a step.

You know it’s stupid. You know it’s dangerous.

I take another.

Why are you doing this! Why? You know it could be a trap!

I know it could be, but I keep going, slowly.

Why?

Because. …Because somebody might be in trouble, somebody I could help right now. Because somebody might be in trouble. Somebody I could help right now. If some stranger has been helping us, which I really think they have, then, …I think that means we can trust them. Right? And they think I can help, they think I need to help right now. And. And if someone is in trouble, and I walk away, I’d regret that.

I hesitate a few steps from the door, second-guessing myself now that it’s time to really make a choice.

You’re still invisible. It’s okay. If anything happens, you can just call them. Right?

Eyes on my two remaining command spells, I raise my hand and close my fingers into a fist.

Right.

I close the distance to the door and stop on the threshold, breathing shaky.

Okay. You asked for help, and I came. What do you need?

I forget that since whoever is doing this can’t see me, they won’t know to stop the door, and still repeating its pattern, it starts to shut on me, and not wanting to be hit by it, I hop over the doorway into the room.

And realize I was wrong about whoever is out there knowing where I am, because the second I do that, the door slams shut behind me, and I hear it lock.