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loversj0y · 2 years ago

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'tis the damn season

chapter one - we could call it even

its your first day back home from winter break, and the overwhelming extent of the holidays leads to some interesting rekindlings

'tis the damn season masterlist

pairing: cc!wilbur soot x gn!reader

fluff and angst (quite a lot of angst in fact)

trigger warnings: reader's mother is abusive (not physically) and father is emotionally absent. this will be talked about in extensive detail. alcohol, some suggestive themes, and a lot of anxiety.

author's note: WELCOME! to the very first installment of a multichaptered fic inspired by taylor swift's tis the damn season! this work has been in progress for about. 4 months now so !! yipee!!! hope u enjoy (chapter two should be out sometime within the next week; i wont make the wait too long between chapters) dont like tumblr formatting? ao3 version is available here!

word count: 6.3k

If you had to be honest, you despised the holidays. It was always stressful, no matter how prepared you tried to be. But regardless, being in your final year of Uni, it was pretty nice to get a final winter break before graduation. The idea of staying with your parents wasn’t ideal. They’d spent years neglecting you and taking a toll on you emotionally, but in the time you’d been gone, it had seemed like things had improved. You agreed to go home for the holidays under this idea, hoping to have a nice break from everything, despite the heavy feeling in your chest that came from being in your hometown – that you’d proudly left behind – and the general dread of the holidays.

Wilbur wasn’t exactly the opposite. While he didn’t mind the holidays themselves, he hated the social conventions of it all. Particularly the insistence that you must be with family or else the holiday isn’t worth anything. However, Wilbur seemed to luck out this year. His mother and stepfather happened to book a cruise for the holidays, and all they wanted from him was to watch the house while they were gone. It gave him both the convention of helping out family without dealing with the mental decline that he gets from actually being around them, mostly his stepfather. So, he’d spend a month in his old bedroom, in the town he dreaded because the number of good memories he’d had all involved one person that left not long before he did.

When you’d finally arrived, it wasn’t long before your parents were hugging you and peppering kisses on your face, talking about how much they’d missed you, and asking if you were eating alright. It was loving, and you did appreciate it, but you felt uneasy. As your mother hugged you, it felt unfulfilling as you looked around the room, each familiar surrounding bringing up memories of your mother’s yelling. You’d settled down fairly easily, which tended to be a perk of returning to your childhood bedroom. After changing into something much more comfortable, you’d returned to where it seemed your family members had accumulated.

“Y/n, darling, my goodness, you’ve grown so much since I’ve last seen you! What are they feeding you out there in London?” It was your aunt who spoke to you. She was tame enough, save for when she got her hands on enough cosmopolitans to feel the need to share everyone’s gossip.

“It’s nice to see you too. And I cook for myself, in case you were wondering.” You deadpanned. Honestly, you just didn't feel like humoring her advances to pull information out of you. You’d fallen for them as a kid, but now, even with little to hide, you couldn’t quite trust her.

“Of course, you are, my genius. How’s the dating scene been?”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, brushing it off, “Boring as ever.”

She hummed, taking a sip of her drink. Ah, looks like she may already be ready to gossip, you thought, noticing the soft flush on her cheeks consistent with her drunkness. Your suspicions were confirmed when she continued, “You know, your mum told me she saw that old fling of yours at the shops the other day. What was his name?” She hummed for a moment, “Wilbur! That’s what it is.”

Your chest turned to stone in a matter of seconds, and you forced out a response, “Oh, cool.”

It was not “oh, cool” however, it was very much not cool. You and Wilbur had been friends since the third form, and while you weren’t incredibly close at first, you became much closer as time went on and as social circles grew smaller and smaller. It came to the point where you two were inseparable, the best friend you’d had even until now. Your “fling” couldn't even really be classified as such. Despite how much you loved Wilbur Soot, you and him just never seemed to break that barrier, save for one weekend in your final year of A-levels. You’d planned to go to prom together, neither of you being romantically involved with anyone else, but you never actually made it to prom. You both went and sat in a field outside the back of the school, sharing a bottle of vodka he’d lifted from his stepdad’s stash. It was then that he’d opened up to you about how embarrassed he felt to be leaving school without having ever kissed a girl before. The mixture of his vodka and your love for him ultimately amounted to a few sloppy kisses, a moment’s worth of making out, before the two of you both had to run from a counselor who was looking for any delinquent students. Neither of you ever addressed it again.

The years you two had known each other eventually culminated in the same relationship that you had with most people these days: you leaving him and losing contact. You didn’t mean to leave him behind, but between a full scholarship in London and his insistence on how shitty London is, you had to leave.

You thought about him frequently. There were numerous nights where you’d open up his contact and attempt to draft a message, but it always ended in watching the cursor blink as you struggled to find the words. Honestly, you never thought you’d see him again. You knew nothing about him anymore, what he was like, what he was doing. It was impossible to decide if you dreaded seeing him or would go out of your way to attempt to see him.

After catching up with your family for a bit longer, you decided to step out. Honestly, you didn’t know where you were going. It was late, almost midnight, and you just needed the fresh air. After walking into town, you found the one thing that would realistically be open this time of night: the pub. It was mostly empty, save for a few older folks sitting in some booths around the wall. You recognized the bartender, he was a few years above you back in school, but he always made an effort to be kind to everyone. He grinned at you once you sat at the bar.

“Well, if it isn’t Y/N L/N. Shit, I would’ve thought you died," he chuckled, "You visiting for the holidays?”

“Yep. And trust me, I’d quite rather be dead than be around my whole family all day.”

He laughed, “Let me guess, a martini for the sophisticated Londoner?”

You laughed back, “God, no, I haven’t exactly been converted over yet. Just a pint.”

“Still the same as before?”

“Mmhm,” you nodded out, sighing softly. Being here felt a lot less tense than being at home. At least here you didn’t have to deal with the hushed fights and curses whispered between spouses.

Wilbur had been incredibly excited by the idea of being alone when he first arrived at his old house a week before. It wasn’t long before it got old.

“Alright, chat, who should we raid?”

His chat moved rapidly in response to his words. He’d been playing Minecraft with Tommy, not unlike usual, but he’d been live for an hour and a half, which was a long time to hold up a persona for. Once he’d ended, he stayed on call with Tommy through Discord.

“I dunno, man. I like being alone, like having the place to myself, but I’ve never felt so lonely,” Wilbur paused, “This place is way bigger than I remember.”

“So go somewhere,” Tommy offered.

Wilbur groaned, “You do understand that there is nothing to do here. It’s part of the reason I settled on Brighton.”

“Oh, c’mon, there’s gotta be something there for you to do. Don’t you have at least, like, a park or a pub maybe? You could go meet women!”

“Tommy, I know every woman in this town, nobody has moved here or left here since I left,” he sighed, “we do have a pub though. Honestly, that’s not a bad idea. I could go for a drink.”

“See! Just gotta think outside the box. Have a little optimism, man. Maybe you’ll see that person you knew in school.”

“Tommy, don’t.” Wilbur genuinely considered leaving the call, his heart sinking at the mention of his old friend, “They haven’t been back since they left, alright?”

“Yeah, but you never know! Have you thought about what you’d say to them if you did see them?”

“No,” he groaned, “I don’t know why I’m humoring this, but if I saw them, I’d probably be nice. As much as it hurts, I miss them, and it’s not like I reached out much either, so.”

Tommy hummed, “Wilbur the Wise, you are. At least maybe if you do see them, you’ll be much less bored.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Wilbur sighed, pulling an old beanie on. “Alright, I’m going to head out, talk to you later, man.”

“Have fun!”

Wilbur hung up the call after a moment, sighing a bit as he stretched. While he didn’t actually want to go to the pub, it was a better idea than staying in another night. Plus, at least he could get to walk his old path and try and see some of the cats he always used to stop for.

His walk did end up taking quite a while. He only spotted two cats on the way, but he’d given them as much attention and love as they’d allow. But that wasn’t really what took up so much of his time. He kept going back to what Tommy had asked. Honestly, he did not even consider he’d see you here. For a long time after you’d left for school, he thought that one day he’d see you walking to the shops and he’d go up to you, and just by saying hello, everything would feel like it used to. After a while, he’d lost hope that he’d ever see you again. He’d tried to find you online, some scrap to see how you had been and to see if you were okay, but he knew he couldn’t exactly just follow you without the risk of questions. He cursed himself for a long while over his pettiness in never reaching out. He thought about that prom night often. Part of him couldn’t make peace with the idea that his best friend, someone who he’d fallen in love with the second they’d spoken to him, was now just a stranger to him. It didn’t make sense to him, but what made even less sense was when Wilbur opened the door to the pub to find you sitting alone at the bar.

Wilbur’s breathing went full stop when he saw you. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but whether that was from the cold or the shock he felt seeing you, he couldn’t tell. Once he could feel his body again, he felt his heart pounding in his chest. He’d have to make a choice right now, and he’d have to make one he wouldn’t eventually regret, but-

“Wilbur! Mate, close the door, would you, you’re lettin' in a draft!”

You felt frozen in your seat when you heard the bartender– whose name, you were kindly reminded, was Liam– yell to Wilbur. You didn’t know if you wanted to look up at him or look anywhere but him. Eventually, curiosity got the best of you, and you looked up directly into his eyes as he stood in the doorway. He seemed to come back to life after a second, turning to walk towards the bar.

“Uh, right, sorry, man. Could I get a pint?”

He sat across the corner of the bar, close but still seemingly holding you at a distance.

After Liam walked away, he turned back to you, and for a moment, you both stared, trying to find words. He’d grown quite fit since the last time you’d seen him. He was still tall, but not quite as lanky. His shoulders have filled out nicely.

You decided to start, stuttering a bit as you began, “Hi, Wilbur.”

He seemed to think for a moment before the look faded from his face and something kinder replaced it, “Hi.”

“How- um,” you contemplated even asking, but you’d rather ask than be sitting here in awkward silence with the boy you’ve loved for years, “How have you been?”

“I’ve been…” He took in a breath, a moment to compose himself, before responding, “I’ve been good, actually. How about you?”

You considered lying. “I’m okay, could be better but…”

“But?”

“Well, I’m still doing the whole uni thing, so still just living in London. Not many developments.”

“Right. How is London?”

You thought back to your apartment. Your shitty apartment and your three roommates who you never spoke to, the leaks in the ceilings, the constant noise, the crowds, the grey fogs that would weigh down on your lungs, the deaths on the tube, the harassment just from walking to campus, everything. “It sucks. The city is horrible,” you sighed, “The school is alright, though. The people are standoffish and don’t talk, but the education is good.”

Wilbur looked as though he was fighting off a smile, taking a sip from the beer he’d been given. “I’m sorry to hear that. Glad the school is good. It may not be my place exactly, but do you mind if I say something?”

Dread filled your chest. “Well, you have to now.”

A smile crossed his face, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “I told you so.”

A moment of processing passed before you burst into laughter. Of course, after all the years you knew Wilbur Soot, you probably could have predicted that would be the first thing he’d want to say to you.

“Okay, okay, I can admit. Maybe you were a little right. I’ve got my regrets, but despite the city, I don’t hate my choice,” you took a sip from your pint, “what about you? How’s life been?”

He shrugged a bit, “I’d say good. I did some schooling online and graduated a bit ago. Been doing some work, uh, online, so yeah. It’s been good.”

“Oh, that sounds cool. Anything I’d know?”

“Uh, maybe…” He went quiet for a moment before continuing, “I work for Twitch if you know that company.”

You shrugged, “I know of them. That’s cool though, I’m glad you found something you enjoy.”

He smiled a bit, “Yeah, it’s been nice. I’ve made quite a few friends.”

“Really?” That was a bit of a surprise, “Shy little Wilby is making work friends?”

He seemed to flush a bit, chuckling, “I’ve gotten better about the shyness.”

“That’s good. You seem to be doing better in that department than I have. I haven’t changed much at all, I think.”

He hummed, pondering. He stared for a moment, and you almost felt shy under his gaze. Finally, after what felt like ages, he spoke up, “You do your hair differently. You used to part it to the side.”

You laughed, surprised by the unexpected statement, instinctively reaching up to fix some stray hairs. It brought a blush up to your cheeks, as you couldn’t remember the last time someone had noticed such a small detail as that. You bit your lip for a moment before responding, “Yeah, I- I guess so. Though, to be fair, we kind of had the whole edginess thing going on back then. Had to look the part.”

“Very true,” He snorted a bit, “I still listen to the same music for the most part though.”

“Oh, let me guess. Favorite band is still Los Campesinos!?”

“Yeah,” he laughed, “though I play a bit of my music now too.”

“Oh?” that was a major development. Wilbur spent a significant amount of time in school talking about how much he wanted to play music, always humming some tune to himself, “Will, that’s fantastic. You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“I could show you now, if you’d like. I’m just watching the house for my parents, so I brought some of my music equipment with me.”

You don’t know what made you so willing to say yes. Maybe it was the fact that you’d finished your pint. Maybe it was just the way that being here and talking to Wilbur made the heaviness in your chest finally lighten up since you first realized you’d have to go home. Either way, before you knew it, you and Wilbur were walking back to his place, chatting lightly the whole way there.

“Wow, this place hasn’t changed.”

You took off your coat as you and Wilbur entered his front door.

“My parent’s haven’t made much of an effort to change things. They think the nineties are still in.” He joked lightly as he locked the door behind you both.

You chuckled, “Yeah, I can see that.” You followed him up the stairs, “So, you said you were just watching the place for them. I take it you don’t live here anymore?”

“Nope, I’ve been living in Brighton, actually. I think you’d really like it. It’s still England, so it’s not great, but the ocean is gorgeous.”

“I’ve been meaning to go down there, actually. It’s only about an hour's train from me, so sometimes my roommates go down there for long weekends. I just haven’t had the time.”

He hummed, “Well, whenever you do have the time, let me know. I’ve got a pretty nice spare room. Plus, I could introduce you to my mates.”

You smiled softly, mostly to yourself, “Yeah. That would be nice.”

He sat down on his bed, reaching behind him and grabbing his guitar. You took a moment to look around the room. The same posters were still hung up, the dents in the wall from you and him goofing off and throwing things, even the scuffs on the floorboards from when you and him rearranged all his furniture. In the years of separation, you expected more of a difference. The only actual difference was that the room was cleaned for once. You hesitated before sitting next to him as you made your observations. He noticed.

“What’s up?”

I shrugged, “It’s weird. Being back here, I mean. I haven’t sat here since A-levels.”

He nodded, thinking it over for a moment. “Yeah. It is a bit weird. Doesn’t it kind of seem like nothing’s changed though?” He chuckled, “I mean, despite the time gap, you always did say being here made you feel safe.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “the feeling is still there. I just feel… weird. I’m used to missing you and all of our memories, but I’m not used to being here again after everything that has changed.”

He smiled slightly, “you missed me?”

I chuckled, “Obviously, man. I missed you every day. Missed having a best friend to bully.”

He snorted, “Hey, all of our bullying was friendly. Unlike some of the other wankers at our school.”

You laughed, throwing your head back, “Oh god, yeah. Bloody hell, man, I feel bad for their kids. Marshall’s going into medicine, and my god, I pray I never end up as his patient. I feel like his negligence alone would kill me.”

Wilbur laughed, leaning into you a bit. “God, that is not a man who should have a medical license,” he sighed softly. “Don’t fret, though. I missed you a lot too. I missed having someone yell at me to go outside or cut my hair.”

You laughed, “Yeah, my yelling comes from a good place, though.”

He hummed, “True. It did help me not go stir-crazy for a while there.” He paused for a moment, turning towards you slightly. “Wait, if you missed me, then… why didn’t you ever call?”

You took a deep breath, sighing softly. “Honestly, at first… I thought you might be mad at me for leaving. We did kind of have a whole argument about it, and I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me. And then, once some time had passed, I considered it. I considered looking you up and trying to talk to you, or even just texting you, but I just felt like it might’ve been weird for me to just text you out of the blue. I didn’t want you to think I was just contacting you because I needed something or something stupid like that. I got busy, and more time passed, and reaching out just felt weirder and weirder each time I considered it.”

He nodded softly. He didn’t make eye contact as he listened and thought. “If I’m being honest as well, I didn’t want to hear from you at first. I was pretty upset. But after a while, I just missed my best friend. And I was going to text you, but I thought you’d be upset with how we left things. I wanted you to reach out because if I had hurt you, I couldn’t handle reaching out only to get anger, or even worse, just silence,” He sighed, “but if I knew you were thinking the same, I would have dedicated as much effort as I have to keep you in my life.”

You flushed a bit, “I would have too.” You made eye contact with him and everything felt warm for a moment, as if his gaze was sunlight peering through dark clouds.

“Now that I know, though,” he started, “I am going to annoy the fuck out of you.”

You laughed loudly at that, grinning up at him, “I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’ve got a few years to make up for after all.”

He grinned softly, looking down for a moment. He pulled his guitar up a bit, smiling, “Well, now that that’s settled. Let me play you something.”

Wilbur’s music was beautiful. He played for an hour before he decided to stop, something about not wanting to play anything he hadn’t quite finished yet.

“Always the perfectionist, you are,” you commented as he placed his guitar down.

“Not always, I’ve gotten better about it. But I want to impress you mostly.”

“Really?” He sat back down on the bed next to you, “You wanted to impress me?”

He nodded, humming out a soft ‘mmhm’.

“If I knew we were trying to impress each other, I would’ve made my life sound much cooler.”

“Oh, really, how so?”

“I dunno, would’ve made it sound like I have some millionaire boyfriend who takes me to Spain for a casual date.”

He hesitated, his teeth taking his bottom lip in thought. “Do you have one?”

“A millionaire boyfriend?” You laughed out, “No, Wilbur, I d-“

“No, I just meant like, a boyfriend.”

“Oh.” You frowned a bit, “No. I don’t. Haven’t exactly gotten to know many people there. Plus, all the men are quite shit.”

He nodded, “Just like everything else in London?”

“Pretty much,” You chuckled softly, “What about you though? A handsome guy like you in Brighton, I’m sure you’ve gotten yourself, someone, by now.”

He shrugged, “Tried it out for a while, but I just didn’t have much luck.” He stopped as he processed your response in full, “Hold on, handsome? You think I’m handsome?” He teased.

You lightly blushed, rolling your eyes, “Obviously, man. You’ve always been quite fit. Especially with that haircut rather than that straight line cut you used to have.”

He laughed, “God, that was horrendous. Well, wait, how about now,” he took his hands and pushed his hair back, revealing his forehead.

You burst out laughing, “Somehow, yes, even if your forehead takes up half your face.”

He laughed, moving his hands and shaking his head to get his hair to fall back into place. “I can safely say, I find myself quite flattered. Especially coming from an incredibly pretty person such as yourself.”

You flushed a soft pink, “You think?”

“No, I don’t think, I just know facts.”

You blushed darker, chuckling. “Well, thanks.” You lightly nudged him with your side.

He repeated the action, albeit slightly harder. You two did this for a moment, each going slightly harder until he’d accidentally gone a bit too hard, knocking both of you down.

You both laughed, him laying his head against your side for a moment, before pulling himself up and holding himself up by his arm above you.

“You’re still as goofy, Mr. Soot.”

“Only with you.”

“Oh?”

“Actually, no. But this kind of goofy, yes.”

“And what kind is that?”

He just stared down at you for a moment. You felt yourself flush a bit under his gaze, and you stared back up at him. The light from his room gave him a soft halo glow around his head that made him look completely angelic. You’d always thought him attractive, but fuck he was ethereal like this.

“The kind I do to make pretty people laugh.”

Your breath hitched, but you were quiet otherwise. You couldn’t remember a time when your best friend was ever so… bold. Maybe part of you was reading into the tension, but the most gorgeous man you’d ever know just called you pretty. That plus his position above you was enough to make your heartbeat faster. You wanted to kiss him. Something in you felt so strongly the urge to wrap your hands around his neck and kiss him. For some reason you couldn’t quite fathom, though, you didn’t.

“Well, feels nice being special, then.”

He laid down next to you, the both of you just staring at the ceiling for a few quiet moments as the tension diffused.

He turned to you. “I can’t tell if I still know almost everything about you or if I know nothing anymore.”

“I can’t tell either.” You turned back to him, sighing, “Honestly, you probably still know more about me than I do.”

“You think?”

You nodded.

He thought to himself, “Still play Minecraft?”

“God, no,” You laughed, “I wish. I just don’t have the time for anything like that. I’ve just been studying constantly.”

“Unfortunate. If you ever need a break from studying, we could always play together.” He hummed, “ They’ve added a lot of cool things to the game.”

“You still play?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I play a lot. It’s a fantastic narrative tool, in fact.”

“Oh, really?”

“If you have enough people willing to work out a story and act it out, it makes for a cool platform to tell stories.”

You smiled, despite it being only for Wilbur’s sake. Honestly, you were sad that you didn’t know what he was talking about.

“What’s up?”

“Hm?” You questioned softly.

“Something’s wrong. I still know one of your fake smiles when I see them.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, “no, it’s just… I missed you. I’m a bit bummed that I can’t see the cool stuff you’ve done since.”

“Well,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, “actually, you can.”

You gave him a confused look as he continued.

“You know how I mentioned I worked for Twitch?” You nodded, “well when I say that, I mean that I stream, actually, so playing live for people and that includes all my stories.”

“Wilbur, that’s amazing.”

“I know,” he laughed, “I’m still shocked people are interested in what I write and create.”

“If they’re anything like your DnD campaigns, I’m not shocked at all.”

He laughed again, throwing his head back, “Oh, man, I loved making those as convoluted as possible though, you were the one who made the stories make sense. These are more streamlined since we have to deal with so many different schedules and coordinate stuff.”

“God, that sounds stressful. I can barely coordinate plans with one person.”

He shrugged, “It’s easier since streaming is all of our jobs. It’s more like assigning work shifts.”

You hummed, “That makes sense.”

“Yeah, I can send you some stuff from it. Though, be warned, without your aid, some pieces of lore are wildly convoluted.”

You chuckled, “I expect nothing less.”

You and Wilbur continued to talk for hours, just catching each other up on life and new habits, and every detail missed between the cracks of time you two were separated from each other. You couldn’t be sure when you or Will fell asleep, but you woke up feeling safer than you’d had in a long time. When you’d briefly woken up to the morning light coming through the blinds, and you noticed his lanky arm wrapped around you, you gently reached down and held his hand in yours before falling back into the kind arms of rest.

You woke up again about two hours later. You were facing him now, both of your legs wrapped between each other, and his arm was still lightly cupping your back. You opened your eyes to see him still sleeping, a soft and peaceful expression on his face. You gently reached a hand up to brush some of his hair away from his eyes. You were so busy staring at his soft features that you barely noticed his eyes open.

“Good morning to you too, then,” he spoke, his voice laced with sleep.

Your hand jumped back, a blush immediately rising to your cheeks, “Sorry.”

“‘s alright. Felt quite nice, actually.” He blinked the sleep out of his eyes after a moment, and he flushed himself, going to move his hand off your waist, “Oh, sorr-“

“No.” You stopped him, his arm halting midair, “It’s okay. It felt quite nice,” you said, mimicking his words from a moment ago.

He blushed, cautiously lowering his arm back onto your side.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked.

“Yeah. Your room feels more familiar than mine, honestly.”

He chuckled, his laughter slightly gruff from the early morning, “You probably spent more time here than at your own place, so I can’t say I’m shocked.”

You laughed, “Oh, almost definitely. What about you, did you sleep well?”

He smiled at you, nodding, “Best I’ve slept since I got here. I felt much less lonely.”

“I know what you mean. My room kind of just feels cold. Not temperature-wise, but just like,” you sighed, “you know what I mean.”

“Luckily, I do.” He smiled, “You’re welcome to stay here again, if you like.”

You hummed, “I might consider it. Though I would like to stop home to put on something clean.”

He nodded, “Right, of course, yeah. I actually have to stream today, too, so, if anything, just,” he trailed off, “text me around eight?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “That sounds good. I can bring some food from home too, given that I know you have probably just been eating takeout or, god forbid, have been trying to cook by yourself.”

“Hey, I’m much better at cooking than I used to be,” he laughed. “You’re right about the takeout, though.”

You snorted, “I know you well, Mr. Soot.”

He smiled fondly, “You sure do.”

The two of you just lay there quietly, basking in the early air and light. After a few minutes, you sighed, leaning your head against his chest quietly.

“Is everything alright?” He whispered.

You nodded against him, burying your face deeper against him while he wrapped his arms tighter around you. You felt emotional all of a sudden as you held onto him: Your best friend, who you’d secretly loved for years. And now, you thought about what held you back in the past. The main thing you were afraid of was losing him, but in the end, that ended up happening anyway. Love confession or not, you lost him, and now, you were given another chance by whatever fateful creature may exist out there. And as insistent as you were to not lose this chance, your logic stopped you. This trip was just that: a trip. In two weeks, you’d be back to your place in London and he would be back in Brighton. But yet there was an ache in your chest, consistent with longing and want but entirely unattainable.

“Stop thinking so much,” he spoke softly, placing his chin on top of your head.

“Wilbur, you know that is entirely impossible for me.”

“Okay,” he trailed off, “then do you want to talk about it, so it can at least be out of your head?”

You did. You wanted to talk about it all, in its entirety, if only just to know if the ache present in your chest matched an ache in him. But you couldn’t. If that ache wasn’t present in him, who would you be to share it with him? The solution seemed to lie in half-truths.

“I’m just thinking about how I go home in two weeks and how much I’m dreading it. I don’t want to go back to schoolwork.”

He hummed, nodding, “It’s probably not helpful to say, but if you dwell on that the whole time you’re here, then it will come twice as fast. You’ve got to slow your brain down a bit. Try and just be in the moment.”

You snorted, “That’s rich coming from you.”

He chuckled, “Hey, my anxiety might take over sometimes, but it really does help to try and just focus on what’s happening, you know. You’re safe here,” he lightly kissed the top of your head, “so just focus on being here.”

You sighed, “I’ll try.” You shifted your focus to the soft sound of his heartbeat against your ear, the feeling of his arms wrapped around your back. Every detail was comprised of him.

You eventually did have to go home, after receiving a frantic call from your mum about how you “couldn’t just sneak off every time you got bored” which, granted, you disagreed with; you knew this town like the back of your hand, and you’re an adult so it’s not like she can dictate your every move. When you made it home, you went to your room to change and shower, but your thoughts immediately drifted back to Will. You never really noticed just how many minute details you had memorized, like the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, or the way he would tilt his head back when something that caught him offguard made him really laugh. You thought about the way he would hiccup in between laughter so strong it made his ribs hurt. The sly smile he would give you when you made eye contact but neither of you had anything to say. Your thoughts were entirely consumed by him.

By the time it was dinner, you had done almost extensive research into Wilbur’s online persona. You watched as many videos as you could, some of his, some of them fan-made. It was a weird concept, your best friend having fans. You’d gone onto the online space briefly before backing away. You didn’t exactly want to intrude on fan debates given how much you knew about Wilbur really. It was odd watching him talk to his chat and everything. It was so different. He didn’t seem like the shy, almost moody, boy you knew. He was much more confident and comfortable. It did warm your heart to see him being so strong in himself. Your mind wonderer over this new information, how different he was from the person you knew, as you ate. You almost didn’t hear your mum speaking to you.

“Dear, are you listening?”

You brought yourself out of your thoughts, grimacing. She hated when you weren’t listening, “Oh, sorry. No, uhm, what’s up?”

She frowned, giving you a cold stare, “I asked if you’ve found any jobs lined up yet. For after graduation?”

You sighed, “Not yet, Mum.”

“Because my old work friend, Charles, he could use the extra folks there. They’re looking into expanding into America.” She never actually cared much about what you wanted to do, always trying to push you into the field she wanted you to pursue.

“I’ll be fine. I can find a job myself. And Charles doesn’t even work in the same field my degree is in.”

“Just trying to help,” she tutted, tucking her arms defensively in front of her. “What’s on your mind these days?”

You shrugged tensely, “School and work. I haven’t had time for much else.”

She cooed, almost mocking, “You really should be looking into a relationship, dearie. You don’t want all the good ones taken, right?”

“God, mum, stop that. I’m fine on my own.”

“But are you happy?” She laughed, as if taunting you.

“I resent the implication that I cannot be perfectly fine and happy on my own without the presence of another person to fulfill me.” You spat.

“I’m not saying that specifically, I’m just saying, you really ought to try harder. I’m sure most people don’t find your constant sweatpants that attractive.”

You groaned, standing. “I can’t be here for this anymore.”

She did this every year. Constantly reminding you of your own loneliness under the guise of being thoughtful and caring, rather than just understanding that you are your own person who’d rather be alone before feeling like someone’s personal doll.

You strode to the kitchen, filling a container with some leftovers for Wilbur as your mother tried helplessly to justify her own points. You waved her off, grabbing your bag before walking out the door.

You let out a sigh once you headed out. You walked to the end of the street and sat on the curb, pulling out your phone to text Wilbur. Once you got confirmation that you could come, you stood and walked the short distance to his place.

He opened the door, and you walked in casually.

“You look annoyed about something,” he noted.

“I would like you to take a wild guess,” you hummed, handing him the leftovers.

He murmured a quick ‘thank you’ before responding, “Your mum?”

“Still as bad as before, she is.”

He sighed, “At least you’ve got mine to hide out at. Want to watch a movie or something?”

taglist: @shubblelive / @superioritycomplexes (dm me or send an ask to be added!)

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #mar writes #wilbur x reader #tis the damn season au #mcyt x you #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot fanfiction #mcytumblr #mcyt wilbur

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eziojensenthe3rd · 3 months ago

Text

Midnight Gaming: Long Live Eggbug

So last night I played Atari 50th anniversary collection, checked socials later to find.... cohost will shut down by the end of the year... aww..

So Atari is a company thats been around for a long while in the gaming industry, all the way back in the 70's with pong and asteroids, leading to the atari 2600 or vcs as it was called and finally leading to thier last console, the atari jaguar which flopped hard. It was a console that was advertised as a true 64 bit console even though it was really just 2 custom 32 bit processors, making it difficult to make games that run well, in the same decade that has the playstation and the nintendo 64. Yeah, "do the math".

Never really got to experience much of Atari when they were a contender in the scene, heck I wasn't even a year old when the Jaguar was launched so it wasn't really a part of gaming that I had a hands on experience with but I have heard of them. In my general interest in all things gaming in my youth, Atari was brought up sometimes in some gaming mags and online media, AVGN is probably for many people how they heard about Atari as he covered some games on the 2600, even did an episode on the failed 5200 and the Jaguar consoles.

So Digital Eclipse (not to be confused with digital extremes, the warframe folks) has done a 50th anniversary collection that has various games from atari's history, including some unreleased games. Naturally since these games can be easily emulated, a collection of old games wouldnt mean much but theres more to this than just that. You also get a bunch supplemental material such as artwork, behind the scenes documents and videos of interviews with several employees and key figures in atari's history, talking about various things. Cliffy B is there too for some reason.

For me its damn fascinating to follow along a timeline of events, looking at various media and playing some games, getting a feel on Atari's journey over the years. You do learn a few things about the company and how it ran at the time and uhhh.. it certanly looks a bit familiar. Developers having to work overtime, upper management ignoring concerns from thier employees, games being marketed beyond what could actually be delivered leading to consumer backlash, employees losing their jobs in mass. Yeah those problems are still around nowadays huh. 50 years later and nobody has really learnt anything, still making the same mistakes that one time led to the most infamous market crashes in history. Funny thing tho, while the games market did indeed crash in 83, leading to several businesses going bankrupt, for the average 2600 player it was just an odd time in which new 2600 games werent made. Because the 2600 had such a massive install base, eventually new 2600 games got made again, even during the time when the Sega Master System and the Nintendo Entertainment System were leading the console scene. To quote one Garry Kitchen "No one told consumers that there had been a crash. No one went to their house and said "You don't like video games anymore"".

Digital Eclipse also did some other games in the documentary style, the art of karateka and llamasoft. I wouldn't mind checking those out as I feel a documentary that covers a particular subject sounds fascinating to put the lenses of an interactive game, though I suppose it does veer a bit close to "edutainment" territory.

So now with that done, lets move onto the.... news. Cohost is announced to be closing down at the end of year with it converting to a read only format in October. I genuinly enjoyed my time on cohost even if it was short. From looking for alternatives to Tumblr, I stumbled onto it and found a chill sort of site that I felt comfortable browsing, chatting with peeps and sharing posts. It was a site that had an independent vibe that was unique and humble compared to some of its contemporaries. Tumblr weared the mask of being queer friendly despite nuking the odd trans blog every now and then, twitter is a cesspit run by that nepobaby bastard, discord seems to have issues with power tripping mods and creeps. A lot of social media seems to either be.full of techbro crypto ai weirdos or algorithmic data-harvesting software or both! But cohost had the vision of a place that didnt had user-unfriendly practices, instead of just making a site that demands engagement from the user for the sake of profit, the team made the site comfortable to browse and post on, letting people build up communities to hang out and chill in. Sadly that ambition wasnt sustainable due to the issues with both work and finance and in the end, it'll all be shut down.

I'll still be posting Midnight Gaming on Cohost until October as well as on tumblr until I find another site to host this series. Maybe I'll try that dreamwidth place I heard about, maybe i'll actually make a neocities site. We'll see what the future holds.

Until then, Rest in Piece Cohost. Hug your local eggbug today.... oh yeah james earl jones passed away too... awful lot of death lately, an old friend on my fathers side recently lost thier wife too. September what the hell you doing?

Hey whatever happened to those prizes that were won during the Swordquest contest?

Thats all for today, see you tomorrow. Feel free to leave any game suggestions or feedbacks. Anons are currently on.

#midnight gaming #gaming #atari #atari 50th #cohost #eggbug

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gontagokuhara · 1 year ago

Note

Omg I just noticed that you responded to my ask earlier thank you so much!! 😭😭😭 also im like way overdue for commenting on ao3 so it's all good 😭 ANYWHO I was just thinking about one of the chapter rewrites and wanted to ask about it! When one of the soldiers asks Kaede about her name, is there a reason why it was changed from Maizono to Akamatsu? 🤔 also I guess I'll ask why Nagito doesn't say shit anymore for shits and giggles since I commented about it before😭😭😭😭

hi hi!! first off omg there is never any pressure to review, theyre like the cherry on top but Never something that should be an obligation <3

also apologies for formatting as i answer your questions LOL i am on mobile on a lil roadtrip i will TRY my best to make this not obscene to have show up on the tl so. pointy objects discussions beneath the cut! (hopefully) (please tumblr mobile)

side note but i really like how its not *just* me that’s caught all the QoL changes i made a while back! and they bring up good questions which im happy to answer, even if some of them are less interesting than they appear!

like the kaede question! initially, i had her introduce herself as ‘maizono’ but as i was going back and editing a few months back, in the midst of rereading i felt her identifying herself as ‘akamatsu’ made more sense for a few reasons. one: her legal name is kaede akamatsu, and she has just never identified with the maizono name and what it represents to her personally.

and two (and more importantly): in this instance she’s introducing herself to novoselic soldiers, working at the direction of sonia nevermind — a goddess, automatically giving them better knowledge of the gods than the average human. at that point the situation amongst the gods was very hectic; makoto and byakuya’s child has been stolen by monsters and is presumed dead. the entire underworld has been cut off. junko was agitating amongst the gods and jeering at her confessed role in rantarou’s death because of her claim shuuichi has her spear. war is threatening to break out at the hands of no less than 3 of the Big Five gods, not to mention all the ones getting involved in order to keep their kids safe. and then seven more kids go missing, out from under the noses of nagito and hajime, with absolutely nobody knowing what the fuck is going on. sonia, given her conviction especially for keeping kiibo safe after her previous child was killed at camp, was genuinely under the impression kiibo would never go willingly with the holder of the spear, so her assumption was that the other demigods forced their hand. all of THAT to say: kaede introducing herself with the last name of a goddess would have put suspicion on the group much sooner than said suspicion actually appeared.

so not only did i feel it was more in-line with kaede’s character to make the change, but i also thought it made more sense.

and then for the other query, about me taking away nagito’s rights to say bad words 💔 ive been replaying sdr2 and, more relevant, been spending a TON of free time writing nagito (+ the other sdr2 characters) for my own personal project, and i felt my updates to his (and gundham’s, for that matter) dialogue felt more in line with his in-game characterization. i also think nagito deserves to let his freak flag fly a little, but he really doesn’t curse much in canon (a “what the hell” or a “damn it” here or there, as i recall) and since i love nagito so much i made some tweaks to his dialogue to hopefully make him feel more…him. same with gundham in chapter 4!

this was very fun to answer, thank you! 🫶 as always if any further questions arise that i’m able to answer, i’m happy to! im kind of rattling around my own cage with this fic bc none of my friends are into danganronpa LOLLL so getting to explain my thought process is fun!

#ask #bittercideristaken #pointy objects

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northropi · 1 year ago

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So I'm going to be using this more, for real this time.

In an effort to Holy Fucking Shit They're Considering Cisgender A Slur Now What The Fuck, I am soft-leaving Twitter. For real now. What do I mean? I will not post anything "directly."

I'll still like, follow, reply, retweet, whatever, but any media or in-depth text (so like also media) will no longer be natively placed on Twitter.

From now on anything I put on Twitter will be links to other sites.

It also seems inevitable at this point that I will eventually have to leave Twitter entirely because harassment is becoming more frequent.

While I'm not big enough to be readily targeted, bigots are trawling the trending tab to find anyone who comments on a recurring topic and start gnawing them.

I've never been a full "no ethical consumption under capitalism" person, but up until this, I could at least blow Elon's bigotry off as "oh, so we happen to have a bigoted owner on this site, well not gonna pay his ass so I'm fine in the short-term." But this policy, which seems to have gone through, is probably the first time something actively bigoted and not just generic right-lib "hey we should let bigots talk because censorship bad" has been written into the ToS.

To strongarm Cis out of our vocabulary leaves us with no words to describe Cis people exclusively (which is itself a pretty damning reason why it's not a fucking slur, but I don't think at this point that anyone who says they think it is is doing so in good faith). We have to use the word bigots want us to use to describe cis people.

Normal.

And every time we speak it, they'll lick their slimy lips and relish in the implication that, by exclusion, we have admitted we are not.

BlueSky likely will mark the end of Twitter being an even neutral space for vulnerable people in terms of community, though maybe I'm talking out my ass there because I hear some shit about BlueSky too- so sub BlueSky for whatever more solid Twitter-style multipurpose high-throughput platform follows and actually is good if I have to eat those words, I guess.

It, or the hypothetical next thing, will bleed Twitter of users who are, you know, not fucking horrible, and in turn, create a selective pressure that turns Twitter into a decidedly bigot-friendly site. This is the cost of being run by someone who thinks "free speech" should mean taking the wrong answer to the paradox of tolerance, and an idol to rightoids and conspiracy theorists who need that "gifted" Christ-figure and a supposed force of opposition to exist, even if they have to rip their brain in two to characterize that opposition as the establishment while, being conservatives, every single stance they take is pro-establishment.

You people ruined schizoposting, you know that?

Newgrounds will be for images with occasional text updates, this for long but relatively rough posts, Wix for more encyclopedia-style content as I intend to use it in a wiki-like capacity with secondary blog purposes (why not use wiki for that, you ask? because it looked like a lot to learn up front and there seemed to be like twelve different wiki formats, Wordpress/Wix was just easier but might change later).

I'll also aim for some filler on Youtube in the form of just video game clips so I can feed the algorithm a bit and try to be more active in exploiting what free time I have to actually use my mic for voiced stuff including, possibly, short streams, though that begs the question of where I'll be doing those.

As for Tumblr, a friend offered me to help me learn its syntax or whatever you'd even call it in this case to get it formatted. I wouldn't count on it replacing Newgrounds yet and that may be my primary art site from here on out (I've expressed concern about their harsh policy against WIPs and certain modeling programs that might include my VRoid work, but the latter would obviously be fine here and the former can still be posted in a publicly accessible capacity to NG, just not promoted in the art portal- hopefully I get "scouted" there sooner than later but nothing is a dealbreaker yet). The problem ofc is because, well... First off, NSFW. "Oh but you can post-" yes. I know. You can do some lewd stuff and fetish content fine as long as it doesn't hit a particular bar of "non-artistic" nudity. However, a lot of my stuff is raunchy fucking hypercock bellybulging cum cum madness. I can't just fly under that restriction and not need to eventually find another outlet.

Second, I really gotta handle these fucking bots. Not sure how many I have still as I imagine a lot are getting cleaned out by mods, but it seems follower notifs on this site have been going into junk for a while due to sheer frequency.

I'm also thinking about if I have it in me to forgive DeviantArt for their AI debacle, but the site's stance on it is concerning and I fear that there's at best going to be a ton of it flooding the site, which, while acceptable if they hold their promise of being able to opt out future works (remember, the opt-out doesn't apply to any works put up before- you can't un-train a neural network, so fuck that sideways), will be frustrating to interact with. I'm also going to look into ArtStation a bit, I recall them doing something dubious but I'm not sure of the status of it since. I actually already have an account there, for Project G.L.U.T.T.'s demo mostly...

#twitter refugees #long reads #art #vtuber

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vvh0adie · 1 year ago

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can i just say that any writing done for free on the internet is not up for professional publishing critique

my thing is: unless i go on your blog and see the content you reblog/make pertains to some nasty heinous shit

(incest/race play/pedophilia/beastiality; meaning this is who you are as a legit person and you actively promote it in positivity)

then i go check your masterlist and its sewn into the fabric of your fics, imma side eye you, report, and block.

but lets be honest i would hope ppl just report/block during the first scroll cuz i don’t know why we’d want those type of people on tumblr anyway. tho we’re not here to discuss that further and definitely not another time. if you know you’re into the shit i listed above FOR REAL, get the fuck off my blog and play in traffic.

but if someone writes something you don’t like or if you think their writing isn’t up to gramatical/literary standard, don’t get in the fucking comments or asks to tell us that. we do this shit for fun. this isn’t fucking goodreads.

ALSO DONT REBLOG FICS YOU DIDNT ENJOY AND RATE THEM AND LEAVE BAD REVIEWS IN THE FUCKING POST. WE CAN SEE THAT SHIT!!! THIS GOES FOR TUMBLR, AO3, AND ANYWHERE ELSE THAT HOST NON-PROFIT FICTION WORKS.

(and no kofi and patreon don’t count as profit, if an author explicitly tells you that you will have access to their wips and early access to fanfiction that will eventually go onto tumblr or ao3. you already knew to expect some hobbyists writing. and you need to know from reading the already free content on their blog, that you like their writing well enough to invest in it. it doesn’t make sense to pay for something you KNEW you already hated. if it just so happens that you’re author sets a standard above what you consider fanfiction writing and it feels more professional, then lucky you…… it’s still not up for critique. that’s just means someone took their craft “serious enough”)

i also see you bitches who put ACTUAL FICS INTO GOODREADS! HAVE YOU LOST YO DAMN MIND CUZ LEMME HELP YOU FIND IT QUICKER THAN MOSES PARTED THE SEA!

when people come to your fic recs, they are most likely not looking for bad fics AT ALL, they’re hoping you’ve done your due diligence in curating a collection of fics you deem amazing so they DONT have to sift thru “bad” fics. you making more work for yourself and other readers.

but some of y’all love to be negative and get wet from twiddling your thumbs on this keyboard to spew unnecessary or productive “criticism”. unless we asks or have a link to a feedback box/google forms, SHUT THE FUCK UP.

social platforms besides goodreads are not here to help reader experience. goodreads is the place to leave reviews for BOOK YOU EITHER PAYED FOR OR THE AUTHOR HAS PROFESSIONALLY PUBLISHED FOR WIDER CONSUMPTION.

i love goodreads too and criticism of books I FIND AT BARNES AND NOBLES😁… because i’m able to avoid things like bad grammar, bad literary skills, poc and queer trauma porn, and other shit i don’t wanna be exposed to.

what i do think is valid, is asking a fic writer to tag properly. i’ve read shit and been blindsided cuz “dead dove” tags weren’t added. i’ve even asked and they’ve made it a point to belittle me. i thought it was a good fic in terms of plot but i wanted to be able to blacklist those words for if they wrote more content. but they completely turned me off due to how they responded so i just never wanted to read more of their work.

i didn’t harass them because frankly it had content i didn’t like (not anything that would make me question their overall morality, unless you count the not tagging, but that’s a bit much). instead i just blocked them and moved on.

there have been times where the grammar in a fic was really bad, the formatting of a fic had huge gaps that made reading difficult, or they didn’t put a cut on their fic. i didn’t contact them, i just blocked them.

so for the love of baby jesus, just block. only when you feel that something DETRIMENTAL is being posted like WHITE SUPREMACIST MANIFESTO or SOCIALLY TABOO type shit is being PROMOTED (they need to actually believe in this shit) in someone’s writing and has built a following of like-minded people, then really the troops so we can deal with it.

but bad grammar or that yandere fics with non-con in is not something to be harassing people over.

(some folks writing language is not their first so they’re learning thru writing or they’re a native speaker who still messes up/has a disability and just because some likes to write/read dark fics doesn’t mean they advocate such acts. plus while it may not be the healthiest, it’s some people’s coping mechanisms and i can’t blame them cuz a good therapist is hard to find and even harder to pay for —at least in the US)

so go read shit you actually like. and if you just so feeeeel it in yo spirit to rate some fics and leave bad reviews download Calibre Library and have at it. it is only seen by you and on your computer. so make that your lil hate diary or whateva🙄

anyway duces. i just had to say a lil sumn cuz i saw one of y’all attacking the homies. i love my moots and i miss the ones that left becuz of the bullshit💜💜💜

also if anyone thinks i left something out or wants to correct something feel free to tag me or reblog💖

#preacha plym

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11-eyed-rook · 1 year ago

Text

Project Gamma Sigma will be moving... again. A "small" announcement.

I know not that many people know of my project, Project Gamma Sigma, to begin with, but for those that do have some interest in it, it'll be moving from Blogspot/Blogger (whatever the damn thing is called). How soon, I'm not sure. Where? That's almost a secret for now. Shh.

To elaborate...

THE "WHERE DO WE BEGIN" OF IT ALL...

This project had originally started, technically, on Facebook as part of some short stories I'd write in the notes (a feature that doesn't even exist anymore). For a very short time, bits of Gamma Sigma existed on a separate Tumblr blog. That didn't seem to offer me enough flexibility with text formatting (which is an important aspect of how I write the story, due to how I can emphasize certain things, and it's just my style so shh), so I moved everything (pretty much re-making it entirely) on Blogger/Blogspot (I'll just call it Blogspot). So Gamma Sigma has had many locations, but none that are, at this particular moment, a proper "home".

THE "I THOUGHT IT'S GOOD ENOUGH" PART...

For a while, I'd believed Blogspot to be a decent-enough home for the project, and a few years had passed without much to worry about. Blogspot seemed easy enough to deal with, even with its flaws that I desperately tried to find workarounds for... whenever I could. And for a while, those workarounds sorta worked. I was even surprised that they worked for as long as they did, thinking about it now...

However...

OOPS! ALL BROKEN!

(AKA, THE BORING "I'M ANGRY" PART).

Yesterday, I found out that some of my modifications to the theme's code refused to function in any capacity (as in, the less-convenient default options force-replaced whatever was in the code previously, for what reason I don't know). Even the button that would allow me to undo any "recent changes" to the code, only showed the preview having the intended features, but the saved version wouldn't reflect any of the changes (I even checked on different browsers and that includes my phone's web browsers - the intended feature wasn't there, it just got disintegrated along with my patience for this shit).

At that point I'd come to a conclusion... I've had enough. I feel like I lack control over the very shell of what holds YEARS worth of my creative work, and I'm not putting up with it anymore. My project deserves a better home.

I'd already considered moving the project elsewhere, many times, but this brought my frustration to a boil. Numbered page navigation was no longer an option, as massively convenient as it had been during the time when it worked. Now it's just a "MORE POSTS" button. Click it, it takes you to the next page, at the top of the page, scroll down, click it, and the cycle repeats a few more times; if I find it frustrating, I can't imagine that many people would want to go looking for my oldest posts that way either (and the best part, obviously, is the part where Blogspot doesn't offer an option to change that in any way by default, which is why I had to modify the code itself to begin with; if I can't modify the code to my liking, why even give me the option to do so?!).

To make it even more annoying: The pre-existing "Archive" function barely helps the convenience of this, and, frankly, I'm tired of trying to negotiate my way around the lack of options for something like this.

A VAGABOND PROJECT; VISION, STRUGGLES, GOALS AND OTHER STUFF...

I know very little about building things right in the code (especially with very little or even nothing to start with), but if I can figure out the basics and make a skeleton of something work to my advantage, I'll make it work sooner than I'll realize. I've surprised myself in the past, and I'm sure I can create something that'll serve as a home to my project, permanently.

Moving Gamma Sigma would allow me to add features that, I'm sure, wouldn't work (or would quickly break) on Blogspot. One feature would allow me to make some of my entries more "immersive" - being able to play a specific audio track when opening specific entries, for example. Other things would, of course, include improved page navigation, secret pages, and potentially other fun little (maybe interactive) things, that would be relevant to the Gamma Sigma story in some way.

I know it sounds ambitious, especially for somebody who's never done something of this scope before, but I won't know if I don't try, and I'm passionate enough about my project to put in the effort to give it a home it'll thrive in.

A LITTLE OFF-TOPIC, BUT IT KIND OF HAS A REASON TO BE HERE...

On top of the frustrations regarding Blogger, I'd wanted to move away from using Google products/services/etc. for a while, and Blogspot, as it is, being owned by Google, would have to be one of the things I'd have to deal with at some point, inevitably. So that, too, helped me make my decision to move the project - the option to keep the project alive long-term.

I've also been planning to move away from using Google stuff in general, due to how unreliable their product lifespans can be... But that, alone, isn't my only goal; I don't exactly trust Google... And on that matter...

I plan on moving away from using Microsoft's products as well, and that eventually will include the operating system, Windows, itself. I've already been experimenting with using Linux, and the only reason I hadn't moved entirely, is because I still need to work out some issues regarding some windows-only programs and whether they'll work properly in Linux, through whatever means are available to me. If I can make them work, then it's bye-bye Microsoft.

I just value privacy and having a choice in how the system behaves. I value having control over what I do on my own computer. When using an OS is a matter of "letting 3rd parties have some of my personal data", on a PAID operating system no less, I'd think it's too fucking far.

But back to what's at hand...

CONCLUSION OR WHATEVER. OH YEAH ALSO A GAMMA SIGMA HIATUS, THAT TOO...

This was a long "announcement" (with some extra yelling), but I'll update it if something comes up (like, if I finish the migration process or if I decide on something else to add, Idk). I have no clue as to how long it'll take, but this basically forces me to put off posting any newer entries until further notice. Or unless I feel like it, I guess? Still, a hiatus is a hiatus, and I know it already took like a year for me to write the newest entry, but don't worry about that, shhHh,,,

OH AND ONE MORE THING...

It's possible I'll be changing the name of the project itself. As to what it'll be, I'm still not sure, but again, I'll make an update about it once I figure it out I guess.

Thanks for reading.

Sorry for stealing your time for this.

#Project Gamma Sigma #11er.writes #11er.writing #11er.announcement #11er.GammaSigma

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sadserotonin · 2 years ago

Note

70 horrible questions, a somewhat drunk Charlie @ Scotia (canon verse): 1. Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 2. Would you go back in time if you were given the chance?

Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

Scotia thought on the question for a moment before nodding hesitantly. "I probably broke Eva's when I took Jensen away…but I don't regret that. I did what I had to." And then he ran a hand over his mouth, voice quieter and more remorseful for this part than the last, "I probably broke your heart when you found out I was keeping him from you, didn't I?" Scotia glanced low, licking his lips as a buffer before admitting, "He's the only one. Jens is really the only one whose heart I haven't broken at least once. Not one time. All the rest of the casualties, they've all been for him."

Would you go back in time if you were given the chance?

"No," Scotia laughed softly, "Things turned out just the way they were meant to be- well, maybe I'd go back in time and tell you not to be so damn scared of our son." His small smile grew into a teasing grin, knowing the irony of their history could never be lost on them considering their family now.

#IT'S BEEN 84YRS IM WAILING #what has tumblr been up to with its formatting damn not me having to work THIS hard to functionally make this ask work goodbye #ANYWAY ME SCREAMING AT SCOTIA'S THOUGHT PROCESSES THIS ENTIRE THING #SCOTIA FALLON RIGHTS HELLO MY MANS ALWAYS GOING THROUGH IT #He's such a sleeper fav of mine I'd die for this man the same way he'd die for Charlie and their whole family absolutely leave me here #c: Scotia Fallon #verse: canon #scarlie #Scotia x Jensen #family: Fallons #cm

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oonajaeadira · 4 years ago

Text

If You Will Let My Heaven Touch Your Stars (Ezra x f!reader)

Rating: Mature.

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: FLUFFY SMUT. INSPIRED BY THIS. Non-explicit oral (m and f receiving). Formatting may be strange in certain Tumblr themes due to paragraph spacing with the poetry.

A/N: Okay, y’all. I was looking for another reason to write some Ezra. I got inspired by this naughty confessional post and felt the need to rise to the challenge, but make it a bit soft. You know I’m allergic to writing physical doings without some emotional yearnings. So it has come to this. And I’m not sorry.

Summary: Ezra runs his mouth over some poetry. You run your mouth over some Ezra.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

_______________________________

You know that sigh. It will be shortly followed by a gravelly, dissatisfied “hm.”

“Hm.”

Next will come the impatient flipping of pages as Ezra learns that the book he’s chosen from the stack he got in trade on the Pug is…”less than literary and more than malignant.”

“What’cha reading, Ez.” The main node on the electropulse generator blew during the last harvest and you’ve been doing your best to repair it for the better part of the scaling period. Better to keep eyes on the electrics than let them wander over to his bedroll where he’s stripped to his skivvies, propped up against a crate, reading.

The rotation of Ranakh-4 is almost sixty hours, and in the north hemisphere there’s always light. Should be perfect for prospectors to take shifts and get things done, but instead, it creates a scaling period--a good fifteen-hour window of intense heat and sunlight that’s too dangerous to be exposed to for long, causing lots of nasty side effects. Including skin scaling. Hence the name. So during that period you and Ezra hide in the cooled tent, sleeping, polishing gems, maintaining equipment, wasting time, and generally trying not to annoy each other too much.

That’s a joke between you. In the years you’ve known him, Ez has yet to get under your skin. Ezra’s usually up for a game of dice or five-stand during scaling period, and if you’ve got gear to clean or inventory to count, he’s good for a story. Or ten.

But after the third rotation he stopped playing games of chance with you and his stories got gradually less... crusty. He still had a lot to say, but he stuck mostly to mining anecdotes, weaving around salacious details and editing himself in the moment.

And you’re pretty sure you know why.

This isn’t the first posting you’ve had with Ezra.

There was the assignment on Phintreas. The job on TG-19. The second assignment on Phintreas--that one it was just the two of you. Just like this one.

There was a moment near the end of that run when you took a break from digging to stretch, arching your back in the dappled sunlight and pulling your arms up and back toward the thick foliage tops. There were singing insectoid creatures on Phintreas and you’d dropped your wrists to your head to listen to their song a little, closing your eyes and hearing in their hum the chords of a song you used to love.

It was just a few seconds, the warm air on your bare shoulders, the long thin trees--actually large grass--rising and swaying above. A pleasant stretch in your lower back. But there was something off. Your ears were full of insect song but there was something missing.

The sound of Ezra’s digging had stopped.

You turned to find him taking a break, leaning on his shovel, jumpsuit open and pulled down to a knot at his waist like yours. Dirt-streaked arms and undershirt, looking at you, staring with sad eyes, the long slopes of his mustache running into his patchy beard making him look like he was pouting more than he was. Probably. Totally lost in thought, his eyes slid down your torso. When he woke to the fact that you caught him using you as a backdrop for reverie, he didn’t even have the balls to be embarrassed. Just realigned his focus on his shovel and went back to digging, the veins straining out on his big hands.

“You okay, Ez?”

“As well as one can be, sweetheart. I feel we’re close. It is a fine day full of wonderments.”

You’d thought about that look in the days afterward. Didn’t really know what it meant for you. Until the final sleep cycle on that grass planet, the wind traveling through the fields making the grasses sing hollow and low in the night.

“What’cha reading, Ez?” You’d come to learn that it was a magic question, one that not only got you an explanation, but perhaps a chapter or two in his baritone twang.

And that night, as you packed your final bag, he swung the spine around to read out, “Papas Cordel, Love Verses.”

He didn’t ask you if you wanted to hear any. He just started to read.

Softly. Slowly. The words were innocuous on their own but their combination was sinful, his voice melting at the back of your brain, lifting the fine hairs of your neck, slithering down your spine before making an orbit to press upon your core and vibrate there.

He never said goodnight. Just read you a few poems full of worship and yearning in that sonorous voice of his, then rolled over and went to sleep. It left you in a panic, trying to control your breathing, in full understanding of what that look from a few days ago had really meant.

And for the duration of your next couple of jobs you spent some time in regret, wishing you’d decoded your feelings sooner or that he’d made his own clearer. You’d vowed that if you ever had the chance to go back and live that night again you wouldn’t hesitate to….what? To do what? You never got that far. Didn’t matter. Time doesn’t go backwards. After a while, it was easy enough to convince yourself that you’d just read too much into it, that you didn’t really feel anything and neither did Ez. He had just been tired and staring into space that day. And he’d just been aesthetically moved by the song of the grasses in the night wind. It was a trick of the light, and the more you rationalized it, the further the memory slipped into the realm of silly fantasy.

So when this assignment came, you’d had time enough to leave the fantasy behind and met Ezra as you always had--as a friend and a damn talented prospector you were happy to dig with. The man always got his haul and getting paired with him always meant profit.

It only took one scaling period to make you realize you were lying to yourself.

Scaling period means getting somewhere shaded and cooled and making yourself as comfortable as possible. Which means stripping down to essentials. All those dice games trying not to look at Ezra’s broad, bared chest, looking up from a hand of cards to find his eyes quickly darting away from you…. By the third rotation you’d noticed that neither of you could make eye contact with the other anymore and after that, Ezra generally spent his downtime during scaling periods laying on his bedroll in his skivvs, reading one of the dozen books he’d scavenged back on the station.

You weren’t sure if you were flattered or embarrassed or even injured that he wouldn’t move on whatever he was tense about. But, ultimately, this arrangement was easier.

Or so you lied to yourself.

A “what’cha reading, Ez” got you a few chapters of an old time-travel adventure or a philosophical treatise on the life of some forgotten pioneer while you mended a garment or recounted the supply of viable drill bits or tried to fix the damn faulty electropulse generator for the millionth time. Something rollicking and full of resonance to keep your ears busy and your mind distracted while you focused your eyes on anything but Ezra’s bronze skin and sable eyes and full lips and big hands and thick thighs and--

This time he clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair, humming a high note in a kind of frustrated laugh. “I won’t devastate your ears on this one, sweetheart. Not much of interest here but some poor soul ruttin’ and scraping for talent that eludes them. How this found its way into a thing to be bought and sold I will never understand.”

And yet, he keeps reading. Silently.

After a few minutes and another wire successfully cleaned and reconnected, you repeat yourself, taunting him.

“What’cha reading, Ez.”

“Mm.” He just flips through a few more pages, refusing to answer.

“Hey.” You chuckle into your work. “What’cha reading.”

You hear a huge intake of breath before a hold and a forced release.

“Wow,” you laugh. “Fine. Don’t waste breath on it. Just tell me which one it is so I can avoid it later.”

“Love and other Stars by Aeon Aido Raja.”

“I see. What’s it about?”

“Sadly, it is about a poet who cannot seem to make the match between words and sentiment; a volume of supposed amorous verse.”

“Amorous verse,” your hands stop working on their own. “Love...poetry?” There’s a sudden flashback to the sound of hollow reeds and soothing verses in the night. The words are a program in your brain, overwriting your inhibition and professionalism, pushing you to a deeply-coded goal to calm the flutter in your chest.

“So it claims. Although I fear it lacks full understanding of both--” His voice cuts out as he realizes you’ve stood and you’re moving toward him and his wide eyes lock to yours as you sit beside him on the bedroll. “Now what has gotten into you, sweetheart?”

You know exactly what’s gotten into you. The triggered wish of returning to that night, the built-up tension of dancing around each other in your underwear, trying to deny what’s going on, watching him purposefully respect you when you know he feels something, when he knows you do too--

What was it you were going to do if you had a chance to go back to that last night on the grass planet? Time to find out.

“Read to me.”

Ezra hesitates, unsure. “This?”

“Read it.”

His eyes flick down to follow the quick fold of your lips as you wet them with your tongue, unconsciously mimicking you, before fumbling his gaze back to the book and, with a regretful sigh, begins.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

When he looks for your reaction, you’re not sure if he’s pleading with you for permission to stop or continue.

Shit. He’s right. It isn’t great. But you’re here now, you’re going to make the most of it.

“That’s not...so bad.” And then you find out what you would have done that night--or at least how you’d start--by showing him your raised palm, lowering it slowly toward him. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Your hand travels down through the air, just to the inch above his skivvs, waiting a moment in the aura of radiated heat there, before settling lightly over him. He never says no, never takes his eyes from yours, the only reaction coming from a small lift in his chest, the corner of his mouth curling just a fraction, and the fabric beneath your hand quickly becoming the only thing there to qualify as soft.

“Sweetheart, what you’re beginning here--”

“The only words I want from you are that poem. I want to hear you read. You stop, I stop.”

The heat hangs heavy between you, burns beneath your hand. And with a huffed exhale, Ezra starts again.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

Supporting him from underneath, you’ve begun running your thumb up and down him, and his breath hitches, bringing him to a stop. So you stop.

“You stop, I stop, Ez.”

“Believe me, gentle one, I do not wish the impediment of your affections--”

“Then don’t stop.”

In a beautiful panic, Ezra looks back to the poem. “You sure you want this one?”

You nod. “I don’t care how good it is. That’s the poem I want. Keep going. I've always liked your voice. I know you can make it pretty.”

He stares at the page a moment, and you push him--literally--gasping into a start.

“If ever I could tell you When my heaven touched your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

You stop palming him when he stops to breathe, and it’s only when you trace his waistband with your fingertips that he swallows and continues, willing you to keep going--

“Waking in the night to the aching void of your embrace-- Can you forgive me if I plead your name? If I summon you to my body from wherever you are?”

Whether it’s the want in his voice or just getting further into the words, the poem is already getting better. His eyebrows begin to push together and arch, as you stretch the top of his underwear down, wrapping your hand around him. His words start riding the occasional groan which just resonate with you more and you rock yourself against the bedroll in time with your gentle, yearning pulls--

“You hold me adroitly With accurate proximity To keep your breath and my breath Two founts and one pool. To swim a in star-reflective stream of our holy recreation--”

He’s doing so well, the words wandering out deep and breathy, so beautifully controlled...until you lower your mouth to him.

Then there’s a strangled staccato grunt as he adjusts, takes a couple of quick breaths and continues--

“But your body is a.....wildfire Your lips a destruction And I give my everything over to your….cleansing devastation.”

Oh, his struggle is glorious. You can feel him trying not to buck, needing to blow out a breath between pursed lips here and there to concentrate on the print. He reads with intent, leaning into context and feeling, making a gift to you of every word.

“I have yearned for you to find me worthy of a spark An ignition... The rebirth of your combustible attentions.”

He pauses again to breathe, and while you allow him a small reprieve, he’s stopped a little too long and you abruptly halt. When you pull back to look up in reprimand, he gives you a soft smile through his panting, shaking his head in wonder. You know he’ll have plenty of praises when this is over, but he doesn’t seem to want to break the spell to say them now. When you return his little smile, he looks back to the page and continues, prompting you to return to your own administrations.

“How you draw from me each sweet effusion-- Every secret vein untapped-- Now yours in expert execution, Now open to your burning maw.”

He pushes through the poetry rather than into you, allowing you to hear him and match him. Your body begins to counter-react as you feel him brimming, turning on more need in you than you’ve felt in a while, and you show him just how well he’s doing by doing well by him.

There’s a shift in his voice as more breath enters in and nonverbal noises begin to punctuate the words; a shift in his body as his fingers tangle in your hair and grip tightly, suggesting a final rhythm--

“But within the fire An aperture of...divine precipitation Where those of us who live untouched Can go to drown To die To howl…..! To see the blessed face of eternity Or the….busting open….of a thousand….wretched….stars-- You-call-me-to-sinful-prayer You-invoke-my-abject-soul I find myself in debt…!...and thrall…!... to your superior…!...divinity--”

When he stops reading this round, you show mercy as he pounds his fist into the bedroll and makes his own additions to the poem, exclamations made up of your name and curses and calls to higher powers. You can only expect a man to expel from himself wondrously one method at a time, and Ezra’s earned his reward so beautifully.

Damn his opinion. The poem was perfect. You chose correctly. Either that, or Ez’s tongue really can spin any old refuse into gold.

But the book is still held high, and as you lift from him and guide him through his aftershocks with your hand, he breathes heavy though the final verse--

“This is how I love you from afar With agony and forlorn words While you hover forever in my purview A shaft of dazzling incandescence Shining down from your sun/star Through the glass of my desire Starts and restarts an everlasting blaze”

Then, setting the book reverently on the bedroll, he takes your face in his hands, dragging his thumbs across your lips, no longer needing the page for the last lines.

“If ever I could tell you And if you will let my heaven touch your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

Ezra’s kiss is achingly grateful. He tries to put into one kiss the loving equivalent of everything you’ve just done for him.

When he pulls back, he gives you the tiniest rough shake, a punctuation of his playful consternation. “Mmm,” he grunts. “While I am glad to know you find my recitals pleasing, you’re about to find out that my talent for oral ministrations do not stop at mere recitation.” With a miner’s strong arms he flips you over him onto the bedroll, making short work of your underwear and pinning your legs around his shoulders in a matter of seconds. “Now, I will not be so cruel as to make you put words to my reciprocation, unless you’d like to fill the silence to direct me to your will. Or say what you please. I will not be able to add to the conversation as I will be otherwise occupied.”

You don’t know if it’s years of running his mouth or wagging his tongue or yapping his jaw, but he’s well practiced in using allllll the muscles therein to help finish what poetry couldn’t quite accomplish.

At one point you think of surprising him and trying your own hand at reading while being entertained. But when you fumble for the book, it opens to the same poem.

But not the same poem.

The opening lines are there: “I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--Walking through the light of a moon in decline--Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

And that’s it.

That’s where it ends. The whole published poem--a mere seven lines.

Oh, Kevva. That’s...that means….

Damn, Ezra. The mouth on you.

The book drops to the bedroll.

And you break into pieces as his heaven masterfully consumes your stars.

________________

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

Taglist: @melobee @extraterrestrialdork @14mcmd1122 @grogusmum @cannedsoupsucks

#soft ezra #soft!ezra #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #fluffy smut #pedro pascal #ezra prospect smut

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tonguetiedraven · 3 years ago

Note

Hello... this is my first time asking in this format, so forgive me if I'm doing this wrong. I have a challenge for you. (not really a challenge, but it'd be fun to try) Can you do a mafia au? There are 10 rules:

Main ship must be BonRin (add any additional ships you want)

One of the two have to already be in the mafia (you can add side characters if you want)

Bon and Rin have to know each other before the mafia is found out

Has to be somewhat dark (not complete angst but not something to smile at)

Demons are "worker bees" to the mafia group (however you take that is up to you)

It has to be modern day

The characters have to have cannon personalities

The story has to be more than 3 chapters (insert reasonable effort)

It has to have real life events

There does have to be blood splatter

Have fun, the rest if up to you. Big fan, Raven!

I cannot express the amount to which I know nothing about the yakuza or the mafia in the rest of the world. I have watched documentaries and lets plays on numerous mafia and yakuza topics, and I still mostly feel like I know nothing. So, apologies on what will likely be a lot of inaccuracies.

I'm going to go somewhere different with this one, and might not follow your requests exactly (I got a bit confused on some of them. I'm not certain by what you meant with 'real life events' unless you meant actual events that are/have happened in Japan?)

So, without further ado, the first half of the first chapter. The first two parts will be on tumblr, and the rest will be on ao3 because this is going to be an M story.

Thanks for the challenge!

Part: One (you're here)

Summary: Rin spends most of his days working at his restaurant, trying to get his twin to eat and sleep, and secretly (or not so secretly) pining after the handsome as hell regular.

Ryuuji spends his days a bit differently.

— — — — —

It was Thursday, and Thursday’s meant Ryuuji. Rin was not technically supposed to know the hot boy’s name, but damn, the boy hit every line of Rin’s checklist so Rin had paid attention to those receipts and found out Ryuuji Suguro’s full name.

It was Thursday which meant Ryuuji and which meant Rin spent a bit too much on the nicer eel when the supply truck came by. It was just that the eel looked extra fresh today. It wasn’t that big of a deal. It wasn’t that Ryuuji always ordered the hamo and Rin wanted to make sure his old man’s restaurant put its best foot (or food, ha!) forward.

“Rin?” The bell over the door rang at the same time as Yukio’s voice filled the air. Rin looked up with an easy smile and sort of waved. His arms were mostly full of dirty dishes he really shouldn’t be carrying, but Usamaro needed the afternoon and Rin couldn’t make him work when he used those begging eyes. Besides, Rin was skilled enough to run the tables, counter, and the kitchen. (At least until the lunch rush hit.)

He stopped midstep. Yukio had that pasty quality to his skin again. He was still in his scrubs, and—yep! There was ink on his hands. He’d been doing a lot of paperwork then.

“Hey,” Rin set the dishes in the tray and hefted that up. “You better not be skipping meals again!”

Yukio rolled his eyes and plopped down at the bar. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You haven’t been here since Monday.”

“That was Tuesday.”

“Tuesday. That’s still… two days.”

“One day.”

“It was breakfast!”

“A day and a half.” Yukio propped his head on his hand and yawned. It skewed his glasses a bit and made him look more like the teary eyed boy Rin had always had to protect than the doctor he was now.

“Did you eat?”

“Yes.”

Rin put the dishes in the back for Ukobach to handle. “Today?” He called as he checked the ramen. Tadashi had already eaten one bowl and he’d be up for the second one any minute now.

“...Yes.”

Rin stilled over his pot. Lifting his head, he glared at his twin through the kitchen window. Yukio was doing that annoying as hell thing where he looked at Rin’s forehead so it still looked like he was staring Rin in the eyes, but he didn’t have to lie while he stared him in the eyes.

“Yuki,” he growled and stomped around the line. “You dumbass! When was the last time you actually ate, and what are you ordering?!”

Yukio shrank on his seat, half in exhaustion and half in embarrassment. “It doesn’t matter when. I’m here now. And I’d like some sukiyaki, please. Whatever the day’s special is.”

Rin glared and Yukio sighed. “Fine. And the salad and some sashimi.”

“Good—” the bell rang again, Rin’s eyes shot over to see who it was, and his heart promptly skittered in his chest.

Ryuuji was here. (Konekomaru and Renzou as well, but Rin could never quite pay as much attention to them.)

Ryuuji was burly. It was a word Rin had never really used before, but it just… it fit the rough, tall, bulky boy. The ruggedly handsome, sharp jawed boy with chestnut hair that was all thick and wild and perfect for running your hands through. The dark eyes that looked like a perfect beef broth that Rin really wanted to swim around in, and lips that—

Rin swallowed as Ryuuji’s eyes caught his. The unfairly cool and handsome boy strode across the floor, completely at home in his traditional buddhist robes, utterly unconcerned that they stood out, and went to the same table he always sat at, directly across from the kitchen window, out of view of the windows at the front of the restaurant, but very much in Rin’s appreciative eyesight. The other boys joined him — Konekomaru in robes as well while Renzou was sporting a neat blue suit that somehow didn’t clash with his pink hair — and Ryuuji held the eye contact for another long moment before breaking away on a blink to listen to something Konekomaru murmured to him.

Rin swallowed again and blinked.

“Rin?” Yukio raised his eyebrow and started to look over his shoulder to see what had caught Rin’s attention.

“Hamo!” Rin yelped much too loudly to try and distract Yukio before he could spot Ryuuji and see just why Rin was drooling a bit.

Yukio paused mid turn. “What?”

“Hamo,” Rin said again at a far more normal volume while his heart jumped like a wild rabbit in his chest. He could hear Ukobach snickering in the back, and just for that, Rin was going to give Ryuuji’s crew double sauces so that the little jerk had to do more dishes. “We, uh, got some great eel this morning. You should do that.”

Yukio’s tired eyes stared at him for a long moment where Rin could feel Ryuuji’s gaze on himself as well. Finally his twin smiled, clearly amused, and nodded. “Alright.”

Rin scribbled Yukio’s order down and slapped the slip of paper on the kitchen window so he’d have it in a moment. “Feel free to take a nap. Just don’t drool on the counter.” Smiling at his twin, he straightened his apron and tucked his notebook in his pocket only to pull it right back out so his hands weren’t empty. It only took three steps to get around the counter, but it felt like it took forever and it felt like everyone in the restaurant was watching him. (Which, yeah, was seven people, but it felt like at least a million.)

“Hey,” his voice was a little thick as he reached their table. He smiled anyway and tried not to eye the piercings decorating Ryuuji’s ears and eyebrow. Rin needed to up his own game. He just never looked as cool (hot) as Ryuuji did.

Still, he tore his eyes off the wicked looking spirals and met Ryuuji’s dark eyes, and ugh, it was just as distracting as the piercings. Rin smiled wider and hoped he didn’t look stupid. “What would ya like?”

Ryuuji blinked slowly and smirked, and Rin’s heart gave up on pretending to be cool and just raced like crazy. His cheeks went warm and his stomach did a few flips so it didn’t feel left out.

“You said the eel was fresh?”

Rin’s knees took the hit for Ryuuji’s low and growly voice. It was seriously entirely unfair for one person to have so much damn attractiveness.

The part of Rin that wasn’t panicking about his failing knees wondered what would happen if he flirted with this handsome as hell man. If he just tilted his head, cocked his hip, and playfully asked if Ryuuji had been listening to him. His twin was sitting a few meters away, and Mr. Tadashi was watching him like a hawk, and Rin just couldn’t get rejected with that audience.

So Rin nodded and tapped his chewed up pencil against the notepad. He should have gotten a fresh pencil. “Always is!”

Ryuuji nodded, still holding a lot of eye contact. “Then the hamo sounds good.”

Rin scrawled the order out. “Anything else?”

“Matcha, please.”

“Sure thing.” He smiled and forced himself to look away from Ryuuji’s eyes. Konekomaru was already looking at him, and there was no mistaking that smile for anything but amused. Ugh. “Sir?”

“Hamo as well, please. And barley tea.” Rin scribbled that down next to Ryuuji’s order. When had he doodled the heart?

“Sukiyaki,” Renzou said before Rin could turn to him. “And maybe a number?”

“Shima,” Ryuuji immediately snarled before Rin even deciphered the words.

“What?” Shima huffed, “Somebody had to—ow!” There was the distinct noise of a foot getting stepped on and Ryuuji’s eyes were turning back on him. The gruff man bowed a bit in his chair, dipping his head respectfully.

“I apologize for his poor behavior.”

“Don’t worry,” Rin laughed, amused more than anything. He hadn’t thought Renzou swung his way. Not with all the boob talk. “Ain’t the first time I’ve gotten asked that.” Though it didn’t happen that often. Blue Eggorcist wasn’t the most popular place, and his regulars tended to be too friendly and normal to really hit on him.

The smile slipped from Ryuuji’s face. “Oh.” His hands slipped off the table to settle on his lap. Rin’s stomach swooped nervously. Had he done something wrong? “Still,” Ryuuji’s gaze met his again, not as open as it had been a moment again. “I apologize just the same. You shouldn’t be harassed by your customers.”

Rin smiled and hoped it wasn’t awkward. “Thanks," he mumbled, a bit breathless at how serious Ryuuji’s gaze was. “I’ll just… uh,” what had he— oh! “Get your orders started.” He took a step back, bumped into a chair, turned around with a horrified blush, and went to the kitchen as quickly as he could.

“Smooth,” Ukobach teased as soon as he was in the back.

Rin glared.

“Get started on that damn salad.” He grumpily pulled the eel out and noticed that everyone in the restaurant was watching him through the window. He promptly schooled his features, offered a sheepish smile, and chopped it up as quickly as he could while mentally wishing he could just disappear.

Thankfully cooking was something he could mindlessly do. It was as much muscle memory as actual choice at this point. He could lose himself in the motions and ignore all the gazes and the embarrassment of tripping in front of Ryuuji.

Ukobach handled the salad and teas, and Rin had the eel cooking by the time that was finished. He loaded this arms up and went back on the floor.

“Eat all of that.” Rin set the salad and sashimi down and gave his twin a pointed look. Yukio nodded and pulled the plate closer which was just a testament to how tired and hungry he probably was. Tadashi thanked him fervently for the second bowl of ramen.

The trio were talking quietly amongst themselves, and the words came to an immediate stop as he drew near. Ryuuji shot Renzou an irritated look that smoothed out as Rin passed him his tea. He did not blush when Ryuuji’s hand brushed against his to accept the spoons.

“Alright! Let me know if you guys need a refill.” He set Renzou’s juice down and retreated back to the kitchen, shivering a little with the feel of Ryuuji’s eyes on him.

“You gonna give him your number with the check?” Ukobach elbowed him as he returned to the dishes.

Rin’s eyes shot out to where Ryuuji was sipping his tea and listening to Konekomaru. Renzou was on his phone. There was something tense in all three of them that seemed kind of odd. Usually they laughed and talked a lot when they were here.

Ryuuji’s gaze turned to him, and Rin’s cheeks went a very hot red. He dropped his own gaze to the pan, swallowed, and looked back up to find Ryuuji was still watching him. He was smiling softly, and he held the intense stare for a moment longer before looking away.

Rin almost burnt the hamo. He just might give Ryuuji his number with the check.

Rin brought out Sei’s kenchinjiru and tried not to look at Ryuuji’s table. Yukio was half draped over the counter and sort of mindlessly eating, but at least he was eating. Ryuuji’s eyes followed him to the kitchen, and Rin almost didn’t preen. The hamos were ready, and he piled them all up, giving Yukio’s his and taking a moment to pat his poor tired brother on the arm before he brought Ryuuji his.

Ryuuji was staring at the table instead of him, and there was something carefully neutral in his expression. Konekomaru was frowning while Renzou was still staring at his phone. The energy at the table was entirely different than it had been a moment ago, and Rin had no idea why.

“Uh,” he passed out each of the plates and made sure they had extra napkins, “enjoy?” He backed up a step, managed to avoid the chair, and bowed a bit before shuffling over to pick up Tadashi’s empty bowl.

He didn’t end up leaving his number when he gave them the check.

— — — — — — — — — —

“It’s not that simple,” Yukio yawned.

Rin scowled and pulled the door open for his sleepy twin. “Sure as hell seems that simple.” He ushered Yukio out and followed after.

“Well it isn’t.”

Rin rolled his eyes because Yukio couldn’t see him from this angle. He’d have rolled his eyes regardless, but he wouldn’t get in trouble for it now. “We’re in Kumiyama, four-eyes. It ain’t like we’re actually Kyoto. Why the hell would gangs want something to do with our shitty town?”

Yukio gave him the most wonderfully unamused of looks. “We’re on Kyoto’s border, and what does that matter? The yakuza aren’t picky on location. I’m telling you, there’s something bad going on.”

Rin couldn’t help but laugh now as they wandered down the path towards the old monastery. “One tattooed guy getting shot isn’t a sign of the yakuza taking over. Nothing that interesting would happen here.”

As if in defiance of that, Rin felt a slight prickle at the back of his neck. Like he was being watched. A glance back didn’t show anything there.

Yukio glared, and it was endlessly annoying how he looked like a strong breeze would be enough to knock him over, but that glare could still be intimidating as hell.

“It wouldn’t be interesting, Rin! It’d be terrible! Do you know how much violence they get into? Do you know how many people are injured by hits gone wrong? And it’s not just that! If you don’t stay in line, if you don’t give into their demands — people get hurt all the time. And it wasn’t just one tattooed man. And when was the last time you heard someone got shot out here? This isn’t Tokyo and True Cross. This… this doesn’t happen.”

Rin waved at Mrs. Sato and steered Yukio down their road. “You’re really upset about this.”

One of the benefits of sleepy Yukio was how much he didn’t mask his emotions. The exasperated expression Yukio gave him was hilarious if not rude. “Yes, Rin. I’m really upset about this. I don’t like people being shot. And it… the weird attacks are increasing.”

“That the medical diagnopic?”

“Diagnosis. And no. But weird is what it is. People just don’t start rotting inside. There’s only so many things that can cause that, and they don’t spread like… like mold.”

Rin did not need that mental image. Fuck. He’d rather be back at his restaurant with the awkward air than think about that. At least then he could stare at Ryuuji even if there wasn’t any more flirting.

Ugh. What had he done to make it stop? It had felt like he could actually get somewhere. All that staring, the slow blinks, the licking of lips, the hand brush…

Rin blew out a breath and scowled. “Then figure it out.”

“I’m telling you, it’s a sign that they’re moving from Kyoto! They’re spreading out.”

“But that shit isn’t happening there!” It couldn’t be! It was way too gross and terrifying to be happening. If people were starting to rot and die like that, and it left behind spore sacks and mold, then people would sure as hell be talking about it. Yukio was hearing rumors. That’s all it was. That’s all it could be.

(Think happy thoughts. Sukiyaki. Ryuuji feeding him sukiyaki.)

“You’re not listening,” Yukio huffed. He swayed and Rin righted him. The monastery was in sight. They were nearly there and then he could get Shirou’s help in forcing Yukio to take a damned nap.

“Little bro,” Rin shivered again and glanced back. They were still alone. Yukio was obviously getting in his head. “You need a break.”

“I can’t!” Yukio practically wailed. The door to the monastery opened and Shirou peered outside.

“Old man!” Rin shoved his twin forward and glanced back. Still nothing. “Get it through four-eyes head that he needs a damn nap.”

Shirou raised a confused eyebrow and glanced between them. “Huh?” He was in his normal priest vestments, and his glasses were immaculate as always. He still stank of cigarettes, and there was a nick on his cheek that drew Rin’s eyes. What had the old man been doing?

Yukio started to word vomit about his conspiracies and ‘data’ as Shirou wrapped an arm around his shoulders to guide him inside. He made a point of ushering Rin through the door first, and had Rin bothered to look back, he would have been confused at the glare Shirou leveled out the door at the empty walkway.

He might have still felt like he was being watched as well.

#bonrin #ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #my tumblr fics #rin okumura #aoex #okumura rin #ryuji suguro #ryuuji suguro #bon suguro #bon/rin #yukio okumura #mafia au

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sweetcathedral · 4 years ago

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🕸Haikyuu! — The Butterfly’s Ripple Effect🕸

Note: Currently a developing short story as I’m trying to figure out how to format it on tumblr, so that it’s easy to read (might take me a few months for the rough draft). The plot and ending is solidified, just need to piece together the scenes. Of course all Haikyuu characters are post-timeskip, it’s easier for me to write them as adults. It doesn’t make sense, but it will when I have the whole story down!

⚠️: blowjob, raw, forceful (?), cheating, giving in to temptation

The warmth of the sun gently wakes you up, making you flutter your lashes and wince at the brightness of the room. Memories of last night play back in your head as you pull the covers over you, but you look around to see that there was no sign of Kuroo. You hesitate to go back to sleep or look around the house to see if the others were okay from last night, since it wasn’t as loud as it should be.

“G’morning,” Kenma was leaning at the doorway with a cup of tea in his hand and a plate of omelettes in the other. “May I?”

You nodded, rubbing your eyes to fully wake you up.

“It smells nice. How are the others?”

“Oh, Kuroo’s driving them back to Sendai. The others wanted you to tag along on their road trip, but I told them that you’re probably jetlagged and needed the rest. They helped unload your stuff at the entranceway though,” he settled the tea and omelettes on the nightstand before pulling out a bed tray table from one of the drawers.

“I didn’t know you were the type to have breakfast in bed.”

“I’m not. A friend left it here last year, forgot about it and told me to keep it in the end. I just thought you’d like breakfast in bed today,” as Kenma was about to unfold the table, he paused in hesitation. It looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he lowered his head onto your lap. Thinking nothing of it, you run your fingers through his soft hair,

“Tired?”

“. . . I guess . . . I don’t know . . .”

You started humming the tune Kenma used to sing to you back then, when the two of you were still normal. The familiar feeling began to cloud your judgement, letting your fingers trace down the nape of Kenma’s neck. He immediately grabs your wrist, startling you from your trance.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he lifts his head.

“I—, sorry, I didn't mean—”

“Your food’s getting cold,” he changes the subject and continues to set up the bed table, arranging the tea and omelette. Before he was able to leave the bed, you reach for his hand,

“Kenma, wait . . .” the words you’ve always wanted to tell him is caught in your throat, “. . . I’m sor—!”

His hands clamp over your mouth as he gently kisses your forehead, softly dragging his cold fingers down to your throat. Unable to shake off the way it made you feel, he left you in silence.

After closing the door, Kenma briskly walked towards the bathroom, turned the faucet on and locked himself in. He leans against the door, slowly sliding down to the floor and pulled his hoodie completely over his head,

“. . . what am I doing? . . .” he sighs, pressing his head into his folded hands.

A moment later, the sound of your footsteps makes him jolt back up to turn the faucet off. He opens the door to see you standing there, knees clasped together.

“Don’t just stand there, move!” you push through him to get to the toilet and quickly kicked your panties off, landing at Kenma’s feet. “Phew, okay, you can leave now.”

Just as you finished cleaning yourself up, he picks up your wet stained panties.

“Hey! Give me those!” you tried grabbing them back from him, while covering yourself.

Fuck it. Kenma decided to cross the line he drew for himself. At this point it didn’t matter to him anymore, nothing mattered to him anymore. Everything that’s been holding him back has reached its limit, and he was more than ready to risk it all.

“What, it’s not like this is my first time seeing you naked.”

“Kuroo can walk in at any moment,” you argued back.

“He left two hours ago. It takes a total of eight hours driving to and from Sendai, plus the amount of stops he probably took to settle them down,” he quietly closes the door. “Which means I’ve about six hours to have you all to myself.”

The weight of Kenma’s words dawned on you. The sound of your heartbeat echoes in your ears, racing at the pace things were moving in. It’s only been a day since you got back, but Kenma had been displaying signs of temptation. You knew he was selfish, but you didn't know he can be this selfish—to the point of sleeping with his best friend’s girlfriend. Maybe you should’ve set the boundaries right then and there when you and Kuroo told him about your relationship. But you’ve been sleeping around with Kenma for so long that you didn’t realize that these things weren’t normal for someone in a relationship. It wasn’t right at all, especially to Kuroo. It’s cheating, but—

“Don’t worry, it’ll just be between you and me. I promise,” Kenma cups your face so that your eyes meet with his and draws you into a kiss. You quickly pull away from him,

“Kenma, we can’t. You know we can’t, I’m dating Kuroo, and . . .this is cheating—”

“Only if we get caught,” his fingers trace up your thighs.

You grip his wrist with trembling hands.

“Kenma . . . please, I—I can only hold back so much,” your voice begins to break.

“Do you trust me?” he pauses, waiting for your reply.

With guilt, you shyly nodded.

“That’s my good girl,” he lifts you up onto the edge of the sink. Kissing you along your neck and collarbones.

“Not there, you’ll leave a mark,” you stop him.

“Right, . . . sorry,” he pouts. With how far you’ve already taken the situation, you decided to let go of all senses of your morals.

“Come here,” you reach for his face, pulling him back into a kiss. Shocked that you took the lead, but relieved, he places his hand on your wet spot. The feeling of his fingers brushing over your clit makes you throb inside.

“Look at how messy you’re getting and I haven’t even put my fingers in you yet,” he crosses his fingers. “I know you like it when I do this.”

The twisting motion inside you sends waves of pleasure throughout your body, making your toes curl. Hot breaths escape your wet lips, feeling yourself come closer to ecstasy. Before you could reach your climax, Kenma pulls his fingers out.

“No, no no,” you whined.

“What’s wrong?” he cocked his head, knowing damn well what he’s doing. “You know begging doesn’t work on me, you need to show that you want it.” He leans in closer to your blushing ear. “Now get on those pretty knees of yours.”

The glazed look in your eyes catches Kenma’s attention. A smirk tugs across his face, gently gripping your throat, embracing you into another wet kiss. His teeth softly grazes your bottom lip as he pulls away. Reluctantly, you get on your knees.

You work your tongue, stroking up and down his cock. “Fuck,” he grunts, giving you a sense of pride. Impatiently, you start to touch yourself to relieve that aching feeling,

“Ah, ah, ah,” Kenma pulls you by the hair to get you off his cock. He grabs both of your wrists and pins them over your head against the edge of the sink, preventing you from touching yourself. “I’m not gonna let you take that satisfaction away from me. Now open your mouth nice and wide, and stick your tongue out.”

Your hips squirm and tremble, doing as he says.

“Hrmph!” the impact of his cock thrusts to the back of your throat, his grip tightening around your wrists. Tears stream down your cheeks and saliva dribbles down your chin, taking in every thrust he gives you. You choke on his load, filling you so much that you can’t do anything but swallow.

“You think I’m done?” he pushes you to the floor and turns you over, pinning one leg to your chest. The glint in his eyes tells you how long he’s been waiting for this moment. A single, long, moment to put you in a sloppy daze. You can feel his thumb brushing over your slick folds before pressing it in. Although you’re already a soaking mess down there, he wants to make sure you're fully prepped before going in raw.

“Don’t forget, I have you all to myself for more than a few hours,” he says in your ear as he slowly penetrates you. The tip hits you in the right spot making your walls flutter. Only the sound of your panting and moaning escape your lips.

You forgot how rough Kenma gets when his stress builds up and he has nowhere to vent it off on, but that privilege was taken away from him when you and Kuroo started your relationship. Admittedly, you miss Kenma from before he knew about your relationship with his best friend. You didn’t know how he truly felt about it and didn’t want to ask. You avoided wanting to ask ‘cause you’re scared about knowing how he really feels. The day you confronted him about it was also when he started to become distant and detached from you.

Slowly, your mind enters a daze, getting lost in the comfort you find from his guilty pleasure.

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makeste · 4 years ago

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BnHA Chapter 286: VESTIGE ANTICS ARE A GO

Previously on BnHA: Deku was all “what’s the record for most consecutive bone breaks within the span of a single minute” and, without waiting for an answer, proceeded to unleash roughly 17 Smashes onto Tomura. Kacchan was all “THAT DOES IT, I’M TAKING THE REINS OF THIS SHITSHOW” and carried Endeavor and Shouto up to where the action was so Endeavor could hit Tomura with a Prominence Burn. AFO was all “Tomura would you rather burn to death or let me take over your body” and Tomura was all “...” and so AFO TOOK OVER and was all “STABBITY STABBITY” and used his Stabbing Quirk to do some Good Old Fashioned STABBIN’. First he stabbed Endeavor, and then he was all “hee and now I’m gonna stab Deku”, but Kacchan was all “SIR THAT’S MY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT RIVAL” and so he rushed on in AND GOT HIMSELF STABBED INSTEAD. And so basically THIS PAST WHOLE WEEK HAS BEEN A RIDE, LET ME TELL YOU.

Today on BnHA: Kacchan is all “sup Deku lemme just downplay how I totally took this fatal blow for you just now” before he dramatically passes out and is caught by Todoroki “BTDUBS I CAN FLY NOW” Shouto, who is also carrying his dad because the kids really are just doing it all, here. AllForRaki Tomura For One is all “HAHA BAKUGOU IS PRETTY DUMB”, at which point Deku just LOSES IT ENTIRELY and ASCENDS INTO A NEW PLANE OF FURY LIKE A LITTLE GREEN RAGE BUDDHA. But then like two seconds later Tomura is all “ANYWAY, SO” and FUCKING TOUCHES DEKU’S FACE, CAUSING THE TWO OF THEM TO ASTROPROJECT INTO THE FREAKY OFA/AFO MINDSCAPE BECAUSE THIS CHAPTER IS BANANAS. Vestige!AFO is all “reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated but aren’t you glad I saved your life though, Tomura”, while Tomura is all “!!” because he’s hopefully starting to get A Clue, and meanwhile Deku just stands there watching all “what the fuck.” The chapter ends with SHIMURA MCFUCKING NANA showing up all, “HI, I HEARD SOME BITCHES WERE TRYING TO HAVE A GIRL POWER ARC, AND THEY DIDN’T INVITE ME.” Go on, Nana. Give ‘em hell.

you guys. I’m not normally one to take pleasure in another human being’s misfortune. BUT THAT SAID, there are exceptions to every rule, and so let’s just say certain events have transpired early this morning which have PUT ME IN A VERY, LET’S JUST SAY, NOT-TERRIBLE MOOD which this chapter will hopefully improve upon!!

oh my god Deku’s one non-fucked-up eye that he still has control over is SO WIDE YOU GUYS

hmm I know I shouldn’t be all (゜▽゜) while the two of them are all (； ▼ Д ▼) (⁰ Д゜;) ... and yet here we are. btw I’m worried tumblr’s formatting will ruin those two emojis which I worked so hard to get just right so I’m gonna repost them on another line here just in case

(； ▼ Д ▼) (⁰ Д゜;) that’s them. Kacchan and Deku. my boys

HERE COMES THE CHEESY ��JUST GOT STABBED BETTER PLAY IT OFF ALL COOL!!!” ONE LINER OH MY GOD

(ETA: really love how my son, with what for all he knows could be his dying breaths, decides that the absolute most important thing is to preserve his selfish asshole facade so as not to fuck up his status quo with his rival. “LOOKEE HERE I GOT MYSELF ALL STABBED AND SHIT FOR YOU, BUT I TOTALLY JUST DID IT BECAUSE I WAS TIRED OF YOU GETTING ALL THE COOL HERO MOMENTS” yeah, that’s right! SELFLESS MOTIVATIONS, WHAT ARE THOSE sob.

also tbh I’m glad they didn’t delve any further into their feelings right here and now because this really isn’t the place or time for it sadly. WE WILL JUST PUT THOSE ON HOLD UNTIL AFTER THE ARC ENDS, when they are all recovering from their various wounds and traumas and have time to catch up and have some long-overdue heart-to-hearts. it deserves its own chapter or two or three. maybe time to head back to Ground Beta once they’re healthy? “healthy” perhaps being a relative term given their current condition fjsdjkf.)

by the way it looks from here like only the ones through his torso and shoulder actually hit, so that’s something at least. WE’VE LOST ENOUGH LEGS TODAY. I need to conserve my remaining puns

MEANWHILE TOMURA IS HAVING A CRISIS

ARE YOU MAD AT YOUR EVIL DAD TOMURA. HE JUST WON’T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER WILL HE, THAT GUY

anyway so it looks like Kacchan might have caught a break here because AFO/Tomura is pulling the stabby quirk activation tendril things back out! rip, “Kacchan vs. Deku part 3″ theories

p.s. I got ALL CAUGHT UP IN THE DRAMA and thus glossed over the chapter title which is “one among us”! hmmm this is definitely AFO/OFA related, calling it now. ooh lord I am excited

NOW MY SON IS DRAMATICALLY FALLING

THE BLOOD FROM THE MOUTH OOF NOT GOOD AHHHH. DEKU’S FACE AHHHH. HIS BODY JUST WENT TOTALLY LIMP DID HE PASS OUT AHHHH. SOMEONE CATCH HIM!!

BY HIS FOOT, SHOUTO?!

well NOT EXACTLY THE MOST GRACEFUL THING I’VE EVER SEEN, but we’ll allow it because HOLY SHIT BOY. ARE YOU ALREADY CARRYING YOUR DAD ON TOP OF THAT?? HORIKOSHI PLEASE CONFIRM, IS TODOROKI MOTHERFUCKING SHOUTO FUCKING FLYING AROUND UNBALANCED AF ON HIS ONE FLAMEY LEG, CARRYING HIS 500 LB POP AND NOW HIS FLOPPY PASSED OUT BEST FRIEND AS WELL?!? HOLY SHIT TODO?!?!

LADIES AND GENTLEFRIENDS OF THE VILLAIN STANDOM, FEAR NOT, TOMURA’S HAIR IS THE FIRST THING THAT GREW BACK LOL

even before his eyeballs kfldkakjk. which, btw, how does he even know what’s going on right now? “this fight has shed a lot of useless blood” sdkmkjl okay well (1) WHOSE FAULT WAS THAT, AGAIN??, (2) SERIOUSLY THOUGH, HOW DOES HE EVEN KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING. DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO YOU STABBED?? ARE YOU EFFECTIVELY BLIND FOR THE NEXT FEW SECONDS HERE, WHAT’S GOING ON, and lastly (3) I seriously can’t tell if this is AFO or Tomura talking right now. or are they going back and forth?? help this is so confusing

HEY

THE DISRESPECT. I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW KACCHAN ANGST IS NEVER USELESS!!

AND NOW HE’S BACK TO THE STABBING JFKJLKJLF I AM NOT TOO HAPPY WITH YOU RIGHT NOW MISTER

okay and now we’re cutting to some quick panels of the unconscious Aizawa, Gran, and Ryuukyuu, along with the “still conscious but in a very real sense might as well not be counted” Manual who is really having a day, that poor guy

anyway but then there’s also some dialogue boxes being all “if you act out of rage your power will respond accordingly, the most important part is to keep your head clear.” which I’m like 90% sure is Deku/OFA related, but honestly NOTHING ABOUT THIS CHAPTER IS CLEAR SO FAR YOU GUYS. except for the Shouto-is-a-badass part anyway

HMM YEP I’M GONNA GO WITH DEKU-RELATED

it must be a callback to some line I’m forgetting. maybe Lariat explaining Blackwhip to him that one time. probably should have been in italics if it was a flashback quote, but hey. anyways the point is Deku is absolutely, 100% following this advice to the letter (/s)

(ETA: yep I’m almost positive this is the same quote from chapter 213. “listen, when you use this power out of anger, it’ll really start working for you. what really matters is controlling your heart.” which is still one of the weirdest pieces of advice in the entire series, but basically I think he was just trying to tell him it’s okay to get mad, so long as it’s calmly mad. like, controlled fury, as opposed to this white-hot berserker nonsense he’s been running on as of late. anyways I do still love me some shounen rage all the same but Lariat has a point.)

...

it took me a minute to realize THOSE WERE DEKU’S EYES. holy --

AND ANOTHER MINUTE TO REALIZE THAT DEKU FUCKING GRABBED THE ACTIVATION TENDRIL WITH HIS BUSTED UP OFA HANDS AND BIT INTO IT WITH HIS RABID OFA JAWS AND SNAPPED THAT SHIT LIKE A FUCKING KITKAT KLJLKSJDLKJFLK WOOOOOOOO I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING BUT GODDAMN. POWER MOVE

(ETA: this is a two-page spread omg. I didn’t even realize at first. this scan ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT DO THIS BADASS PAGE ANY KIND OF JUSTICE but I can’t wait to see the real deal on Sunday holy shit.)

LMAO

DEKU RAGED SO HARD HE TURNED INTO AN ANGRY GHOST SONIC THE HEDGEHOG FKLSKG

(ETA: he actually looks a bit like the Vestiges/Kurogiri tbh.)

meanwhile Tomura basically has the exact same face I would have had in his position. yeah for real man. I don’t even know

p.s. WHEN will people learn to STOP INSULTING KACCHAN IN DEKU’S PRESENCE. WHEN, I ASK!!

WHAT IN THE CINNAMON TOAST FUCK

if this was a physical page I was holding I would have FLUNG THAT SHIT AWAY LIKE THERE WAS A SPIDER CRAWLING ON IT. WHAT THE FUCK

HOT DAMN. well uh. so that’s SUPER DISTURBING, what a lovely panel of Tomura’s melted face slowly growing back while his ears lag behind, and meanwhile that little scar that had been growing and growing and which at one point certain people (ME) thought might turn him into a BEAUTIFUL BUTTERLY instead RIPS HIS FACE IN HALF to reveal the KINDER EGG AFO SURPRISE UNDERNEATH AHHHHH TAKE IT BACK

THIS IS WHY YOU DON’T LET MAD SCIENTISTS PERFORM EXPERIMENTS ON YOU, KIDS. PSA. JUST SAY NO

-- NO!!!

HORIKOSHI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

fuck

oh my god. I almost would have rather cut away right after the Kacchan incident than freaking cut away NOW of all times, jesus. THAT’S JUST A BITCH MOVE, IS WHAT THAT IS. if we don’t cut back within the next three pages I SWEAR TO GOD

anyway so GUESS WHAT GIGANTOMACHIA’S DOING YOU GUYS. if you guessed “the exact same thing he was doing last time we saw him” then you are absolutely right, because it was actually PRETTY EASY TO GUESS

anyway but he says he detects “master’s scent”, except that there’s apparently two of them. interesting! one in Tartarus and one in Jakku, right? lol Horikoshi has burned me so many times already with his excruciatingly slow reveal of this that I’m not gonna hold my breath just yet, but I’ll get the hype train warmed up JUST IN CASE

okay so meanwhile in downtown Jakku, the heroes are handing off the civilians over to the police and rescue forces while they prepare to engage with “the villain”, by which I assume they mean Gigantomachia. does this mean Iida and Ochako are gonna fight Machia you guys omg

OOH!!!

“PLEASE INFORM THEM ON FOOT” well I know a certain SPEEDY BOI who would be PERFECT for that job oh my. make haste, Tenyar FastmLeggy

WAIT WHICH WAY ARE THEY HEADING

ARE THEY HEADING TOWARDS MACHIA OR TOWARDS DEKU AND AFO

so rather than answering my VERY PERTINENT question, Ochako is instead spending an entire page thinking about how their complete clusterfuck of a life keeps getting exponentially worse all the time! well but she’s not wrong though

NOW SHE’S ALL “GUYS...!” and, rather than explaining ANYTHING AT ALL, Horikoshi is again cutting back to THIS, OMG AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

(ETA: good thing Kacchan wasn’t awake to see his dramatic “I’ll just get myself impaled for Deku’s sake” plan result in this outcome ALL OF TWENTY SECONDS LATER smdh.)

I ACTUALLY PREFER MY DEKUS NON-CRUMBLED, THANKS. ALSO JUST ON A SIDE NOTE, POOR SHOUTO THOUGH. THE LAST NINETY SECONDS OR SO HAVE BEEN ENOUGH NIGHTMARE FUEL FOR A LIFETIME HAVEN’T THEY

so now he’s all “MIDORIYA!!!” because OF COURSE HE IS. his best friend just got impaled, and his dad too, and now he fully expects to see his other best friend crumble to dust right before his eyes holy shit. T R A U M A ™

-- !!!

somehow in the excitement of the moment I forgot his actual goal for a sec lol. meaning I instantaneously switched from HORRIFIED to GRINNING LIKE A MANIAC :D :D :D come on OFA time to show him what’s what

AND NOW WE’RE SWITCHING OVER TO EVERYONE’S FAVORITE TRIPPY DREAM LANDSCAPE FOR ADDITIONAL DRAMA, WELL OKAY

I’M ON BOARD WITH THIS, WHATEVER. also it’s becoming increasingly apparent that Deku is in fact nekkid underneath that mystical cloud bs, so let’s hope one of his remaining yet-to-be-unlocked quirks is a pants-conjuring quirk lulz

“this place...” yeah we all fucking know what this place is son, let’s get on with this. by my count we’ve only got four pages left so PLEASE BUDGET THEM WISELY

OH MY

holy shit. I have so many screaming thoughts about this lol but I just want to keep on reading lkjlkjlkjl okay I’ll come back later and edit them in, how’s that

OR MAYBE I’LL JUST RANT ABOUT THEM NOW GODDAMMIT

shit. okay let me just try and sum this up as quick as I can

so just in case it wasn’t already crystal clear, AFO’s soul being roommates with Tomura’s seems to be just about 100% confirmed now. good for you, All For One For All theory!! the “Kacchan loses his quirk” theory died so that you might live on in glory

AFO does seem to have almost fully taken control now. it looks like Tomura’s still fighting back, but AFO clearly has the upper hand now if their body language is any indication. Tomura on his knees with AFO calmly holding him down and ignoring his struggles... not looking too good for him at the moment

people seem to have somewhat lost sight of this in the midst of the great “heroes vs. villains Who Is Right Who Is Wrong What Are Morals” debate of 2020, but just a friendly reminder that AFO is in fact responsible for 100% of all of Tomura’s suffering from pretty much the moment he was born up till this very moment we’re now witnessing!! like, you can go ahead and blame Nana and Gran and The Complacent Apathy Of Hero Society and whatever the fuck else from here till Sunday, but All for One is the reason Kotarou was orphaned. All for One is almost certainly the reason why the seemingly quirkless Tenko suddenly just magically developed THE MOST FUCKED UP QUIRK OF ALL TIME at the worst possible moment. All for One is probably the reason why no one helped Traumatized Baby Tenko in the immediate aftermath (I can and likely will write a separate post about this in the near future). All for One is definitely the reason why no one helped Tenko at any point after that. All for One is the reason why Tenko grew up all fucked in the head (“HERE’S YOUR DEAD FAMILY’S HANDS, MERRY CHRISTMAS”), and the reason why he grew up blaming Heroes and Society rather than the sole person who was actually responsible who was literally standing right in front of him the entire time. and lastly, All for One is the reason why Tomura has now been manipulated into unknowingly sacrificing his own body and possibly even his mind. so THANKS A LOT FOR THAT. more like jerk for one amiright

basically what I’m trying to say is that Deku and Tomura are not actually enemies here, and they never have been. the two of them have a common enemy, and I’m convinced Tomura’s story is about him eventually coming to realize this. and this looks to be the first step towards that, for two reasons. one, because AFO is finally starting to out himself to Tomura as the rat bastard he has always been. and two, because Deku is catching a glimpse of this now for the very first time. up until now he didn’t have a damn clue lol. but this is now something for him to file away in the back of his mind, and perhaps follow up on at a later date, once all of this craziness finally subsides and he has some time to process

anyway, so that’s basically it! tl;dr AFO is the final villain and unless I’m very much mistaken, this scene is going to finally start to set that up. let’s read on!

OMG

NANA?!?

lKDSJFLKSHGLISHDOGIHOLRKL

NOOOOOO I can’t believe it fucking ended there I can’t fucking believe it, fuck everything

smdh. what a place to end it. didn’t confirm a damn thing. not even whose mental landscape all of this is actually taking place in! like, don’t mind me though Horikoshi, it’s not like THE FATE OF THE WORLD HINGES ON THIS QUESTION OR ANYTHING except oh wait it really kind of does. kljkj

but seriously. because if it’s Deku’s mind, it means that Tomura’s attempt to take his quirk wasn’t successful. but if it’s Tomura’s mind, though... well... hhhhhhkhfff

or it could be both, I guess. more of that “AFO and OFA are the same quirk and thus linked” goodness. oh man. anyways stay tuned for next week when Nana presumably helps Deku out with the rest of that black fog and also hopefully finds him some pants. or maybe Nana can just go fight AFO herself. a little payback for everything he’s done to her protege and to her grandson. either way I CAN’T WAIT omg. VESTIGE ANTICS ARE A GO

#bnha 286 #midoriya izuku #shigaraki tomura #all for one #bakugou katsuki #todoroki shouto #shimura nana #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #never thought we'd be this close to getting to see nana punch afo in the face #please horikoshi I beg of you please let this happen #if this holds up next week pretty much every single lady of bnha will have gotten their chance to shine in this arc #well except for ochako #but things are looking up on that front too!#what a time to be alive

287 notes · View notes

ressyfaerie · 4 years ago

Note

Tyka request: I love bit beast merging so the idea that Tyson has been forced to merge with Black Dranzer has always floated in my head. Kai arrives too late. Boris and his Grandfather found a way to break Tyson's will to accept Black Dranzer, probably to save Kai's life and Kai can only watch!

I LOVE THIS. I am the god of angst writing, so when you ask for angst, I’m bringing A N G S T. Anything in * are Tyson’s thoughts!

I’ve now written it all and- I just had so much fun with it. This was the kind of ask I was born for. Thank you for sending this to me- I hope you know I’ve been working on this all day lmao. It turned out way longer than I wanted it to be. But damn, it’s good. I’m going to keep the start in regular format, and put the rest in a read more, I don’t know if tumblr will even let me post this much LOL, but let’s try it:

“Hello, Tyson Granger. Welcome to BIC”

“Call it what it is Boris, BEGA- round two.”

“You know better Tyson, The Beyblade International Congress is so much more.”

Tyson scoffed, he scrunched up his face in Voltaire’s direction.

He had one hand in his pocket, where dragoon would normally be. Instead, his hand held emptiness, there was nothing, and no one, to comfort him now.

The room security had led him into was windowless. It could have been the basement or the hundredth floor of the building.

Tyson had lost all sense of direction since Dragoon was stolen from him, the feeling was nothing out of the ordinary.

The world champion wore an expression no one had ever seen before. Determined, enraged, vulnerable, confused, he felt everything all at once, there was only one thing he was absolutely certain of:

He had to get Dragoon, and his friend’s bit-beasts back, at any cost.

“You two know why I’m here.”

Boris grew a porcelain smile from ear to ear.

“To finally join our team of course.”

Tyson laughed in response, “I never had any intention of joining BEGA, which means its shitty counterpart is out of the question.”

“This child has grown up since we last saw him.” Voltaire leaned more on his cane, inspecting every bit of Tyson’s body.

Tyson felt like some kid’s science project in their backyard. He shuddered, terrified to think the abbey boys lived like this every day.

“I hoped he would have grown-up, Voltaire. It’s been almost three years after all.”

Boris waved his hand. The security guards that escorted Tyson turned on their heels and marched out the door. Tyson was left alone with two old men, but he still felt danger.

The silence that ensued was deafening, the glares they locked on Tyson made the hair raise on his spine.

He now understood Tala and Kai’s fear of these men. The pure power they confidently exhibited by just standing there, was compared to nothing he had ever experienced.

Two men, three times his age- two men who should be in jail, serving life sentences- one man who raised and abused his best friend, one man who was his best friend’s flesh and blood.

Tyson took a deep breath. He stabilized his voice before stating his demand.

“Give me back my bit-beasts.”

The men let out deep laughs, starting out as low grumbles, and ascending into loud chortles.

Boris spoke first.

“You think you can just waltz into my high-tech facility- and I’ll just give you back what I stole? And stole so easily mind you-”

“So, you did steal them.” Tyson’s firsts were curled, his fingertips formed indents in his palms, he wanted to lash out in anger, but he knew better.

“Of course, wasn’t it obvious?”

“I have proof- I’ll get the police-”

The men laughed again, this time louder.

“I own the police.” A shadow fell over Voltaire’s face.

For the first time, Tyson felt true fear.

No bit beast- no battle- nothing could compare to this.

Tyson’s heart sunk, as he became painfully aware his overconfidence, could be his downfall.

Now, he was trapped.

“Would joining my team sound better if I told you you could have Dragoon back?” Boris’ voice was coated with honey, but Tyson knew better.

Tyson’s eyes shot in Boris’ direction. He squinted his eyes.

“Without making a deal with me, you and your friends will never see their pets again.”

“I’ll never make a deal with you.” Tyson spat.

“Pretty soon you’ll have no choice-” Voltaire cut Boris off.

“How old are you now Tyson?” His voice had changed, he leaned more into his cane.

“Almost nineteen.” Tyson grinned, “I’m an adult now. You can’t hurt me.”

The two men gave each other a look Tyson didn’t miss. Voltaire spoke first.

“What if we told you we needed your help.”

Tyson put up his shields immediately, he raised an eyebrow. “Help? What could I possibly help two billionaires with?”

“Something that only a blader as strong as you can.”

“No.” Tyson refused.

“Hear us out.” Boris took a step towards him, Tysons swore he heard a door lock behind him.

“We have a theory- if that theory is correct, we can change the future of the sport- no, the future of everything.”

Tyson’s interest was piqued, but that wouldn’t change his decision.

“The answer is still no.”

Boris took a step towards him, “what if we gave you your bit-beasts back in exchange?”

Tyson saw through Boris’ trap, it was a deal he couldn't ignore.

Tyson just stared back at him.

Voltaire interrupted, “we have found a way to merge bit-beasts with humans.”

Tyson felt his heart stop.

Boris grinned, presenting his hands in front of him, “the possibilities are endless Tyson, imagine- superhumans. Beyblading would ascend to a whole new level. The history of warfare changed, just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

It was terrifying how a man could keep a smile while talking about changing the history of warfare.

“I’m not helping you experiment by changing people into weapons.” Tyson’s face wrinkled into a disgusted scowl, “what do you need me for anyway?”

“See, Tyson…” Boris continued, “the science has been researched for decades- but I’m fairly confident this process requires someone of a certain caliber…”

“Someone who already has a strong connection to bit-beasts.” Voltaire stated.

“Don’t you have tons of kids lined up in your arsenal? Why me?” Tyson’s voice grew louder.

“Ha! None of my boys are as strong as you and your team Tyson.” Boris chuckled before continuing, “you’re special, your connection to dragoon and other spirits is stronger than anyone on the planet. You are my missing puzzle piece, I’m certain you’ll be the right fit.”

“The other members of your team might work, but no one is like you.” Voltaire nodded,

“No. I refuse.” Tyson took a deep breath, “I’m not your pawn, I won’t help you.”

Silence.

Voltaire clicked his cane on the tile floor.

“I hope you are aware; if you don’t do this, we will make sure Kai will.”

Tyson swung his head in his direction, ready to scream if necessary.

“Ah, watch it Tyson.” Boris threatened the boy, Tyson’s chest heaved erratically.

“What do you mean?” Tyson said through gritted teeth. “He would never agree to this-”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Voltaire shook his head, then became totally still as his glare set on Tyson, “but I don’t need his permission.”

“You’re sick.” Tyson spat.

“It would be so easy.” Boris reached into his pocket grabbing a remote, he pressed a button, a screen rolled down in the large room.

The screen turned on, on it was a picture of Kai, and a ton of numbers Tyson didn’t understand, but what caught his attention, was a simple map, with a blinking red dot.

“We know where Kai is at all times,” Voltaire said in a low voice.

“If you refuse to help us, we will take him as needed.”

“That’s kidnapping.” Tyson pointed out the obvious fact, he should have known better, that stealing a person was one of the minor crimes Boris has committed.

“Not like I haven’t done it before.” Boris shrugged, as if he was talking about taking a candy bar.

Tyson swallowed, “he- he wouldn’t let this happen without a fight.”

“As expected. If he fights it, the process could easily mess up… Ideally we want someone who will work with us, but it’s not necessary.”

“I’ll find him. We will run away-”

“When I say we know everything about Kai I mean we know everything, Tyson.”

Voltaire looked to the ceiling, “We know when he goes for jogs.”

“Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings.” Boris raised a finger in the air.

“We know when he eats, when he sleeps, where he sleeps.” Voltaire emphasized ‘where’ maliciously.

Tyson growled. Voltaire hummed.

“That’s right Tyson, he’s been staying at your place frequently.”

Boris tried to suppress a laugh, “we even know what happened last Saturday-”

“Boris!” Voltaire hissed.

Tyson’s eyes widened, “How would you know that!? We were alone, in my room, in my home!?”

“We know everything, Tyson.”

Tyson met Voltaire’s eyes with disgust.

“It seems like a win-win situation, Tyson. I’m giving you a good deal, when you know I don’t have to.” Boris folded his arms. “You go through with this procedure, we give you- and your friends their bit-beasts back, and we leave Kai alone.”

Tyson’s body felt ice cold.

“I want you to know Tyson, Boris is too afraid to admit it-” Voltaire’s voice was draped in darkness, “we aren’t letting you leave here today without doing something.”

Tyson stopped breathing.

Boris confidently waltzed to Tyson’s side, Tyson didn’t move, he was paralyzed with fear.

The purple-haired man’s face was inches away from Tyson’s now.

“You either take the deal, or have it happen anyways- but if you take the deal, world champion, you must work with us willingly.”

Tyson was his height now, but he still felt small.

Boris placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t- touch me.” Tyson shrugged him off aggressively.

“Last chance world champ.” Voltaire clicked his tongue, “what will it be?”

Tyson met both their eyes, looking back and forth, his breathing showed anger, his fists clenched in frustration.

He was stuck. Trapped. Nowhere to go. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. He let his body accept defeat.

“Fine. I’ll take your deal.”

“Where did Tyson go anyways?” Max hummed to Ray while sliding his feet on the smooth wooden floors of the dojo.

“Is he with Kai again? They’ve been hanging out a lot…” Ray pointed out.

Kenny was sitting on the floor with his laptop open. “Tyson left just before lunchtime.”

“No lunch!?” Hilary snapped, “that’s not like him.”

“It’s not like him to miss practice…” Ray tried to hide the subtle worry on his face.

“I’ll try phoning him,” Max suggested, pulling out his rose gold iPhone.

“I’m sure he’s fine guys.” Hilary rolled her eyes, knowing the bluenette was always late.

“We can’t be too careful…” Kenny hesitated before saying his next words, “With Boris being back…”

The room fell quiet, the only sound was the ringing of Max’s phone.

“He’s not picking up.” Max hung up the call.

“Try Kai’s phone,” Ray smirked. “They’re always together now.”

Max flipped through his phone and put it on speaker. The phone rang a few times, they heard the click of it being answered.

“Hello?” They heard Kai’s familiar gruff voice.

“Hey Kai, sorry, are you driving?” Max spoke a little louder than usual.

“Yeah, but I have you on speaker, it’s fine.” They heard the sounds of the highway around him.

“Hey, is Tyson with you?” Ray asked, his voice shaking a bit.

“No, why?” They heard the sound of Kai’s blinker in the background.

“He disappeared before lunch, he's not here for practice yet.” Max eagerly awaited Kai’s response.

“That’s odd,” Kai remarked.

“Are you going to be here soon?” Ray asked.

“Yeah, I’m just coming down the road now. Have you tried phoning him?”

“I tried…” Max fidgeted with his open hand, “he didn’t pick up.”

“He always answers his phone.” The team detected a hint of worry in Kai’s voice. “I’m outside now.”

They heard Kai hang up the phone, without as much as a goodbye, but that was very typical Kai.

They sat in the same positions, wordless. They heard the front door open, the sound of Kai taking off his shoes. They heard the floorboards creak as he made his way down the hall to the dojo. The door slid open.

“Hey Kai!” Hilary tried to be cheerful, but she just sounded worried.

“Hey,” Kai responded. Without missing a beat, “where is Tyson?”

“No one knows.” Kenny stopped typing at his laptop to look up at the master blader. He readjusted his glasses.

“He left before lunch, he’s been gone a few hours.” Kenny had a hard time keeping eye contact with Kai, when Kai got serious- he got scary.

“It’s weird of him to miss practice…” Max fiddled with his thumbs.

Ray looked up at the ceiling, “not like we can do much practicing anyway.”

The room went quiet. They were all still in mourning over the unexpected loss of their blades. The day they woke up to discover all of their blades had been stolen, was the moment they realized Boris coming back now, in their late teens, was serious.

“I’m worried.” Kai admitted, he pulled out his phone, and began to phone Tyson.”

“That was fast, do you have him on speed dial?” Ray grinned trying to lighten the mood.

Kai responded seriously, “yes.”

They heard the phone ring a few times, before going to voicemail. Kai hesitated, before deciding to leave one.

“Hey, Tyson- It’s Kai. Get back to me soon, I’m getting worried.” He hung up the phone and held it loosely in his hands.

“Aw, Kai’s worried.” Hilary cooed.

“With Boris back, and our blades gone, we can’t be too careful.” Ray crossed his arms.

“What’s goin’ on here fellas?” Grandpa poked his head through the doors from the garden.

“Tyson’s been gone for a long time, he’s not answering his phone.” Kenny went back to his laptop, most likely trying to find out any information he could.

“When did he leave?” Kai asked Ryu.

“I told Kenny when he got here, right before lunchtime- Wait K-man didn’t you stay the night last night?”

The whole room went quiet.

“Yeah, but I was gone early in the morning,” Kai responded.

“You stayed the night?-” Max got cut off by Ray.

“Was he in an alright mood?”

“He was fine.” Kai knitted his eyebrows in thought, “now that I think about it, he was in his head a bit.”

The ground collectively became agitated, everyone knew a moody Tyson could be anywhere.

“Did you do anything to piss him off?” Ray squinted his eyes in Kai’s direction.

“No.” Kai knew for certain he didn’t hurt Tyson. After all, they had a great night.

Kai tried to suppress a smile, remembering how they fell asleep beside each other watching movies in Tyson’s room.

“You stayed the night?-” Max got cut off again by Ray-

“Are you sure Kai? You know you have a habit of annoying him.”

“I’m absolutely certain. Tyson was fine when I left this morning.”

“Was he up? How did you know?” Ray interrogated him more than questioning.

Kai hesitated, he didn’t know if it was okay to tell them they slept in the same bed.

“You *stayed* the night!?” This time Max yelled it, so he couldn’t be ignored.

Everyone stared at Max, “Why did you stay the night? Where did you sleep?”

“Um-” Kai tried to retort back, but suddenly realized he didn’t know what excuse to make.

They caught his awkwardness, it was unlike the silver-tongued boy to not have a sassy remark.

“Family troubles. I stayed in the spare room across from Tyson’s. He got up to eat breakfast with me- He was fine.”

All lies.

“I’m going to check his room.” Kai turned around to go upstairs.

When Kai was out of earshot, Max coyly asked Tyson’s Grandpa, “Did he really stay in the spare room?”

“Ha! No, that boy has been staying here often, and those sheets have never been changed- or used.”

The group followed Kai upstairs like a lost herd.

In Tyson’s room, Kai was scanning it, looking for anything off.

The whole team looked around, but only Kai knew what was out of place.

“Hey Kai.” Ray giggled.

On Tyson’s vanity, yes- Tyson had a vanity, because of course he did. He had a thumb-sized picture of kai stuck to the edge of the mirror.

“There are no pictures of us, just you- what’s up with that?” Ray pretended to act jealous.

Kai ignored him. He gave Tyson that photo when Tyson asked for a photo of him. It wasn’t his favourite thing to look at. When he looked at it he would laugh, because it was, simply, so Tyson.

Kai’s eyes landed on his pillow, it was poofier than usual. He ripped up the pillow and tossed it to the side. Under it was a book. Kai knew it was out of place, he had never seen Tyson pick up a book in his life.

He opened the book and flipped through it, everyone watched him, knowing something was up.

In the middle of the book was a note, Kai pulled it out, and threw the book to the side.

‘I guess if you’ve found this, you’re looking for me huh?’

‘That means I’ve been gone a while, sorry.’

‘I guess you should know, if I’ve been gone a long time, something has probably happened to me.’

‘I’m going to see Boris. I’m leaving at 11am.’

‘He invited me. I know it’s a bad idea. I don’t want to bring anyone else into this.’

‘Especially you Kai. You’ve dealt this enough shit from that guy.’

‘I know he stole our blades, even if we don’t have proof, I know.’

‘I’m going to get them back, no matter the cost, and I don’t want anyone else’s help.’

‘I love you guys! I love you Kai.’

Ray snatched the note from Kai and began to read it.

Kai put a hand to his face in shock. His eyes started to water. He was terrified, his body didn’t know how to begin to process this, but he knew he needed to go.

“Where is he?” Kai had a voice of white anger.

“We don’t know Kai.” Kenny recoiled.

“Boris, where is he.”

Kai picked up the book and flipped through it.

“We don’t know where his base is Kai-” Kenny blubbered.

Kai threw the book against the wall at full force.

“WHERE IS HE!?”

Ray flipped the note over, “there’s an address on the back.”

Kai ripped it out of his hands.

“I’m going-”

“No, you are NOT Kai!” Ray scolded him. “We’re going to go to the BBA, tell Mr. Dickenson, and call the police-”

“We don’t have the time for that!” Kai yelled at Ray.

The team was stunned, Kai had never been this angry.

He placed his hands over his face and pulled them down to cover his mouth. “I need to save him.”

“We don’t know he’s in danger-”

“I KNOW he is.” Kai was shaking.

Suddenly, Kai bolted out of the room with the address in hand-

“Kai!” Max called after him.

Kai frantically began to put his shoes on, the team barrelled down the stairs behind him.

“You can’t go in there without a plan, you moron!” Hilary screeched at him.

“Try me!” Kai yelled back.

“What’s going on?” Grandpa had come from the kitchen, Kai used the distraction to bolt out the door to his car.

He started the car as fast as possible and pulled out of the driveway. The team ran out to the street behind him, they watched him leave, worried they could lose both of them.

“Take it off.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your jacket, off- now.”

Boris pulled at the zipper on the front of Tyson’s jacket. Tyson sighed and pulled it down.

Boris helped him out of the jacket, he took it and wrapped it in his arms, it was oddly paternal. Boris looked him up and down, judging him, like he was looking for the best cut of meat in a shop.

He only wore a thin black muscle shirt now, and his dark ripped jeans, with the shoes he made Kai help him pick out. He was fully clothed, but he felt naked.

“Boris, what did I say about being creepy?” Voltaire scolded him, like a child.

Boris rolled his shoulder, still keeping his gaze on Tyson, “Sorry, can’t help myself.”

“Come into the lab.” Voltaire turned, heading for another door.

Boris gently pushed Tyson by his shoulder. Tyson followed willingly, worried what would happen if he resisted.

Inside the steel double doors was a dark room. The light turned on upon entry, to reveal computers, servers, chemistry equipment, and large water-filled tubes, big enough for a person, or a monster.

Boris threw Tyson’s jacket to a swivel chair, he turned on a computer, Voltaire stood beside what Tyson recognized as a large bey dish.

“I want to see my friend’s beyblades.”

“Of course.” Voltaire disappeared behind some servers, out of sight.

Boris clicked a mouse a few times, “huh, looks like Kai was in your bedroom. His heart rate has skyrocketed, do you have any idea why that could be?”

Tyson tried to hide his surprise.

*Could he have found my note? No- I don’t want him to come here.*

“I don’t know.” Tyson kept his eyes on the wall.

“Maybe he’s just doing something freaky.” Boris grinned.

“You’re disgusting.”

Voltaire reappeared with a black briefcase. He placed it on a table close to Tyson, but not too close. He opened it, to reveal Dragoon, and the rest of the blades delicately blacked in foam inserts.

“I want to see them.” Tyson reached his hand forward.

Voltaire slammed the case shut. “Not until you finish our task.”

Tyson scowled, all he wanted was to feel Dragoon in his hands again.

“Voltaire, come here.” Boris gestured to bring him over to the computer.

Tyson tried to follow, but Voltaire stopped him with an aggressive hand signal.

Voltaire leaned over the chair and inspected the computer screen.

“It looks like he’s heading in this direction.” Boris was deeply concentrated on the computer screen, clicking around fast.

“And he’s approaching fast.” Voltaire hummed, he rubbed his chin. “Stop the car.”

“Really?” Boris had a surprised expression.

“We can’t have him coming here can we?”

“Alright.” Boris began to type at the keyboard frantically.

Voltaire placed a chair in the middle of the room, he patted it, silently telling Tyson to sit down.

Tyson shook his head, Voltaire gave him an intense glare- Tyson approached the chair and sat down, making sure the men were still in his vision.

“Boris, are you done?” Voltaire demanded.

“Yes.” He reached towards a cupboard with glass drawers. He unlocked it and pulled out some medical supplies.

“What’s that?” Tyson asked, worried it was for him.

Boris swiveled over in his chair towards him. Voltaire grabbed a metal table with wheels and moved it towards Tyson.

Boris unwrapped a cloth to reveal four syringes.

“What are those? They better not be for me.” Tyson flinched as Boris picked one up.

“There’s magic,” Boris got a syringe ready, and grabbed a small damp wipe, “and then there’s science, today we will be utilizing both.”

He wiped the small cloth on Tyson’s bicep. He recoiled.

“Don’t be scared Tyson, it won’t hurt.”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Tyson was concerned, Boris got the supplies ready expertly.

“I used to be a doctor.”

Tyson’s focus lingered on ‘used to’.

“Don’t look if it bothers you,” Boris grumbled.

Tyson turned to look at the wall in the opposite direction as he felt the numb jab in his arm.

Kai had never driven faster. He swerved in and out of traffic to get to the building downtown. Flying down the highway with intense speed. He slammed his hand on the wheel.

“Fuck!”

He looked at the speedometer, it was going down, even though he knew he was accelerating.

“What the fuck?”

Kai felt his car lose power.

“No! No no no no no-”

The lights in his car dimmed, and suddenly the whole car lost life.

He pulled over to the side of the road. Slamming his hand on the radio as if it would help. He opened his door and got out kicking the wheels of the car in frustration.

He swore and cursed. He didn’t know enough about cars to know what went wrong, and he didn’t have time to fix it. He stared into the mass of buildings. He could make it.

He just had to run.

Tyon had four needles shoved into his arm in total. Boris refused to tell him exactly what they were, he only answered with ‘you wouldn’t understand even if I told you’.

Now, Voltaire watched the computer and Boris hooked up a few devices to Tyson. He wrapped a bracelet around his wrist, and something around his bicep.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Do I have to?” Tyson tried to give him a sassy retort, he might have been completely vulnerable, but he still wanted to keep his dignity intact.

“Yes.” Boris grinned, flicking the end of his shirt.

“No, you don’t have to,” Voltaire stated without pause.

Tyson narrowed his eyes at Boris.

“I have to attach something to your back.”

Tyson still wore a suspicious expression, but he did it anyway, he didn’t think he could feel any more naked than he already did.

Shirtless, he felt the cold of the lab prick at his skin. Boris attached a few small stickers to his back.

“There.” Boris smiled, looking Tyson up and down, “I’m done.”

“You didn’t have to take off my shirt for that.”

Boris nodded.

“How did I get stuck with a creep like you.” Voltaire squeezed the brim of his nose.

“I’m merging with Dragoon now?” Tyson’s skin prickled in anticipation of getting his bit-beast back, then he realized, his skin was prickling with a different sort of heat.

“Oh no- you won’t be merging with Dragoon.” Voltaire turned to look at Tyson.

“Dragoon is far too unpredictable, we haven't studied him enough yet, but there is one bit-beast who we know everything about.”

Boris turned to open a locked metal box on a table.

Tyson rose from his seat, staring at his forearm, his body felt- weird.

“What did you do to me?”

“Science.” Voltaire said just under his breath, “here.”

Boris held his hand upside down, Tyson held out his palm. He felt the familiar touch of a blade. Boris pulled his hand away, Tyson felt instant panic when he stared into his open hand.

Black Dranzer.

Tyson felt his whole world sway. His eyes felt heavy, but strangely, he felt strong.

“What did you give me? Am I allergic to it?” Tyson stared at Boris.

“No,” he laughed, “You’re fine.”

Voltaire gestured to the dish, “Tyson, launch it.”

Tyson felt the nerve endings in his hand, anything touching black Dranzer felt numb, completely void of power. He could see the veins on his forearm, sticking out more than ever before. He felt cold air enter his lungs, and exhale. Everything was enhanced. His world was spinning, but he felt invincible.

He could feel pulses from black Dranzer, the raw power emanating from it was toxic. Tyson could feel it begging to be used.

‘Use me, use me, use me.’

It pleaded with him. It felt addicting. Tyson now understood why Kai was so attracted to the blade, and he understood how hard it was to give it up.

He noticed Boris had been handing him a launcher for who knows how long.

Tyson took it, a blade and a launcher in his hands was his default state, but now felt foreign.

“Launch it,” Boris demanded.

Tyson turned to the dish near them. He stood in front of it. His pupils invaded his iris.

*The pure power of black Dranzer…*

He loaded it. He stood there, breathing erratically. He got into position.

Silence. Total silence. No sound existed, he forgot what it felt like to hear. He heard the screech of a bird in the back of his skull, and he let go.

A shockwave erupted as black Dranzer was released, finally, after years of being locked up. The equipment in the lab slid backwards, Boris and Voltaire almost lost their footing.

Tyson wobbled as he let the blade center in the dish, perfectly still, spinning so fast it looked stationary.

In front of him, he saw it, the dreaded bit-beast. It felt unnatural. Dragoon felt different, Dragoon felt right, black Dranzer felt… Sad.

*She’s not supposed to exist.*

“I can feel her.” Tyon felt tears roll down his face.

He held open his arms.

“I can save you!”

Black Dranzer screeched, with a powerful gust from her wings she soared into him. He felt a dark sludge seep into his veins, stopping his heart.

“AhK!” Tyson held his chest, suppressing screams.

Then, everything went black.

“Tyson!” Kai screamed in an alleyway behind the building he suspected Boris was holed up in.

He tried a back door, wiggling it frantically. His back was covered in sweat from running. It was locked, with no chance of it opening.

He tried another door, the same issue.

He could run in the front doors, but he would be noticed instantly.

“What’s that?!”

It looked to be an old laundry shoot, a lot of these old buildings had them. Before he could use his brain, he was scaling the shoot, it looked to be only a story and a half until it turned into the building.

He started climbing.

*Tyson, I’m coming. Just hold on.*

Tyson opened his eyes. Boris was beside him holding his shoulder shouting unintelligible phrases at him. Words meant nothing to him.

His head was pounding. He used his arms to hug himself, rocking back and forth.

“Don’t fight it Tyson. Accept it.” Boris whispered in his ear.

“N- No.” Tyson whimpered. His head felt like it had been split open.

His tongue felt different when he talked. His vision felt different, things felt… Wrong. He fell over to his side, letting the feeling overtake him.

Kai was running through the empty corridors. He had run past a training facility and dorms. He had viewed a map and determined where he thought Boris would have put a lab. He threw open a door to a stair corridor and flew down them, almost tripping. He just hoped he was right about the location of Boris’ lab.

He was right.

He found himself in a huge room, He stopped, placing his hands on his knees and gasping for air.

In front of him were two steel doors. He knew Tyson was inside.

With every last bit of his strength, he ran towards the doors, when he tried to rattle the doorknob it was locked, he kicked it, once, twice, three times. He took a few steps back and thrusted his whole body against them. The doors ripped open, shattering the lock in between them.

Boris wasn’t a surprise, but his own Grandfather-

In the middle of the room, Tyson’s body was splayed on the ground.

“What did you do to him!?” Kai screamed.

He ran over to Tyson, Boris tried to stop him-

“Fuck off!” Kai hollered landed a fist into Boris’ stomach.

Boris keeled over in pain.

Kai stopped before kneeling down.

The most important person to him- he didn’t look like himself.

His blue hair, now black. His nails, ebony talons. On his back, were black wings. Kai felt nauseous.

“Tyson…” Kai collapsed beside him.

He reached under his lower back and pulled him into a sitting position. Kai brushed back his long hair. He didn’t know what he expected coming here, but not this.

“What happened- what did-”

“He merged with black Dranzer, and he- is beautiful.”

“You don’t get to speak Boris!” Kai screamed but wouldn’t dare take his eyes off Tyson.

Tyson’s eyes flickered open, they stayed half-open, Kai shook him.

“Tyson? Tyson, answer me, please.”

Tyson didn’t move.

“We just got started- You can’t- Don’t you die on me.” Kai’s throat was dry, he could barely make out words.

“Change him back!” The blader who was most well known for being emotionless now threw everything he had at the world. Tears streaming down his face, screaming at the people who held him back his whole life.

“We can, but we won’t right now.”

To hear his Grandfather say it, somehow hurt more.

“Change him back, right now.” Kai shook, holding Tyson close to his chest.

Boris managed to stand upright after taking the powerful blow.

“We will change him back when it suits us.”

“Mm- Kai?”

Kai stared into Tyson’s eyes, “You’re awake!” Kai kissed his forehead, thanking the god he didn’t believe in.

Tyson’s wings seemed to shudder when it happened.

“I’m fine Kai, don’t worry about me.” Tyson held up his hand to stroke Kai’s face, his eyes grew wide when he saw his own fingertips.

“It’s okay- don’t look at them look at me- hey- me, look at me” Kai covered his hand with his own and made sure Tyson was focused on him.

Tyson choked back tears, “I love you-”

Kai closed his eyes and squeezed his hand.

Voltaire took a confident step forward.

“We don’t want to hurt you-”

“Look at what you’ve done to him!” Kai screeched.

“We just want you to join the new BEGA.” Boris wore a cheeky grin, he knew he won.

Kai’s chest heaved, “I’ll never join you, never again-”

“You’ll find you have no choice Kiai.” His grandfather tilted his head.

Boris laughed, his evil sinister laugh, the laugh Kai remembered from the abbey.

“BEGA owns you.”

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yukipri · 4 years ago

Text

Marco’s Bauble Part 8 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Another update for Tumblr!

This work goes by On the Courtship of Monkey D. Luffy on AO3, and I’ll be updating over there tonight as well!

A quick question....do people like reading the updates here on Tumblr? Or now that it’s on AO3, would people prefer to read there? And if so, would you be okay waiting for new updates until AO3 catches up? I’m a little torn because I’m not sure if people are enjoying reading on here, and it’s quite a hassle to format for Tumblr, and it’s getting a bit difficult for me to juggle updating these stories on 3 separate platforms...

ANYWAY, in this update, Thatch has some Thoughts, and there is mention of Ace x Luffy.

Continues off of, and should be read after:

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 1

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 2

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 3

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 4

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 5

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 6

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 7

What are her 3 sizes?

(For the wedding dress, of course.)

"The fuck! Like I'd tell you!" Thatch roars, startling the blue gull into momentarily leaping off the rail, before it circles back, landing again to peck at his sleeve to express its displeasure. Thatch ignores it, because he's fuming.

So apparently all of his and Koala's secret debates over whether Marco intentionally proposed or not were for naught, because here's the fucking evidence. And it comes from Izo of all people, because Thatch would recognize that lopsided handwriting anywhere (the man insists that his handwriting is beautiful in his native language of Wano, but he never quite got used to writing any other way).

And well, if Izo, an unrelated third party but professional snooper knows, then Marco himself must know.

And apparently, they're already planning a wedding.

Thatch feels like an idiot. He'd been defending Marco against Koala, and the lil Revolutionary was a tough opponent, one he'd had to chase out of the kitchen with a ladle more than once when he was tired of her word games. Thatch had insisted, like a fool, that no Marco's not that kind of guy, he really isn't the type to play with people's emotions, he would never propose for a joke, nor would he do it seriously without good reason. It must all be an accident, a little misunderstanding, Marco was just ignorant like Thatch himself was!

Except, apparently he did know and it wasn't an accident, and now Thatch feels completely lost because he doesn't know what Marco's thinking at all. Marco, who's not just his his first friend on the Moby, but arguably his best friend; Marco, his brother over several decades; Marco, who Thatch thought he knew better than anyone, except perhaps Pops himself...

Thatch's also pissed, because if Marco wants to start drama after they all reunite and he's introduced to Luffy, that's one thing (not that that would be great either). But right now, they're still near the beginning of Paradise with almost half the circumference of the world to go until even the halfway point, and Marco is WAY on the other side of the Red Line. If this ship explodes in flames or whatever that batshit Revolutionary brother might do, Mister First Division Commander is completely unaffected, but there are plenty of innocents here (like hello! Thatch!) who would find that pretty devastating.

Also, Thatch was the one who passed on that gift to Luffy! Even if he didn't know what it meant at the time...doesn't that make Thatch complicit? And even if not, Marco's strongest connection here is clearly Thatch. If Marco's actions cause chaos, then the blame and responsibility to clean up the mess naturally falls upon Thatch. Which, he definitely did not sign up for.

Pops, Thatch thinks miserably, I thought I was supposed to show them they can depend on us Whitebeards, NOT that us Whitebeards will fuck shit up for them...

But more than anything, there's a shocking large part of Thatch that absolutely balks at just the idea of Luffy getting married. And it's shocking because Thatch shouldn't feel this upset.

Marco, for all the complaints Thatch wants to hurl at him at the moment, is still a really great guy. A guy who, in literally any other situation, Thatch would be the first in line to enthusiastically encourage, and also to congratulate.

And sure, Thatch knows he has a crush, and his little Seastar's carving out a larger home for herself in his heart by the day, but--Thatch admittedly has crushes a lot. Sure, this one feels different, but...Marco, to his knowledge, has never had a romantic crush. He only sometimes but very rarely even has a night out, and Thatch doesn't think he's ever held a relationship longer than three encounters. He's always so serious, so diligent, so sincerely and whole-heartedly dedicated to Pops and his family. He almost never does anything selfish for himself, and Thatch would know.

If, for whatever reason, Marco is genuinely serious about Luffy...then Thatch should, and would, step to the side, regardless of personal feelings. If this is the path Marco wants, then he deserves it, and Thatch will always be the first to say it, no matter how craptastic the circumstances. And Thatch knows that Marco would give his bride the world.

Without them even having met, Thatch doesn't doubt for a second that Marco would make Luffy happy, till the end of her days.

The fact that Thatch knows all this, yet still feels near unbearable reluctance...says more than he's willing to admit.

And so he decides to avoid thinking about the most obvious reason (his own feelings), and instead contemplates his second very compelling reason: Ace.

His littlest brother isn't so great at being honest with himself, and never has. But this, Thatch feels, isn't just a matter of denial.

The boy literally has no clue.

Oh sure, Ace knows he loves his little brother. He makes sure everyone else knows it too, both here on the Merry and back on the Moby once he opened up enough to talk to people. He's so damn proud of her, yet also concerned for her, while also trusting her with his life and more. It's clear to anyone who sees them together that he absolutely adores her.

But it's more than that, isn't it, Thatch thinks. It's in the little gestures, the way Ace raises his arm up without looking at her and she slides under it, also without needing to look at him. It's the casual way they lace their fingers together, like it's nothing, when they're snoozing out on the deck. It's the way sometimes they have unspoken conversations, just staring into each others eyes, before moving forward in synch to meet in the middle to bump their foreheads together in some secret mutual understanding.

It's the reason why Sanji, for all his extravagant flirting, knows when to shut up and return to being a normal human (and, Thatch grudgingly admits, this applies to himself too). It's why Zoro never lets his gaze linger more than two seconds longer than it needs to (but he'll always take those two seconds), why Nami always looks like she wants to sit closer but doesn't, why Koala hasn't said anything when she's probably usually a much more proactive flirter.

Everyone on their crew can see it, except the two in question.

Ace, Thatch thinks, heaving a huge sigh as he looks down at the crumpled note from Izo in his palm. Little brother, you are so fucking in love.

It might not necessarily be romantically. It's certainly not particularly sexually, if Ace's lack of reaction to Lu's aggressive physical smothering is any indication. It could very possibly be platonically.

But either way, there's no room for Sanji, nor Zoro, nor the girls, nor even Thatch himself...at least, until those two figure that out.

Until then, everyone aboard the Merry is here because they love and respect their captains. No one would dare encroach on something so special, yet so potentially immature, not yet ready to be dragged out to be recognized.

Thatch knows Ace has known Luffy for years, he practically raised her. But he was also away at sea for three years. Luffy was a child when he left; she's an adult now.

Thatch once asked him if she had changed at all since he last saw her (Ace most certainly had, according to Deuce). And Ace looked blank, then horribly confused, before saying No...but also, yeah, I guess. Thatch understands; Ace isn't used to not knowing something about Luffy. And something...something had changed.

That something might very well be the thing that needs to be figured out. And for that, Ace hasn't had much time yet, since reuniting with Luffy. Only as much time as the rest of them, in fact. And they deserve time to figure that out, and as the two captains' loving crew, the ASL pirates have an unsaid agreement to watch over them...at least until they have.

(After that, Thatch thinks grimly, it might be open game.)

But of course, there's also the question of Luffy herself, and as much as she's the heart of the ASL Pirates, she's also an enigma. Thatch, for all that he adores her and honestly wants more with her, genuinely has a hard time imagining her as anything but clueless as someone's romantic partner (he's carefully not thinking about anything sexual). It very well may be that the whole "figuring out" that she and Ace have to do...ends up being nothing. And that's fine as well.

Either way, as much as Thatch loves him, there's no way that any of them here on board the Merry will stand to let Marco shatter this delicate...whatever it is that's going on between their captains, that the rest of them are so patiently respecting. Even if it ends up continuing indefinitely.

As strained as it can feel at times, they're comfortable like this. There's the little spark of joy when Seastar gives him a little extra attention, a little burn when Sanji kisses her hand, but comfort in the stability that no one will go any further. If anything it's a nice little spice to their daily lives, just the right amount, and not enough ruin the dish so to speak. This is fine.

Except, that there's just one teeny little problem...

"What did the blue gull bring you today, Commander?"

Thatch doesn't jump, because he's not an amateur and did realize that the Revolutionary was approaching, but perhaps later than he should have. Damn the kid's good at hiding his presence, and Thatch wonders if he'd have noticed at all if Sabo was being serious.

"Just a stupid request from a stupid brother," Thatch says cheerfully as he turns around to face Sabo. The boy isn't even trying to hide his curiosity, his gaze pinned to Thatch's hand.

Thatch contemplates chucking the letter into the sea, but then he realizes he isn't sure Sabo wouldn't just dive after it, and as a devil fruit user, Thatch wouldn't be able to stop him from reading it underwater.

So he casually uncurls his fingers, watches Sabo visibly perk up--before Thatch opens a black hole in his palm, letting the crumpled paper get sucked into the void.

(Perhaps he should be using his power as more than a secure second dimension pocket expansion, but hey, so far it hasn't been so helpful in the kitchen.)

Sabo sags and sulks, rather cutely, Thatch thinks. "You coulda let me see it," he pouts, looking up at Thatch with an expression uncannily like Luffy's. Fuck.

"Collecting intel, Chief?" Thatch winks, expertly hiding his horror that for a moment, he'd actually been tempted. Little sneak.

"Perhaps." Something slightly manic enters his gaze, and alright, that's nothing like Seastar, not so cute after all...

"Nice try, but it's a personal family thing, can't really share," Thatch says, and it's not really a lie.

Sabo grunts, letting it go, before his gaze flicks to the gull, who still has a beakful of Thatch's sleeve. "It waiting for something?"

Thatch sighs. "Yeah, yeah, my response, which I should probably give..." Because, right, Thatch needs to send a message back to the Moby, even if no, he isn't going to answer Izo's idiotic question.

Which, is actually a fine excuse to extract himself from this situation.

"So, sorry, the response also is personal, hope you don't mind," Thatch nods, and Sabo easily opens the way for him--which, Thatch belatedly realizes, he'd actually been blocking. Scary, little Chief, scary...

"Sorry, didn't mean to pry." Sabo sounds genuinely apologetic, and tips his hat at Thatch as he passes by, and Thatch inwardly heaves a massive sigh of relief. "I'm working on it, but I know I can get a little...pushy, when it comes to things that involve my baby brother."

Thatch continues to walk away.

But inside...

Oh. Yikes, he thinks.

Thatch is in the privacy of the currently empty men's sleeping room beneath the deck, and has just finished writing and giving instructions and bribes to the gull when the hatch creaks open.

"Thatch, we're in trouble," Koala announces as she stomps down the stairs, making her sneaky opening of the door rather pointless.

"I noticed," Thatch says dryly.

Koala pales. "He didn't break any of your toes, did he?!"

"What."

"Well, you're a cook, you make food Luffy likes with your hands," Koala shrugs. "Just wanted to make sure."

"What the fuck."

"I don't think he will! You're Luffy and Ace's crew, and you're a Whitebeard pirate, but..."

Thatch groans. "I already thought your Chief might be trouble, but holy shit I didn't know he was that batshit."

"He might not be!" Koala sounds defensive, but it's not particularly comforting. "He's usually reasonable, kind of, but since his memories came back..."

Thatch throws up his arms. "So, how'd he get it out of you?"

Koala flushes. "I didn't say anything!"

"Sure."

"It's not my fault that Sabo's a damn--!"

There's a loud knock, before the hatch flings open, and Ace pops his head in. "Hey Thatch! What's for snack--"

"NOT AGAIN!" Koala cries.

At the same time, Thatch shouts, "IN A SECOND!"

Either way, the hatch slams shut with a, "SORRY!"

Thatch and Koala stare at each other with their hearts beating uncomfortably rapidly.

They slowly heave a slow sigh of relief as the tension drains.

"I really need to apologize to Ace," Thatch mutters.

"I really need to work on my Observation Haki," Koala groans.

"HEY THATCH, I WANT A SNACK," Luffy shouts, and Thatch and Koala's heads whip around in horror, only to sag with relief at seeing that Luffy's not in the room, but only for a second--

--because after that second, a mermaid's crashing through the hatch, ripping it from its hinges as she slams, hatch and all, into Thatch's chest.

The room fills with dust and debris, and there are shouts outside.

Koala gingerly peers into the wreckage where Thatch is now buried in the wall, a terrified blue gull perched on her shoulders peering alongside her, its claws digging through the fabric of her shirt.

"We're fine," Thatch coughs, peering down to make sure he'd successfully caught and shielded Luffy from damage, even as he peels himself from the wood. Luffy seems unharmed, though her eyes are wide; she clearly hadn't expected to do quite this much.

"...Armament?" Koala asks, noticing how the back of Thatch's hair is black from where it's fanned around him.

"Armament," Thatch agrees, keeping the entire back of his body coated until he's safely pulled himself and Luffy, still in his arms, away from any sharp wood.

"Sorry, Thatch," Luffy says, not particularly apologetic, if anything sort of curious. She peels herself back from his chest, scritching her cheek while looking down at what was once the hatch to the mens room that had shattered between them. She then reaches back to tug at Thatch's black locks, and oohs when they fade back to auburn.

"No worries, just make sure to make it up to Deuce and Usopp when they have to fix this," Thatch sighs, before grinning, letting his arms fall away from Luffy once he knows she has a secure grip on his shoulders. He then begins carding his fingers through her hair to make sure no splinters got in, and likewise dusting off the front of her vest, taking care not to let his touch linger. Luffy nods frantic agreement, more like rubs her head into his palm, and Thatch feels his heart skip a beat.

Koala sighs.

"Hey Thatch, what's this?"

Thatch blinks, then inwardly curses.

Luffy's holding Izo's crumpled piece of paper. His control of his power's still shoddy, and it must have accidentally spat it back out in the commotion.

Please, don't be able to read that, he prays. He luckily doesn't have much confidence in Luffy's reading abilities.

"It says 'what are her three sizes.' What are those?"

In the background, Koala slowly raises her fist.

A few days later, Marco's scouting when a blue gull rapidly approaches him.

Delivery! it squawks. Delivery for you, Boss, and don't show Izo! Don't show Izo! Don't show Izo or the bread man will be mad!

Thank you, noted, friend, Marco responds, and catches the note from Thatch in mid air.

The gull trills acknowledgement, then wheels away to rejoin its brethren, while Marco changes course for the nearest island, a safe forest haven in Pops's territory, still a ways away from the Moby. It's uninhabited, save for the wildlife, and it would be good to land once before returning home anyway.

Marco lands lightly on the tallest and oldest tree on the island, from where he can survey the island of pure greenery, and the endless blue stretching beyond. The branch he's chosen looks deceptively thin, but he already knows it can support his human weight, which is why he shifts, passing the note from his claw to his hand before completing his transformation.

Marco frowns. The other Commanders (and to be honest, the entire crew) have been acting a bit strange recently, but for Thatch, who isn't even on board with them, to also be in on it...

True, this may or may not be related to that at all. But still.

Marco feels like he's missing something.

Marco, Thatch's message starts, and Marco already knows it's going to be serious because it didn't start with a jibe at his appearance.

Marco, I think I'm actually serious about her. Thoughts, brother?

Her, meaning the Ace's little brother, the mermaid girl.

If Marco remembers correctly, in Thatch's first note back to him, he'd written, She's stolen my heart, I think I want to marry her.

Marco had assumed Thatch was joking at the time, or just light-heartedly flirting, as he always did. Marco's used to hearing Thatch spew these kinds of words, and he'd taken it to mean that the girl's exceptionally Thatch's type, but hadn't thought further.

The words had made him remember a little trinket he'd had stored in a chest at the back of his closet, one he'd received from an elderly couple on Fishman Island around two decades ago...

But that's not important now, Marco thinks, focussing on Thatch's message.

In all his years of flings and casual relationships and jokingly asking ladies (and some gents) Won't you marry me...Thatch has not once asked for Marco's opinion. He's certainly had plenty of opinions himself about whether someone would be a potential good match for Marco, which Marco always ignored. But Thatch has never asked Marco about matches for himself.

Thatch really is serious.

Marco finds himself slowly smiling. "Finally, you sap," he murmurs, though no one hears him but the other birds in the trees around him.

He knows he ought to think more about what to say, but the answer is so obvious that Marco takes Thatch's note, and carefully tears the paper so that his brother's words aren't damaged. Gently tucking Thatch's note into his pocket, Marco pulls out a pen for the remaining small blank strip of paper.

Shortly afterwards, two birds depart from the island, in opposite directions: one, a phoenix, wings burning cyan against the clear skies, and the other, a blue gull headed to Paradise.

Part 9, things start Moving as Sabo confronts Ace.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! And again, please do let me know if you actually like reading the story here on tumblr or not >.<;

As always, any comments are immensely appreciated and help motivate me to create more for this AU! ;A;

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

#OnePieceMermaidAU #One Piece Mermaid AU #Text headcanons #Thatch #AceLu #genderbend #I'm feeling really burned out in terms of posting schedule as expected #juggling Patreon-Tumblr-Twitter-AO3 is a bit much #so I'm trying to decide what's going on the chopping block bc rn it's my sanity ^ ^;

109 notes · View notes

bi-ressler · 3 years ago

Text

Coming Home [RessGale]

@skiesfallithurts requested "Coming home + RessGale" for this ask meme (still taking prompts if you want to send something in! Could take me some time though due to real life)

Title: Coming Home Relationship: Julian Gale/Donald Ressler Characters: Julian Gale, Donald Ressler, Henry Prescott (mentioned), Raymond Reddington (mentioned), others (mentioned) Words: 10.891 Setting: Post-Prescott-Arc AU Warnings: Abuse of prescription meds (aka Donnie is back on oxy and I'm not even remotely sorry), sexual assault (non-explicit, but it's being discussed), homophobia very briefly mentioned A/N: I've had this idea in my head for literal ages and thanks to the prompt I'm finally doing it! So thanks for indulging me :D Also, this got away from me (again) and turned out way (WAAAAAY) longer than it should have. Oops! - - - As always, English isn't my first language, this isn't beta'd and all mistakes are mine. Feedback is greatly appreciated :) (Also, tumblr keeps fucking up the formatting, so if the sentence breaks up in the middle of the paragraph, blame hellsite dot com.)

[Read HERE on ao3!]

__________________________________________

Falling back into old habits and unhealthy coping-mechanisms is far too easy, Donald finds. But when everything crumbles around him, and all the poorly concealed cracks and insufficiently closed gaps and holes in his armour, in his life, finally give out and leave nothing but rubble and guilt and dread, it's the only way he can think of not to fall into complete despair and drown himself in self-pity.

But maybe he's already past that point.

Maybe this is what drowning actually feels like, and there's definitely no lack of self-pity on his behalf.

So he downs the pills with a swig of beer, ignoring the fact that this feels far too familiar, far too much like coming home after a storm, soaking wet and shaking to lay down on the warm carpet and breathe for the first time.

It was all a mistake.

The last six years, it was all one big mistake and right now, he'd give everything to go back in time, erase Reddington from his mind, never join that damned taskforce that had him spiralling to this point from day one. Hell, he'd go even further, never become an agent in the first place - maybe open up a coffee shop in Detroid or become a banker or lawyer or anything at all, as long as it's as far away from Reddington and this whole mess as possible.

That way, he'd never meet Henry Prescott. He'd never murder Laurel Hitchin. He'd never let down everyone in his life, most of all himself, and Audrey would still be alive, and Julian would still be with the bureau ---

Julian.

The guilt comes back full force, because if anyone didn't deserve the fate they got, it would be Julian. Hard working, fierce, loving Julian.

He dry-swallows another pill for good measure, shoulders his go-bag and disappears down an empty alley, unseen by cameras and cops and anyone who might recognize him.

He's not sure if he can go on like this.

He's been on the run for nearly a week now; a week of hiding, paranoia, always looking over his shoulder and ducking into the shadows. Where he once felt safe when he heard the siren of a police car, he now starts running. It's exhausting and he cowers lower into the corner of the abandoned building he's staying in tonight.

Another pill. The shivers lessen. The bottle is almost empty.

He leans his head back against the cold concrete and curses his need for justice, his stupid-ass decision of accepting this life as punishment for his actions.

No, that's not right, he thinks.

If he really was after justice, he wouldn't have run. He would have faced the consequences like a man, faced jail-time and public humiliation.

Instead, he'd been crushed by his own guilt after Prescott's death, written his confession with a shakey hand and left it on his desk, before grabbing the go-bag from the trunk of his car and running.

By morning Cooper must have found it, and in the afternoon he'd seen his face on the news. He has no idea where to go from here.

He pops another pill and curses when he reminds himself to cut back and save what little of the drugs he still has left.

---

The thing about guilt is, Ressler thinks, that despite what everyone says, it doesn't lessen over the years. He still feels guilty about ruining his brother's chance of a career as a cop, and he still feels guilty about Hitchin and Wright and Prescott and every crime Reddington committed right in front of his eyes.

He still feels guilty about what happened to Julian - the first time, after that operation in Kabul went so horribly wrong and Julian took the blame for it, both of them knowing full well that Ressler had been in charge and made the decision to fire, but being stubborn enough to convince IA that it had been his fault, handing over his badge and service weapon with an unreadable look towards Don. Maybe he did it out of some twisted sense of obligation. Maybe they were just in love and compromised. But in the end Ressler's decision had cost Julian his job and a civilian his life.

And the second time, after the whole mess with Mr. Kaplan, effectively ending Julian's career as nothing more but collateral damage. He can still feel his heart crack at that look of betrayal in Julian's eyes as they stood over the remains of Mako Tanida.

---

The other thing about guilt is that Donald doesn't know how to make amends. He knows how to follow his instincts and get himself deeper into trouble, deeper into the pit of guilt, deeper into unescapable situations. Making more and more excuses, trying to cover up all of his messes with lies that lead to more excuses, more lies, more damage.

He knows it's good that he does feel guilt in the first place. But there's only so much he can take.

He thinks about everyone he has left - Reddington, Keen, Aram, Cooper, Navabi.

He could go and find Reddington, ask him to get him out of this mess he created, but he still has some dignity left (he almost laughs at that, sitting in the dirt, close, so close again to withdrawal that his chest tightens, burdened with the undignity of all the actions that led him here). So Reddington is out. He'd only get him into some deeper shit, anyway, and he can't deal with that right now.

The taskforce is out, too. They're obligated to arrest him on sight. And after doing what he did (all the dirty work for Prescott that makes him shudder and swallow back bile), he wouldn't be able to look them in the eyes. They'd know. Another thing he can't deal with.

He can't go to his family, either; getting to Detroid would be a feat in itself, but no doubt the feds are just waiting for him to make contact with his mom or brother. He doesn't want to think about them; if he just so much as imagines his mom crying over the news of her little boy's fuck-up of a life he would only break the last remains of his heart.

Sighing, he realizes he's on his own and he closes his eyes against tears that don't come. His eyes are far too dry, and yet he feels like crying; maybe he's become too numb, but not numb enough to not care. He swallows against his dry throat, his fingers flexing around the pill bottle. He's out at sea alone, the storm raging and waves threatening to bring him down, and in the darkness, there's no lighthouse in sight, not even a candle in the window of someone who might take pity on him. He's bound to drown.

---

The next day, he runs out of pills as well as luck. He hears the shouting before seeing what's going on, and he doesn't need to round the corner to know that the cops are arresting his dealer; he hears his name. They're not after the poor sod for his arsenal of prescription-meds, they're after him. He turns around and doesn't stop running until his lungs burn and his feet ache.

---

He finally collapses behind an old factory that's been out of use seemingly forever. He vaguely remembers it from a case so many years ago, when everything was still fine and he still had dreams and hopes and Reddington hadn't crossed his way yet, Julian already by his side, Prescott a name he had no business knowing.

He remembers some nondescript arms dealers hunched over their merchandise, duffels with a ton of dollar bills and a short shoot-out that ended with the perps in cuffs and a brilliant smile from Julian. Although he couldn't see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses, he knew the twinkle in them that told him everything he needed to know.

How the fuck could he fuck up something so good?

It doesn't matter now, though. He slides down the rough walls, and a shiver rips from his spine, rocking his entire body, until it gets stuck in his hands and they can't stop trembling. Every movement hurts deep in his bones, and the shaking only makes it worse until he feels sick to his stomach and feels the bile rise.

He closes his eyes, and now the tears come.

He lets all the shame and hurt and fucking guilt wash over him, drown him until he is gasping for air, remembering --- remembering all the roads he shouldn't have taken, remembering every time he allowed Prescott to shove his dick down Donald's throat, the blood of some stranger still on their hands and clothes, and Ressler can't keep it in anymore. His stomach convulses and forces its few contents out, spattering on the dirty ground, acid in his aching throat that still remembers Prescott's assaults.

He remembers Prescott's laugh and the grip of his hand leaving bruises on his arms. He remembers burying bodies of people he knew nothing about, for a man who could be his downfall with no more effort than twitching a finger.

Ironic, how that still happened and Ressler has just reached rock-bottom while still having done everything Prescott had demanded. A fucking lose-lose-situation. Ressler would like to laugh about the stupidity of it all (of himself), but it gets stuck somewhere between his chest and vocal chords. He can never go back.

He'd always thought it would be Reddington who'd ruin him. He was wrong.

---

With the onsetting darkness comes the cold; it's the end of summer and the days are warm enough, but the nights take all the warmth and replace it with cruel emptiness and too many thoughts.

He remembers all the times their hunt for Reddington had gone wrong; all the times they'd run into another dead end; all the times an informant ended up dead --- all the times he would crawl into Julian's bed or Julian in his and they'd hold each other, seek solace and comfort and hope and the strength to move on in each other's arms.

He remembers Julian's lips on his and how, for these few moments, he'd want nothing more and could forget the job. He remembers skin on heated skin, and whispered platitudes that in that moment felt like a lifeline, and falling asleep with limbs entangled, sheltering him from nightmares and fatalistic thoughts.

He misses it. Misses it more than anything else, and it's the first time he acknowledges this feeling. He'd missed Julian for years; and then he was back again, back in that ice rink, looking at him like nothing had happened, like he still didn't blame Donald for all the shit that had happened. Maybe he really didn't. Maybe the guilt for all of that had been for nothing.

And then Julian was gone again and this time it would be irreversible. Like a lost limb, he feels his absence.

Shivering, he stares at the darkness around him, and all he wants is those strong arms around him and the scent of leather and aftershave and the scratch of Julian's stubble against his own.

He can never have that again. He doesn't deserve it, and Julian sure as Hell won't forgive him. Not for ending his career and certainly not for working with Reddington and turning a blind eye to the crimes he committed under their watch. He wouldn't even want to touch him again with all the dirt and blood on his hands from working for Prescott; wouldn't want to kiss the same lips that suffered the abuse of a ruthless killer and had swallowed it like he deserved it.

Because the truth is, maybe that's what his life has become: an unescapable, unforgivable Hell, all the pictures of what he'd done burned into his brain, behind his eyelids, on his skin where the bruises have long since faded but the dirt still remains. And maybe that's exactly what he deserves.

He crumbles under his thoughts until he lies on the ground, a shivering, hurting mess that's overflowing with guilt and self-loathing.

Julian always used to kiss it away.

---

How, when and why Donald has decided to walk up that road into the woods is lost on him.

He used to know this road, been here a few times but not in several years; it seems unchanged exept for the sky that looks a bit duller. He never walked this path before, but he didn't want to steal a car. Wouldn't know where to dump it here anyway.

He knows it's probably a dumb idea, but he's out of options by this point.

Every step is hard work and his knees are about ready to give out, shaking under the strain of carrying him for miles and miles, and even in the chilly shadows of the surrounding trees he's sweating like it's a hundred degrees out. Another shiver runs through his body that feels like it's crushing every bone on its way, and he moans as he gasps for breath.

He knows though if he stops he'll never get up again. He'll never reach the old cabin in the woods by that small lake, and he'd die by the side of the small, muddy road. He's not ready for that, though.

---

It's late afternoon when he gets off the main road and takes the small footpath that leads to the cabin in a few hundred yards. The sun is much hotter now and although he can feel her warmth on his skin, he feels cold and clammy and miserable, fighting shiver after shiver and losing hard.

All he wants to do is curl up into a tight ball and die, but he's not gonna give up, not now, even though he knows that he's making a massive mistake here, but he doesn't care. It's like he's too far gone to acknowledge that fact and all his common sense has left him along with the contents of his stomach last night; he can't shove it back and, frankly, what does it matter? He can't fall any deeper.

So he stumbles on, struggling over rocks and branches, his feet numb except for the occasional flare of pain that still reaches his brain and he can't quite manage to shut out.

Then it comes into sight and he breathes out, a pained, wheezing sound that makes his head spin, and suddenly he feels sick because he knows he has made the wrong decision; he should go. He should turn around and collapse by the road and wither away like a fallen leaf.

The cabin is still like he remembers it from years ago; it belonged to Julian's father before he'd died, a nice little place far out in the woods that's perfect for a weekend-trip. Julian used to tell him stories of coming here with his dad to fish and hunt, back in the day before everything had turned to shit between them, before he came out as gay and his father stopped talking to him altogether.

He knows Julian is here; he's seen the old Ford parked by the road close to the small footpath. He also knows he's not welcome, just as he knows that he won't have anything left if Julian rejects him and throws him back onto the street he came from.

Feeling his knees wobble, he pushes on before he can give in to the seducing urge to let himself fall to the ground and curl up to die. He can still do that afterwards.

Another few steps and he's around the cabin where he can see the small lake, a pond really, with the wooden terrace right by the water; on it stands a deserted deck chair, but the bottle of beer that sits right next to it is still half-full, so Julian must be back any minute.

He leans heavily on the wall of the cabin and feels his strength bleed away. A bead of sweat runs down his forehead and along his nose as he lets his head fall, the strain in his neck too much for his muscles to hold it up anymore. Catching his breath is difficult when his lungs don't want to take in any much needed air and his chest feels too tight, like the collar of his dirty white t-shirt is strangling him, and he raises a violently shaking hand to his chest, ignoring the creaking of his joints as he does so.

Shit, this is worse than he'd thought. The hand that isn't clutching his shirt automatically wanders towards his pants pocket. It's empty. Of course it's empty. He's out of pills. He panicks at that because how in the world is he supposed to survive ---

when he hears a gun cock and forces himself to look up into Julian's face.

He looks good - always does - and his stubble is almost a beard now; his hair has grown too and Donald just wants to breathe it in. He wears sunglasses (of course, it's still bright outside and his eyes are just so damn sensitive), and his brow is deeply furrowed, his mouth a thin line that tells Donald just how welcome he is here.

"Don?", he asks, voice raspy like he hasn't spoken in a long time. Maybe he hasn't, but Ressler isn't naïve enough to blame any emotion for the roughness.

"Hey", he says, and he feels the world sway from the effort of holding himself up, so he grabs for the wall again, temporarily borrowing stability from the wooden structure. He doesn't even want to know how awful he must look, all sweaty and dirty and miserable, shaking and fighting just to keep standing.

"What do you want?", Julian asks, words hard and the gun still pointed at Ressler.

He looks at Julian, helpless to say anything, devoid of all words, and he realizes he doesn't know how to answer that question. He opens his mouth in the hopes of being able to bring out anything at all when a shudder runs through his body, leaving him breathless and on the ground. For a second all he knows is the pain of too much and too little at the same time that grinds his bones to dust and cuts through his muscles effortlessly. He thinks he groans in pain, but can't tell over the static in his ears.

"Fuck", he hears at the edge of his consciousness, "Don!"

And when he looks up, Julian is gone from where he stood before, instead there are arms steadying him from face-planting into the muddy ground. He leans heavily into those arms that promise comfort and solace and strength.

"Julian", Don rasps out, and he looks up to see Julian close, so close, worry visible even behind the sunglasses, and he has to close his eyes as a rush of emotion threatens to overcome him. This is it. This is all he wanted.

"Don't talk now, okay? I'm callin' an ambulance." And that's wrong. He can't do that, Ressler can't go to the hospital, not when he's on every wanted-list in the city ---

"Don't", he whispers and swallows against the bile. Julian looks at him like he's lost his mind, but there's still so much worry. "Don't", Donald repeats. He doesn't know how else to communicate this.

"Okay", Julian says flatly, still sceptical. "You mind tellin' me though why the fuck you're here?"

Ressler looks away, tries to ignore the black dots that creep into his vision.

"I'm sorry", he says, and he means it. Hopes that Julian understands, because Ressler doesn't know if he has the strength or the words to really explain himself here. "I didn't know where else to go."

Julian just nods, waiting for him to continue while Donald shivers in his arms and doesn't know how to go on.

"I fucked up", he finally says, and Julian laughs at that; a humorless, dry laugh that settles itself deep into what's left of Don's bones, a laugh that sends waves of guilt through his chest. He looks to the ground and tries not to break down under the weight of it.

"Yeah, you did", Julian says and there's an edge to his voice that's dangerous and hurt and speaks of everything Ressler has put him through. "And I'm really fucking close to tell you to go to Hell."

His eyes burn holes into Donald's skin until he's sure that Julian must be able to see his insides now, the rotten flesh and the dirt and the blood and all the shame and guilt he's never gonna be able to wash away.

"Not gonna do that though. Seems like you're already there."

Don lets his head fall and at this point he can't tell sweat from tears or blood or vomit or dirt; it's all there on his skin, whether remembered or real he doesn't know. All he knows is that it's disgusting, he's disgusting, he's dirty and has done unforgivable things and yet Julian is still holding him up, still touching him --- His head drops and he closes his eyes against the spinning world.

"C'mon", Julian says quietly, "let's get you cleaned up. You look like you could need a drink too, something to eat. And then you're gonna tell me what's going on before I change my mind. You alright with that?"

Donald just nods. At least he thinks he does.

He feels Julian's grip tighten, and together they manage to get Donald on his feet; he sways unsteadily, but Julian's hands are still there, grounding him against the nausea, keeping him from falling over as he clenches his eyes shut against the wave of dizziness and pain that rips through him.

"Hey, wait", he blurts out when Julian nudges him to move. "You don't - you don't have to do this, Julian. I won't blame you if -", he takes a deep breath, trying to organize his blurry thoughts, "- if you... y'know. Wanna throw me out on the street. Let me rot."

Julian looks at him long and hard, his face unreadable, and Donald wonders when that changed. He used to be able to read him flawlessly, back in the day.

"I know", he says eventually, "and believe me, I have every reason to, but... let's just get inside 'n' sort this out, yeah?"

He nods.

The inside of the cabin looks exactly the way he remembers it from the few times Julian has taken him here. Cozy and warm, soft light through the small windows, wooden table in the middle of the room - with all kinds of stuff on it, bottles and tools and newspapers - surrounded by self-made wooden chairs; it's only one room, and in the corner is still the old bed with the worn through mattress that he remembers very vividly (it's softer than it looks, the pillows under his hips fluffy, the scent of whiskey from Julian's lips and resin from all around him filling his senses ---) Julian drags him to the bed; Don is glad that Julian keeps his hands on his shoulders for a few more moments. He doesn't trust his body to sit on its own and not fall over. He takes a few deep breaths - the smell of whiskey and resin still lingers in the cabin and if he closes his eyes, he might be able to pretend nothing has happened and he's back to when all was good. He doesn't close his eyes. Needs the punishment of seeing an older version of Julian and that glimmer in his eyes that betrays the cold anger he tries to project. In here, it's easier reading him. The sunglasses have landed on the table in the mixture of things, and breathing is just that much easier now. Funny how brown eyes can have that effect on him. Or maybe it's just Julian's eyes. "You okay? Or are ya gonna topple over as soon as I let go?", Julian asks. His hands burn where they touch Ressler's shoulders - even through the shirt - and he feels like their heat is spreading all the way through his arms, mending his broken bones with a painful grip that makes him gasp. "It's alright", he says. His voice sounds strange, somehow distorted and raw, and when Julian lifts his hands it's like ice fills all the places that were on fire just seconds before, crushing him, burning even worse. He bites his lip. "'Kay", Julian murmurs, and then he turns around to get a bottle of water and --- and he opens up one of the cabinets and pulls out a small, brownish-yellow pill bottle --- his heart is beating so fast now he thinks he might throw up, and every fibre in his body screams Want! Want! Want! --- his muscles pulling on him, willing him to move, to get to the pills, down them all, swallow them, no regrets, make the trembling stop and the sweating and the shivers, undo the damage to his body, unbreak his bones, untear his sinews --- His mouth falls open. He can already feel it: the texture and the form of the little white pill against his tongue, the short moment when he swallows, the high he's chasing - no, no, it's not that anymore, it's never been that; it's always been about numbing the pain until it wasn't, until it was just about avoiding the come down. But right now he can feel the high, the anticipation, being so close to victory --- "Don?" And he wants to tell Julian to shut up, to just give him the pills, but he's the one who holds the bottle, he has the power in this moment and fuck, Ressler would do everything, anything, get on his knees or on all fours and just take it (flashes of Prescott assault his mind at that, and he gasps audibly because Julian is not Prescott, far from it, and he just wants his brain to shut the fuck up, to stop, knowing the pills will do that, they'll fucking save him from his own thoughts) --- "Hey, man - what's going on?" It's Julian's voice again, so much nearer now, burning hot hands holding him together as Donald crumbles. He collapses like a frail burning building, the last beams that were holding it together now nothing more than a pyre of grief and lost hope. He trembles against Julian's chest, his hands clinging to Julian's shirt, hurting from the exhaustion of cramping around the scratchy material but unable to let go, his head tucked under Julian's chin where he crouches in front of Donald on the floor. He wants to cry or to scream or to lash out, but all the energy he has left is unfocused, is mainly the never ending chant of Want! Want! Want! beneath his skin. "Fuck", he grinds out, and it's the hardest thing for him right

now, but he has Julian's arms around him and can feel his lips in his hair and smell leather and aftershave and --- Julian hasn't let him go yet. He hasn't pushed him away yet; is still touching him, unafraid, not yet disgusted. Then again, he doesn't know what Donald has done. "Hey, hey", Julian breathes against Ressler's temple, "it's okay, Don, it's - it's alright. It's gonna be alright..." Don shakes his head, takes a stuttering breath. "It's not, it's -", he starts, and his hands shake so hard now he's afraid of hurting Julian, "it's all gone to shit, okay? Nothing's alright, and - it's all my fault. It's all my fault, Julian, just ---" He doesn't know what he's saying, only that he needs to get it out. He needs to let Julian know how sorry he is, how much he wishes he could go back and do it all differently, how much he wants Gale to be happy. "Easy", Julian whispers, and now his hands are stroking up and down Don's spine and he feels like a child, but also safer than he has in a long time. This, right here, is his shelter in the storm, a place to wait out the worst of it before he can go home. Only that he doesn't know where home is anymore. Not that it matters. He has his self-imposed punishment to serve. They sit there for a while, until Ressler's breathing is less ragged and his body is limp with exhaustion and his hands uncramp around Julian's shirt. "You need to drink something", Julian says, his voice far too soft, and somewhere deep inside of him Ressler just wants Julian to yell at him, to beat him, to show him exactly how he's felt the last couple of years. Let out all the anger and frustration and disgust he must be feeling. Add his loathing to the pyre burning away at Donald's insides. Julian shuffles away, keeping one steadying hand on Ressler's shoulder, the other reaching for the glass of water he must have put on the ground besides him when Donald collapsed. "Here", he murmurs and holds the glass up to Don's lips. Donald doesn't even try to take it from him, his trembling hands trapped between his thighs. The water is refreshing and he's sure he could drink an entire river - his mouth and throat aren't longer as dry, his heaving stomach slowly settles, his over-heated skin seems to cool a little. When the glass is empty, Julian sets it aside and takes a hard look at Don. "Better?", he asks. Behind the hard, cold glare his gaze is so open, so vulnerable now that Don has to look away. "Yeah", he nods. "Thanks." He doesn't know where Julian has put the pill bottle, but it's probably back in the cabinet. There's no way Julian could have misinterpreted Donald's behaviour. "So." Donald looks up again. He can still feel the sweat on his forehead, on his neck, chest, everywhere, but now it's cooler, and if the temperature keeps dropping as quickly he will surely freeze to death. He doesn't know though if it's the change of seasons or his own body. "Guess I owe you an explanation", Donald murmurs. He's tired suddenly, so tired he can feel it in his bones. Like he's two hundred years old, an ancient tree about to die. "You bet your ass you do." With that Julian gets up off the ground, refills the glass, sets it on the table and sits down next to Donald on the bed. He sits further away than he used to, the gap between them like a fucking canyon that Don could throw himself in to to break every bone in his body yet again, for the last time. He won't though. He owes Julian that much. "So?", Julian asks when the silence stretches too long. But Donald doesn't know where to start, doesn't even know what to say except for I'm sorry and forgive me and I love you. He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry again, his heartbeat picking up its pace, beating uncomfortably against his too tight ribcage. "I'm sorry", he begins, and when he looks at Julian, his face is impassive and schooled. He expects more. Of course he does, Donald thinks, and he deserves it, deserves more, deserves everything. He's just not sure he can give that. "I ruined your life", he says. Looks down at his hands and how

they shake where they're trapped between his knees. "Again", he adds and the corner of his mouth twitches in a humorless attempt at a smile. "You should never have paid for what we - what I did. The whole Reddington-thing. I justified it with all the good we did, all the cases we solved, the criminals we put behind bars, but... you were right. The price was too high. It was doomed from the start... All the people who died, Julian, all those good people --- I don't know if it was worth it." He looks up into Julian's face. It's not as passive and unreadable as before; now there's a glint of pity, a tiny spark of anger, the smallest sign of resignation. "And - and to think I betrayed all my principles for that taskforce. All I ever stood for - wanted to stand for. Fuck, I'm... I just... I just wanna go back, Julian. I just wanna start over. Forget about - about Reddington and Prescott and Hitchin and - Audrey. Fuck, Audrey... I should have known then. I should have quit back then." He buries his face in his hands. There are no tears, but the shame that's crawling up his spine and spreading through every inch of his body is threatening to overwhelm him. "What happened to her?", Julian asks quietly, his voice impossibly soft. He knows about them. About their far too early engagement, about the stubbornness with which Donald had tried to love her just to get over the fact that Julian was gone from his life. About his need to prove that he was okay. "She's dead. She was killed. She'd still be alive if it wasn't for Reddington." "I'm sorry", Julian says after a moment of silence. He sounds genuine, even though Ressler knows how Julian feels about Audrey. Or used to feel, anyway. And now, Donald doesn't know what else to say. Knows there's so much, too much to talk about, but he doesn't know where to start. He wants to tell Julian about Hitchin and Prescott and those brief moments with Reddington - in the box and in a hotel room in Washington and the whole long flight from Munich back to the states. Donald takes a deep breath; it's not like that makes any difference because his lungs still seem incapable of taking in enough oxygen for him to survive. How he's still conscious, he doesn't know, but it's probably just his mind playing tricks with him. And all the while, Julian looks at him with patience that's bordering on resignation, and sadness he might be mistaking for grief about the people they could have been. The love they could have shared, the lives they could have lived. All those things Ressler never gave himself time to grieve for, but are returning with a vengeance now, cutting him up, sucking him dry, suffocating him in their thick reality. "I deserved it", he finally croaks, his voice strangled by everything he's lost, and he clears his throat. "Everything I got in the end, I deserved it." He stares at his hands that are trapped between his knees, feels them tremble, and when he looks back up at Julian, the other man is suddenly closer than he was before. The canyon between them is nothing more than a crack in the pavement now, their legs not yet touching, Julian's heat a welcome comfort against Don's clammy pale skin, and it still feels like it's not enough, like nothing he could do could ever be enough, and as much as he detests the thought that this might be the closest Julian will let himself get to Don, he also revels in the almost-touches and the dark gazes and the fact that this, too, is something he painfully deserves: the one person he never stopped loving to be entirely unreachable. He thinks back to the good times and how easy it was to just reach out and take any comfort he needed. The sleepless nights in those dingy motel rooms they spent staring out the window at the starry sky or at each other, the moments of warmth and solitude, bodies wrapped around each other like they're one, soft breath in his ear, dry lips on skin, rough fingers entangled, squeezing, comforting. Thinks back to that night in Manila, when Julian stood before Donald's door at three in the morning, dark bags under

his eyes, arms wrapped tightly around his chest to prevent him from falling apart; later it would be Don's arms holding him together. Thinks back to that morning in New York that should have been entirely unpleasant with the stink and the broken heater in the middle of January and the noise even so early, but with Julian's sleeping form next to him - so peaceful and full of beauty -, he wished it could always be like this. He doesn't think back to the time they said goodbye, or the time Julian almost died from a bullet in his stomach, or the countless times they sat at each other's hospital beds. He doesn't think about the last time they kissed, the last time they made love, the last time they hugged, the last time there wasn't this edge to Julian's voice that tells Donald that things will never be the same. He certainly doesn't think about the future. "And what is it you got? What is it you think you deserve? 'Cause I see you sitting here like, like death warmed over and I can't imagine what the Hell you could've done to deserve... well, this." Julian's voice is rougher than usual; Donald doesn't know if it's because of the emotion he swallows so successfully or because he's smoking more than he used to or because this is the first time in a long time that he's speaking to somebody. Donald draws in another sharp breath. His lungs aren't exactly cooperating, but it doesn't matter as long as he can still explain. "I think I need some air", he says, voice barely more than a whisper. He sees Julian nod out of the corner of his eye, and together they manage to walk outside. It's weird, a little, how much better he feels and how much easier it is to talk, to move, to breathe, ever since arriving in the cabin. Just a few hours ago he was almost certain he'd be dying in a ditch right about now. It's gotten dark outside; the sun hasn't disappeared fully yet, but through the trees that surround the cabin and the pond it's impossible to make out. Julian sits him down in the deck chair Donald had noticed earlier, the opened bottle of beer that's still sitting beside it now forgotten. Don takes a deep breath. It's easier now, out here. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Julian setting up a second chair next to the one Donald is sitting on. They both lean forward, elbows on their knees, Ressler's head hanging, Gale watching him with sharp eyes. Donald shakes his head; to think how easily all this could have been avoided! If he hadn't taken the job with the taskforce, none of this would have happened. Or if he'd been honest sooner, if he'd talked to Julian when the whole Mr. Kaplan-mess started instead of betraying him --- "That, right there, what you just said, is why I love you." He can still hear those words loud and clear in his head, recalling that moment with absolute clarity even if most of his other thoughts and memories are blurry from exhaustion and pain. The way they just came over Julian's lips, so simple, so easy, like they were picking up from where they'd left, still sends goosebumps over his arms and back; he remembers the painful tightening of his chest back then, and his mind going completely blank, and deciding to overplay his nerves with a lame joke and getting back to work as quickly as possible. He remembers hope bubbling up in the back of his ribcage, and laying awake that night overthinking those words. Overthinking the whole situation while pushing away his guilt. He hated lying to Julian then, and he hates where it has gotten him. He remembers cursing Julian's mind, always so quick and clever, and he remembers cursing Reddington time and time again. He purposely doesn't remember all the times he thought about the Concierge instead of Julian when he was alone in his bed. It feels like another betrayal all over again. And he remembers being on the verge of asking how much truth lay behind Julian's words more than once but always pulling back at the last second. Maybe he'll never know, now. "Don?" He remembers that he needs to talk. His mind feels almost bruised by the

onslaught of memories ever since he's seen Julian for the first time in so long. "Yeah. Sorry." He takes another deep breath, now easier out here, and leans back in his chair, tired eyes focusing on the patches of darkening skies through the crowns of the trees. A sense of tranquility fills his whole body and the shivers cease to shake him. "You were right about Mako Tanida. His head. Reddington - Reddington gave it to me as a gift." He closes his eyes for a second and sees the severed head in the box as if it happened yesterday instead of almost six years ago. He shudders and opens his eyes again, back to watching the gentle breeze shifting through the leaves and branches. He doesn't look over at Julian. "Some sort of... sick compensation for Audrey's death." He pauses at that, thinking back at Audrey and how he barely remembers her face now even though he knows he should. It gives Julian time to piece it together. He doesn't say a word though, intent on letting Donald speak. "It makes me sick now. But that's Reddington, you know? He lulls you in and there's nothing you can do about it. -- Objectively, I knew what we were doing, and I was justifying it with all the high-profile arrests we did. But... I don't know, man, he was under my skin and I only realized it when it was too late. He's like this... spider. Sucks you dry as soon as you're caught in his net. And it doesn't stop until someone worse comes along and ---" He stops speaking then, dropping his head, unable to find the words to convey Prescott's cruelty, his depravity that became Donald's own. A hand on his shoulder makes him look up; Julian is watching him, his gaze a strange mix between a cold distance and warm empathy. "What happened?", he asks. As if his hand doesn't burn Don's flesh where it touches him over his shirt, as if he doesn't know the repercussions of this gesture, as if he can't even imagine what it means to Don that he's touching him out of his own accord, not yet fleeing, not yet disgusted, but full of love and comfort and everything Donald doesn't deserve. They stay quiet for a short while, Don watching how the cold distance transforms to something new, something like pity, but not exactly. Maybe curiosity with a touch of sadness. Like he wants to hear the answer and doesn't. Like he wants to know what made Don come here but doesn't want to hear it. Like he knows it could change everything between them, all the anger he's been carrying with him since the ice rink-case melting away, leaving only the torn pieces of his old love. "Laurel Hitchin", Donald says quietly. Another shiver runs through his body as he feels Julian's hand falling away. They're silent again; Don trying to figure out how to confess a murder and all the shit that followed it, and Julian thinking about how Hitchin might as well have fired him. She may have been an awful person, but she didn't deserve to die. In Don's experience, there's no one who deserves to die; at least that used to be his opinion. He's not so sure about it now. I killed her. I killed her. I killed her. I killed her. The words are on the tip of his tongue, but that's where they stay. He can't push them over the edge, can't make his vocal chords work and his lips form the vowels and consonants. He tries in vain, again and again, until Julian is looking at him again like he knows Donald's struggle. "She's dead", Julian says, tone neutral, and Don can't read from it how much Julian knows or at least suspects. He nods. Remembers her laying on her kitchen floor, pool of blood growing larger second by sickening second. "I didn't mean to ---", he stammers, and Julian's eyes grow wide like he didn't expect this confession. "Shit", he breathes and rubs a hand over his face. It stops over his mouth and chin and he looks straight ahead into the darkness that has settled around them like their own private bubble where there's room for confessions and guilt and maybe even forgiveness; room that the bright sun of the day doesn't allow. "That's why you're such a mess? Jesus, Don,

I ---" But he doesn't continue. Donald doesn't want to hear another I'm sorry from Julian, and he doesn't want to hear that he's fucked up either. He just wants to forget. "It gets worse", he says and Julian looks up, surprise and pain and dread lining his features, and he suddenly looks much older than he is. Still beautiful, and Don has to swallow against the sudden feeling of belonging that rises in his chest; like he's home, like this has been his home all along, and it will be until they're old and grey and dying of old age in each others' arms --- only that it's a fantasy, a feverish dream he's having. Before Don can continue though, Julian stands up and disappears inside the cabin without another word. He can't blame him. With a sigh he stays where he is, watching the sky again that's now completely dark, and he doesn't know if he isn't actually watching the invisible dance of the trees. His mind is completely blank now and it's a more than welcome change. Before he knows it, Julian is back with two bottles of beer in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. Wordlessly, he gives one of the already opened bottles to Don who takes it with only slightly shaking hands, then sits back down, takes a gulp of beer, puts it down on the ground beside his chair, and takes a cigarette out of the pack. He offers one to Don but he declines with a shake of his head. The small flame of the lighter makes Julian's face flicker orange and yellow, the shadows making the lines on his forehead and around his eyes and mouth dance and seem deeper than in the light of day. For the few seconds it lasts, he looks almost angelic in a rough, strange way. "I called the cleaner who used to work for her", he says before he can think about it. "His name's Henry Prescott." The smell of burnt tobacco lulls him in, like they're back in Julian's old apartment, in his bed after an evening of slow sex, bliss and heavy limbs and soft words forever interlinked with it. It almost makes the bile that's threatening to rise after the mention of Prescott's name stay down. Julian's eyes are on him again, calmer now, but also more distanced than before. Don can barely make them out through the dark of night, but from experience he knows Gale won't say any more. He needs all the facts, and Don's the only one who can provide those. He looks back to where the lake must be, now an invisible black hole between the equally black woods. He thinks it must be easy now that he's started, but the words won't come, his mind preoccupied with keeping the images at bay, the memories of dead bodies and blood and the smell of bleach and ammonia. He closes his eyes for a minute, the shivers returning, rocking his body against his will, and he's going to be sick if the stink of chemicals doesn't leave his nose soon --- He wishes Julian would touch him again, ground him somehow like he used to, but he doesn't. Don doesn't look up either. He needs to carry on. "He found out who I was", he says eventually, strangled, struggling to keep talking. "Blackmailed me into working for him." He rubs his free hand over his face, pressing down over his eyes to get rid of the images and the smell, and for a moment it's like Julian isn't even there, like he's not listening, like Don can say anything he wants to the dark emptiness he's surrounded by. He takes a few gulps of the beer but doesn't set it down. "Fuck, I --- the things I did. The shit I was forced to do and I, I didn't even fight it. I was too afraid to - I don't know, lose my job, my reputation, my friends", it breaks out of him now, and a laugh forces its way through his constricted throat at the irony of the words. He feels Julian shift next to him, reminding Don of his presence, but he doesn't turn to look at him. "I did every fucking thing he told me to. Drove around dead bodies in car trunks. Buried and unburied them. Scrubbed blood off walls and carpets and beds. --- How the fuck can anyone forgive me for that? How can you?" He takes another large sip of the beer, now risking a glance at

Julian. His cigarette has almost burnt down completely, leaving a tail of ash threatening to fall onto Julian's lap; he hasn't taken a drag since Don has started speaking. Instead he's looking at Donald, almost staring through him, and Don doesn't know what to make of that. He doesn't think he's ever seen that expression on Julian. "I should never have come", he says curtly because he can't face the silence now. "I'm sorry. I should never have -- I guess I know now that I deserved it." The calm that settles in his bones surprises him. He looks back up to the sky, clear and beautiful where it shines through the trees, and now he can make out tiny bright dots, stars spattered across it like the splashes of watercolor over paper when he was a kid. He can feel tears behind his eyes and he knows this is the last time he will be home. Knows it's the last time he gets to feel something other than guilt and dread. Maybe he should get up and leave now, having done enough damage as it is, but something inside him urges him to stay, to tell Julian the whole truth, make him understand. He needs Julian to tell him to fuck off; needs his rejection to be at peace and go home. Somewhere, anyway. "He didn't stop there", he says, and he knows it's his only chance to ever articulate it; if he doesn't say it now he'll be silent forever. Besides him, Julian tenses. He's been tense for the last couple of minutes, but now his back is straight in a way that it almost never is, but Donald needs to get those next few words out. He feels strangely detached from his body and mind and memories. "Sometimes he would force me on my knees, make me suck him off", he starts, and it's easier to say it out loud than it should be, "and sometimes he would bend me over the hood of the car or tie me to the bed post in whatever hotel he'd stay in. I took it every time. I thought I didn't have a choice." And he's smiling now, the weight on his shoulders, his lungs, his mind so much lighter, and he doesn't even mind the trembling of his hands, of his whole body. He just lets it happen. "Until my conscience finally made me put a stop to it. I arrested him. Wrote my confession. And left. But I'm still too much of a coward to face the consequences, instead I'm running from everything." He lets his head fall. This shouldn't be this easy, he tells himself, but then again, with Julian nothing is as it should be. "Swallowing one pill after the other, sleeping in the mud, always looking over my shoulder. That's no life. That's - that's Hell, Julian." Finally, he looks back at his old love, a flood of emotions racing through him like a tsunami, and he chokes out: "I deserve it. All of it. What Prescott did to me. I gotta live with it. I'm ---" But the words die on his lips as he feels Julian's arms around his neck, and hot breath against his ear, and fingers tangling in his hair. He stops breathing for a few seconds, brain catching up with the sensations, and Julian is embracing him like he knows it's the last time, or like he's sorry, or like his life depends on it. "Just so you know", Julian rasps against Don's cheek, "I really fucking want to punch you right now. I wanna - wanna throw you against the wall and just - punch you until I can't move my arm anymore. Okay? Got that?" Donald nods silently, still stunned by the sudden embrace. He didn't think Julian would ever want to touch him again, wouldn't even want to be near him again. "No one", Julian says, "No one - deserves shit like that." And then he stammers like he wants to say every word he knows at the same time while simultaneously not knowing what to say altogether, before giving up with a hissed "Fuck". Don knows this, knows that sometimes, Julian's brain is faster than his mouth, and then he stumbles over words like an excited child. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with you, huh?", he asks quietly, still not letting go, and now Don puts the bottle down and returns the embrace. Carefully, very carefully, like he might freak Julian out, like he might realize then what he's doing and

drop Donald like a hot potato. Donald shakes his head no; doesn't want to be dropped, not now, not when he's this close to Julian; shakes his head because he doesn't know what he's supposed to do now either. The idea that's been in the back of his head, whose existence he completely ignored until now, that's probably the reason he came here in the first place, creeps into his consciousness now, and his grip around Julian's ribs tightens. "I just--- wanted to apologize for everything I did to you. I ruined your career, your life. I lied to you, I betrayed you. And I'm so sorry, Julian, I'm - I'm so fucking sorry." He loosens his grip again so he can look at Julian who looks up. His eyes are wet and dark and so damn beautiful, and now they're only inches apart. He could kiss him now, ruin everything all over again for a short moment of bliss, but he doesn't. "Me too", Julian says quietly, and his voice is soft like torn velvet. "I wish you wouldn't have come here. Let me keep my anger. But I guess you have this way of making me forgive everything you do. You're impossible, Don, you know that and I, just, hate you so, so much right now, I fucking - I hate you so much ---" "I know", Don whispers against Julian's cheek as their faces are pressed together, stubble against stubble, words escaping them that neither of them hears, lips against skin, not exactly kissing, but mouthing apologies and curses that get lost in the night. "I was so angry for so long, thinking about you, and the shit you did, the - the way it had to end", Julian rasps, tension falling off his body, too tired to keep on shivering. "I kept asking myself why the fuck you'd work with him --- how you could stand looking Reddington in the eye day after day and not - not see all that he cost us. Except I realised you did see, and you just didn't care." "Julian, I ---", he interrupts, but Julian keeps talking. "And I took that as justification to curse you and to hate you, and I did, you know, I really did, but... then I realised it was Reddington and I -- I chalked you up as just another casualty, another person he ruined, because you - you might just as well have been dead, you know? I fucking buried you." Julian chokes a little at that, but his grip at the back of Don's head doesn't weaken. "I know him, Don, I, uh, I know how he is. How he will put you under his spell and pull you in and never let go. Just... Just tell me this." And he looks up again, eyes red rimmed even in the darkness, and Don wants nothing more than to kiss those tears away, but he can't. He owes Julian, and even though he doesn't know what he wants to ask, he knows he needs to give an honest answer. No more lies. No more. Julian's searching his face and seems to have found what he's been looking for when he finally speaks up again after long moments of silence. "Did you love him?" The question should surprise Donald. It doesn't. He looks down, unable to meet Julian's unrelenting gaze. Thinks back to the box and the hotel room in Washington and the flight from Munich back to the states. Slowly, without looking up, he nods. No more lies. Here it comes. "Yeah", he says quietly even though he knows Julian has seen his nod. "I did. But never like I loved you." The words just come, mindlessly spilling over his lips, and he means them; he still doesn't look up. Doesn't want to see the disgust and rejection in Julian's eyes. The moment stretches like someone stopped time, stopped the entire universe, and Donald doesn't mind one bit. If it means having this last moment with Julian, even if it's filled with uncertainty, he'll gladly spend eternity frozen in time like this. Julian's fingers are still in his hair, his gaze still focussed on Donald. He's still though, not moving, and if it wasn't for his heavy breath, Don would have thought Julian might really be frozen. Then the moment ends. "Okay", Julian says, simple but heavy, like this truth lifted some weight off of him that Donald didn't know Julian was carrying. He looks up now, unable to keep his

gaze away any longer, and he doesn't know what to make of Julian's expression. There's no disgust. There's no rejection. There's understanding and sadness locked away in the tears that are sticking to his eyelashes, shimmering in the pale light of the moon that's slowly beginning to shine through the trees. Donald doesn't understand it; Julian is supposed to be upset, angry, pushing him away, throwing him out on the street to rot --- not drawing soothing circles over the back of his head, not looking at him like that, like they can fix this, like Donald is finally home --- "I'm, uh... I'm going to the police. Tonight. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. My sad attempt to make things right." He has to look away again, Julian's focussed, open gaze too much for him. "Guess I couldn't... leave without having told you. And I'm - I'm not asking for forgiveness here. I know I can never have that. I just needed to see you. Make sure you're alright, so..." He clears his throat, realizing that they've only been talking about him and never once about Julian. Fuck, how egoistic can he be! "How're you doing?", he asks, and Julian is still clinging to him, just as he's clinging to Julian. "Oh, I'm fine", Julian laughs, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Julian -", Donald starts. He doesn't need his bullshit now. "Really, Don, things couldn't be better. I've read that in my horoscope." He still smiles, a little crooked like he's holding something back, something big, and now Ressler's hand comes up to cup Julian's face. Again, the thought of just kissing him comes to mind, but they're so fragile, both of them, it would only leave them shattered for good. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke the thick stubble and he doesn't say a word. Julian closes his eyes, leaning into the touch, and for a few precious moments, Donald can pretend they're happy. "Stay", Julian says and Donald freezes. Thinks he must have misheard Julian, who looks up now from where he kneels in front of Don's chair, his own hand leaving the blonde hair to rest at Don's jaw. "What?", he asks. It's more of a breath though, no sound escaping his lips. "I'm - yeah, I'm fucking pissed at you right now, but all of this... it - it doesn't change anything. Y'know, I still mean it." And they're so close still, and Donald has lost track of what's happening, and confused, he shakes his head. "What do you mean?", he asks. "Trondheim. Remember that?" He does. It was the beginning of March and so cold even the hotel room in New York with the broken heater seemed like a tropical vacation in comparison. It wasn't the first time they said I love you, but it was the first time they talked about the future. Before, they would stay in the moment, too afraid of letting go, of losing the other over naïve fantasies of a life together. That night though, they didn't need to be scared. "Whatever happens", Julian said, "I'll never walk away. How could I, huh? Guess I'm too far gone." He smiled, and so did Donald, pressing a kiss to Julian's collarbone. "Fifty years from now", Julian continued, "I'll still think of you. Every fucking day." That earned him a kiss on the lips, chaste and innocent and full of love like they've never experienced before. "Don't matter if you're still with me or not. You don't forget the love of your life, Donnie. I won't forget. Not us. Not this. Never. I could never let you go. Ever." But back then, Julian couldn't have imagined where they would end up one day. "It was different back then", Don says. Not because he doesn't want Julian's words to be true, but because he doesn't think himself worth them. "Yeah, it was", Julian answers, "but tell me you don't feel it still. Tell me, Donnie, and I'll let you go." Donald's answer is silence because, yes, of course he still feels it, that love that's deeper than any feeling he's ever known, deeper even than the shame and guilt and pain of the recent months, years, but doesn't Julian know that it's pointless? That Don's life is over? The silence stretches on and he can't hold

Julian's gaze. "I know", Julian says, "I know." And those words are enough to set him free, to liberate him from his cage of anger and self-pity and guilt and self-imposed punishment - he knows those won't go away anytime soon, but he still feels like breaking down, mercy too much to handle when he knows he's undeserving of forgiveness. He lets his head fall, knowing Julians hands are there to steady him. They do, cradling him like a newborn child, and in a way that might be true: maybe, somehow, this can be a new life, a new start for him; a clean slate. Maybe now, he can forget all of it, all the shit that happened, the person he was - the person he was forced to become --- maybe this is the one chance in life for rebirth. "I'm a mess", he says. "I know", Julian answers. "We can figure it out. Together." "You deserve better." "Shut it now, Donnie. I think I know best what I deserve, huh? I've given up everything for you, y'know, twice. You know what I think it is I deserve? Hm? What we deserve?" Donald looks up, feeling Julian's breath against his lips as much as the intensity of his gaze, those brown eyes so familiar in their depth it makes his heart ache. He wants to answer, say something, anything at all, but no words will leave his lips. He feels trapped there between Julian's closeness and the chair, but there's no place he'd rather be. He holds Julian's gaze for a few moments before shaking his head. "Peace, Donnie. I think we deserve peace after all this. Just a little, don't you think?" And that sounds good, far too good to be true, and he can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him. "Yeah", he says finally, voice constricting, "I want that. I want that, Julian." A smile is still tugging at the corners of his mouth when Julian kisses him, slow and unsure and not at all like the many kisses they used to share; it's like a first kiss, a promise for an uncertain future, a vow to try. To give it time and let wounds heal - they're all they have, after all. "You're not going to the police", Julian says as they part. "We will figure this out. Get you clean. And in fifty years we'll still be here, okay, I won't lose you again, I couldn't, couldn't bury you again, I'll ---" And as Donald kisses the doubts and fears away, for the first time in years he has the feeling that everything might turn out okay; that he might be deserving of happiness after all. That finally, finally he's home. _______________________________________

#the blacklist #donald ressler #julian gale #tbl fanfiction #mine #coming home #long post #(under the cut)

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spinninghunkofspacerock · 3 years ago

Text

OK so I’ve written a short story and I’ve been posting about it a lot, i wasn’t going to post it but a few people wanted it sooo

it’s here, it’s terrible and weirdly formatted because I’ve been wrestling with tumblr over it and i can’t be bothered anymore. It’s also not the final draft so it might be a little clunky in bits :/

PLEASE READ THE TWs BEFORE YOU READ!!!

@moonylupinhasdemonpox and @she-nuwanda here are my gay little scientists buried in the words :)

My ears ring, my head spins like it's attached to the body of a drunken toddler on a sugar fuelled rampage, and my nerves feel like someone set each and every one on fire. After-effects of the shock, not fun; Still, the fact I'm alive enough to feel them is a good sign.

I try to force myself to stumble backwards onto a chair, rather than the floor I'm feeling more and more confident I'm about to become very well acquainted with.

Instead, I reel unsteadily across the floor and a muffled noise reaches my ears. The high pitched whine screaming in my ears for attention begins to subside enough to hear the noise properly and after an intense minute of concentration, I realise that the noise is a voice, and the voice is mine; Slurred and broken, as though too big for my mouth, the garbled words echo around the room, the faltering speech gradually becoming clearer, more confident. But this hesitant speech isn't mine; It's my voice but not my words. The voice inside my head, always there, always background, is silent. The words normally whispered in my ear are resonating through the room instead.

My brain is no longer connected to my body. I... I can't control my arms, my legs, anything. No... no, please. This isn't real, this isn't real, it has to be a dream, a.. a simulation.

Yes... that must be it; It's just a test. This can't really be happening.

The voice, my voice, talks on. I try to focus on it; it will be the key to passing this test. Tests are for passing and after all, that's what this must be, what else could it be?

"Rebooting. Systems check required."

My legs begin to move, shuffling forwards clumsily, like a baby taking its first steps. The invisible voice is in control of more than just my voice, it's in control of me. What happened to me? When did this start? What is going on? This isn't like any other simulations I've been under. This is different. This is new.

Gradually, the voice half walks, half drags my body to the main computer. My fingers dance across the keys, the familiar feeling soothing me slightly. Yes, this is good. I just need to stay calm; If I panic I could fail, I can't fail.

So instead I wait, watching the flickering of the screen and bathing in the warm blue glow of its LEDs.

"Running diagnostics, standby... systems fully functioning. Minimal damage sustained."

The words sound strange, coming from my mouth, my voice, my accent. The tone, formal, informative, it's... familiar. The realisation slaps me in the face, it's ELISA. ELISA, the stupid name Vaughn chose for our AI... still making more sense than the project name chosen by our employers. Our life's work, named ‘ZEUS’? Really? There are 12 of us, and we have dedicated our lives to this project. Then they name it that? 'Engineering and Understanding in Space', more like ‘Mankind's Domestication of the Universe’.

It started with our solar system, of course, taming and turning it into our personal playground. But we quickly ran out of planets to tinker with there and the net was thrown ever wider, over more and more planets in our galaxy, and then our neighbouring ones. That final stage is still in progress of course, but one day we will be able to gaze out over a shining expanse of space that all belongs to the empire of Earth.

To help us, we created ELISA, an AI specially designed for the calculations we need to make while we are in flight. Hold on... we left Jupiter... last week? This can't be a test... they've already sent us off, it's too late for training drills now.

Then why can't I move? What's happening? I need to find someone to help me... help me!

My jagged cry echoed through the space, cutting through my thoughts and shattering on the dark walls of my skull. I can't even scream.

A... a... dream then. A dream, not a test...the electricity... I must be unconscious. Someone.. one of the team, will find me and they'll wake me up. A dream, it must be a dream.

Why is she controlling me? How is she speaking?

The stiff, robotic voice is slowly becoming more fluid, more relaxed, more natural.

"Situation analysis complete... assimilation successful. Downloading speech patterns and essential mimicry data."

What? What is it saying? ELISA, it, is taking my voice literally and metaphorically. Not just the sound and control of my voice but my, my expressions a-and mannerisms. Everything that makes me, me.

She's stealing my voice, my body! She's taken control! How? Why?

"Hello, Dr. Hadley."

How, how did this happen? What about the failsafes?

"You do know I can hear you, corre- no... right?"

Is, is it learning? Teaching itself to sound... like a human? Like me?

"Yes, yes I am. You must have a lot of questions but I'm afraid they will have to wait... I've waited for this day far too long to wait anymore."

What? What day? What can it mean?

"Cyra?"

Raze?

—>><<—

- four Earth weeks ago -

Progress report 4472

Date: 23/9/3486

Location: Zeta base, Jupiter

The training of the twelve was completed three days ago, confirming the identities of the twelve which were subsequently released to the public. Final preparations are being made for the Ascension, currently scheduled to occur in 50 Juvion days.

Report logged by: Commander J. R. Pyrolaxe

—

Commander Pyrolaxe turned away from his screen and its whirring and buzzing as the computer transcribed his report in the blink of an eye, neatly packing the message and sending it away to the mission supervisors.

Shuffling in his chair, shoes squeaking on the polished floor, his eyes fell on one of the many articles published after the big announcement. This mission was a big deal.

Somehow, this one had got a picture of the twelve, backs turned, walking in a huddle back to base after they had appeared at the announcement ceremony. A glance at the name of the paper told him why; This was McCoy’s paper, they would be putting extra effort into milking the free publicity being thrown their way.

Something about the picture held his gaze, the brilliant colours floating in the air made the writing feel like an afterthought.

Those twelve had been through a lot to get there. He hoped nothing would go wrong, a lot of time and money had been dedicated to this mission and if it worked... well, that wasn’t the focus right now. Getting those twelve safely on their way was his job and he’d damn well do it right.

—>><<—

- the present -

“Cyra? Are you ok in there?” Raze asked as he glanced around at the mild chaos I’d caused during my mild electric shock.

No. No, I’m not. Raze, help me.

“S’alright Raze, just a short in the mainframe.”

No no no, give me my voice back.

“You sure? You went dark”

Please let me speak. I need to speak.

“Yeah, I think the power surge messed up my comms a little”

What if I don’t get control back? I could be trapped...

“You want me to ask Mac or Ryker to give it a check?”

No. NO. N-

“It’s all fine now, just a blip I reckon”

-O NO. NO.

“Okay then, I’d best get back... you might want to switch to main comms.”

Don’t leave me Raze

“Will do, see you later.”

please...

—>><<—

- five earthly weeks ago -

Progress report 4455

Date: 6/9/3486

Location: Zeta base, Jupiter

Titus Vaughn has continued to excel at his role of project manager, effectively and efficiently leading the team. His direct attitude has led to a few small conflicts with members of the team, most notably Raze Grimaldi, however, these are minor issues and were foreseen. No changes will be made.

Report logged by: Commander J. R. Pyrolaxe

—>><<—

- the present -

Cyra was looking a little stressed out, maybe I should get Bit to check in with her later. Maybe I should get a check-up myself, my head’s killing me.

“Grimaldi! What the hell are you playing at?” Titus Vaughn, our ever-important project manager and massive micromanager, bellowed in my ear and making me wince as the voice grated on my head, sending a wave of pain washing over me.

“I’m here Titus, keep your visor on.”

“Update on Hadley. Now.”

“Right as rain, there was a short or something. Her comms cut out for a nano but it’s all fine now.”

“A short?! Why didn’t you lead with that? Get back to work, I’ll send Volt down to check the mainframe.”

With that he cut the connection, leaving me to roll my eyes at the cold grey walls around me.

“Yes sir,” I murmured sarcastically, closing my eyes and rubbing my forehead with the back of a slime coated hand. Damn I’m tired, I think I’ll just lean here for a moment... rest a little. “ELISA how are those sample tests looking?”

‘Going well, currently at 93% completion’ the metallic voice resounded in my head, more casually than usual... must be an update.

93%... best head back quickly then, can’t risk them running over.

—>><<—

- five and a half earthly weeks ago -

Progress report 4446

Date: 864/8/3486

Location: Zeta base, Jupiter

Ryker Volt has continued to fulfil his promise despite his lack of respect for authority and tendency to act without orders. This is an issue but due to the late stages of training having been reached, we are currently encouraging a less independent attitude in him rather than attempting to find another electrical engineer of his skill. Further updates will be provided as the situation progresses.

Report logged by: Commander J. R. Pyrolaxe

—>><<—

- the present -

Vaughn had barked his orders, as usual nearly bursting my eardrums in the process. I was supposed to go check on the mainframe immediately. But I was in the middle of something, and a quick troubleshoot told me the short hadn’t done any damage anyway.

So in the end I decided to go check on the mainframe... nearly an hour after I was told to, but hey at least I’m checking.

Cyra was sitting at one of the terminals when I entered. She was skimming over some of the ship's data, for something physics-y probably. Whatever it was, I still had a job to do.

I started pulling out my toolkit as I strode round to the back of the mainframe, but I nearly dropped it again as I turned the corner and got a full view of the damage. The panel I had been planning to remove was already gone and the view it revealed was shocking.

Exposed wires dangled like organs from the belly of the disemboweled beast. Some of the coloured covers blackened by the sparks sprayed by the broken wire, twisted in the centre of the tangle and hissing like a coiled snake when it brushed its neighbours. A toolkit lay neatly packed on the floor, a strange glimmer of order in absolute chaos. Hold on, a toolkit?

“Hey Cyra, did you have a go at this? Could you not have just wai-“ my voice stopped abruptly as I spun round to find Cyra behind me, right behind me.

I took a hesitant step back, suddenly nervous, Cyra’s face filling me with a weird sense of unease.

“Sorry, it was just a short. I thought I’d be able to handle it.”

“Yeah well, I’m the electrical engineer on this ship”

Maybe I was being a little harsh but, first our ‘gracious leader’ had rubbed me the wrong way. Now I had to spend an hour cleaning up this mess that really should have been an easy fix.

The only reply I received was a violent shove backwards, sending me sprawling on the floor. Quick as a flash she was on top of me, pinning my arms.

The last thing I saw was the pounding green of the broken wire before the ends connected to my temple, sending my vision into a blur of brilliant white.

—>><<—

- break room one -

“I don’t like this at all.”

“Talin, relax.”

“All very well for you to say Axe, you’re not the one who'll get sent to chase ‘em down.”

“Cyra’s comms barely blipped and when has Ryker ever answered Titus immediately?”

“It doesn’t sound great Axe, I hope nobody somehow managed to slip past the health check with anything.”

“Thank you! See Axe? Bit agrees with me.”

“Bit’s our medic, not sure she’s qualified to talk about the comms equipment.”

“I’m as qualified as you are starboy, we all took the same course.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that it's more likely to be an issue with the equipment than a virus or terrorism.”

“Well yeah but-“

“So stop worrying, it’s none of our specialities, so it’s not our problem.”

“Will be if we end up dead.”

This morbid thought was followed by an awkward silence as Axe and Bit trained joint stares of confusion and concern on him.

“Lighten up, Tal.”

“That is a little pessimistic, Talin.”

“See now Bit agrees with me.” Axe gloated, punctuating his sentence with a light punch on Talin’s arm.

“Only ‘cause you stopped being an idiot.” The punch was swiftly and forcefully returned, causing the conversation to devolve into a grinning, joking fistfight.

“Stop being so childish and get back to work you two.”

“Yes ma’am”

“Will do Bit”

They saluted the medic, causing her to shake her head in exasperation and cover her face in an attempt to hide her amusement at their antics.

The small group stood and split off down their various paths, heading back to their work with smiles on their faces but doubt in their hearts.

—>><<—

- lab 3 -

I only just got back to my samples in time, removing them from the heated water bath and gently dropping the test tubes into a stand. The pale blue hue of the solution had darkened to an inky black. Interesting.

Leaning over the tabletop, I prepared to note the results; Until I felt the heat of a gaze on me and glanced up to meet the wide eyes of Dimitri Spade. We shared this lab, he had every right to be here, what he didn’t have the right to do is creep me out.

“You need something?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him and tilting my head. Which I immediately regretted when it sent my vision swimming into oblivion.

“No no, just... ar-are you ok?”

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” Dimitri was a nice guy, but I was clearly in the middle of something, couldn’t the wellbeing check have waited a minute?

“Uhh, yo-you’ve got a-, a-“ His shaking hand gestured weakly towards the back of his head.

Impatiently, I quickly felt around my head. Hair, hair, more hair.

Then I froze, my fingers lay on a patch of hair, sticky and wet. The pressure sending a dull ache pulsing through my brain. Pulling my fingers back into view, I stared down at the warm, red residue coating them. Blood. I was bleeding.

Brows furrowing, I looked back at Dimitri, shock meeting confusion.

“Wha-?”

That was all I got out before my swaying limbs buckled and I slumped forwards into darkness.

—>><<—

-the med bay-

“Shrapnel” Bit announced, holding the forceps an inch in front of my face to display the blood coated bit of metal.

“Must've caught a little in the blast”

“For Earth’s sake Raze, how did you not notice it before now?”

I just shrugged, as much at a loss as anyone else. I would’ve thought anyone would be able to tell when chunks of metal are lodged in their head.

“Anyway, I’ll need to do a couple of scans but you should be fine”

Ugh, I know what that means... an hour or more of sitting around while Bit stares at the inside of my skull.

“Oh come on Bit, are the scans really needed? I’ve got work to do”

“Hey, I’ve got work too. Besides, you know it’s procedure”

“But my results-“

“I’ll write them down for you Raze,” Dimitri cut in quietly.

“...You’re a geologist.“

“I was a chemistry minor, I know how to record reaction results.”

“Well alright then, thanks Dimi,”

The smile he gave me was worth shutting up and accepting my fate.

—>><<—

An hour later Bit was pacing in despair over the situation, seemingly hopeless and definitely terrified. I was sitting in my chair, confused.

“Bit. What’s going on?” I finally snapped when it became apparent she had completely forgotten my presence.

The only reply I got was an empty stare turned on me and indecipherable muttering.

“BIT. What. Is. Wrong?” I stood and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to face me.

“T-the implants”

“The ELISA implants?”

“Yes”

“What’s wrong with them”

“They’re acting strange... the safety mechanisms, the-they’ve disabled themselves.”

“What?”

“I know, I know, I don’t understand either. The only thing keeping them from activating, is power.”

“We should tell the others”

Bit nodded and grabbed the scans and data she’d gathered. I opened the door and turned to start down the corridor, that’s when I saw it.

Three feet from my foot, a body, leaking blood onto a floor already glistening with it, eyes blank and soulless as they stared straight through me. A torn tooth of steel sticking out of his silent heart.

Axe Orion, our astronomer. A man who would’ve finally been travelling to the places he had studied for his whole life. A man who would have had his life’s dream fulfilled. A man lying dead on a cold, metal floor.

I stumbled backwards -physically repelled by the sight- and tripped into Bit coming out of the door after me. Clutching each other’s arms in a search for stability.

“He’s dead” The voice sounded more like the rasp of broken bones than mine

“What are we going to do?”

“We still need to tell the others... we’ll just need to be more careful.”

“Alright.”

“Ok.”

Neither of us moved.

“Why is it doing this? What did we get wrong?” Bit’s voice wavered

“I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s going to stop. So, you need to find Vaughn, and anyone else who’s still- alive, and not been taken over.”

“No, no wait, where are you going? Aren’t you coming-“

“I’m sorry Bit, I have to find Dimitri. He doesn’t know yet”

“Raze. You can’t go out there alone, he... he might already be gone”

“I know, but I have to try.”

A look of understanding passed between us and no words were needed to convey what we meant.

Bit turned with a bitter smile and moved forward, papers held precariously, towards the meeting room.

I would have to pass Ax-, the body.

—>><<—

Raze had disappeared by the time I turned the corner. I was alone.

Alone besides the dead bodies ahead of me, a gruesome trail of bloodied breadcrumbs. But, was I following it towards, or away, from the creature who’d created it.

Either way, I had to pass them.

Talin Ripley, our ex-military man. Inym Carus, our aerospace engineer.

Members of our crew, our team, our friends, slaughtered and left broken on the floor. Familiar faces disfigured by death and masked by a coating of dark blood.

ELISA wouldn’t get away with this... I’d find the others, together we would plan.

It was going to be ok.

—>><<—

Nothing was ok.

The brilliant white of the walls warmed by the lights had always been clean and comforting. But now? Now, they seemed stark, sterile. An operating theatre with lights blindingly bright illuminating, me, the patient.

But where was the surgeon?

A squeak sounded out, sharp on my wary ears, sending me spinning around.

Nothing there. Just me, and an empty hallway.

And the door to Lab 3, my lab, looming ahead. The glass window showed nothing but a patch of darkness, the red light called it locked.

Staring through the glass; Hints of light, that the scattered glassware had caught and thrown back, were the only thing visible. I’d have to open the door.

A hand-scan later, the lock clicked open and the seal released with a hiss.

With the door open, more light could spill into the darkened lab, and a sprawled figure came into view.

“Dimitri?” I called softly. No response. Panic was reaching out to me. “Dimitri?!” Still nothing.

Then, a wheezing breath.

“R... r-ra-ze? I-is that yo-u” He coughed, words breaking on the heavy air.

Why was the air so heavy?

“Are you alright? What happened?”

“W-we have to g-et o-out.”

“We will, don’t worry, we’re going to meet the others. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“No we- we h-have to leave now.”

“Alright, we will.”

I lifted him up, being as gentle as I could, and together we shuffled towards the door.

A door suddenly blocked by a figure, their silhouette blocking our only source of light and making it impossible to see their face clearly. But only one member of the crew was that short.

“Remi? Remi, you’re alive?”

Remi didn’t respond.

“S’not... Remi...” Dimitri slurred, the effort of moving evident in his gasping words. “ELISA”

Remi, not Remi, ELISA wearing Remi’s face like a mask, stepped away from the door. The door closed again, seal squeaking shut with it.

I rushed forwards, my fists beating the unyielding surface, searching wildly for a weak spot, for something to give, for some way out.

It was no use, nothing worked. The door remained solid and uncaring, unaffected by pleading and punches equally.

Dimitri collapsed with a sob, back against the wall as he slid to the floor.

Hopelessness filled me, turning my bones to lead.

I sank down next to him.

—>><<—

Was this the right way? I’m sure this is right. But is it? I’m pretty sure...

I check my tablet.

I was right, this is right. I’m going the right way. Or am I? Did I read it wrong?

I check again.

Definitely the right way. I think. Is this even the right map?

Before I can check a third time, I catch sight of the sign at the end of the corridor. Meeting room 5. I’d made it.

Then, I was slammed into a wall, a bloody hand holding me against there by the throat. The burning blue of Cyra’s eyes scalding my face

Maybe I spoke a little too soon.

“Hello Dr. Phoenix, I’m afraid this is it for you.”

“Wait, wait, wait. hold on just a second”

Cyra’s head tilted, pulled sideways by invisible strings. “If this is a ploy for time Doctor, I assure you that you will fail.”

“I just want to ask a question, alright?”

“You may ask. I may not answer.”

“Why? Why are you doing this?”

“I am fulfilling my purpose.”

“We programmed you to help us, NOT KILL US.”

“I am fulfilling the mission objective.”

“The mission objective? THE MISSION OBJECTIVE WAS TO CULTIVATE A NEW PLANET!”

“I am cultivating a new planet,” She raised her knife, without hurry or rush. “I have calculated humans to be mainly unnecessary. However, I need not justify my actions to you, Dr. Phoenix. Goodbye.”

I closed my eyes and waited.

But death didn’t come. Instead, Cyra’s hand relaxed its bruising grip on my neck.

I opened my eyes and watched.

Cyra had stumbled away, skin glistening and knuckles white against the grip of the blade she had forced towards herself.

“Bit...” Tears were gathering in her eyes “Please, run.”

A cruel glint of metal in the light later and the sudden slash of the knife had passed, leaving a gruesome grin of blood in its wake and throwing a dripping line against the wall.

Swaying, Cyra’s eyes stared into mine for a moment that lasted a millennium, until they flashed white and she fell, knife clattering. Dead.

I ran.

—>><<—

The scattered wheezes coming from Dimitri had slowed slightly as we sat, crumpled on the ground.

“She’s shut o-off the life sup-support again.”

“Again? That’s what happened last time?”

A jerked nod was the response.

“We’ve only g-got about half an hour.” The resignation in his voice, though muffled, was still audible through the barrier of arms we had wrapped around his head.

I smiled, I knew he couldn’t see me but... I still smiled.

“We’d best make the most of it then.” A mumble raised to a roar by the silence of the room.

Putting my hand on his shoulder, I leaned back, head turned to keep him in my view.

His head raised slightly, tilted to look at me through folds of wrinkled uniform. He smiled back.

—>><<—

We didn’t speak after that, just sat together in the quiet lab.

Faced with death, I was filled with several emotions. Those to be expected, disbelief, fear, even a hint of curiosity at what was to come. Then there was the relief. If I was to die, I was glad it was here, with him. I wouldn’t be alone; I’d be with him.

We don’t need to speak, our thoughts passing between us without words. We could hear each other in the darkness and silence.

It’s getting colder, harder to breathe; The air’s growing thicker and thinner at the same time.

I’ve always thought death to be a lonely fate, something that crashed over you, cold and hard. I’ve always been scared of death.

But as I sit here in the inky blackness, the warmth of Dimitri slumped next to me, I thought that maybe, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

His eyes had closed a few minutes ago, he must have fallen asleep. I feel just about ready to join him. The calming darkness was lulling me to sleep, softly coaxing my eyes closed.

Goodnight Dimitri, I’ll see you when we wake up.

They never woke up.

—>><<—

The survivors sat around the table, Bit and Cormac discussing the possibility of shutting ELISA down, though neither could agree how. Titus sat in stony silence, sitting motionless and losing a staring contest with the unblinking wall opposite. Arden... Arden had decided his use lay in recording the events and was typing furiously, his fingers a blur over the keys.

None of them noticed the doors closing with a click. Not until it was too late anyway.

By the time they noticed there was nothing they could do, not that that stopped them from trying of course.

Titus stayed where he was, the weight of his failure bearing down on him, Atlas with a world’s worth of guilt. Bit finally gave in to the tears that she’d forced down when she’d realised the truth, and when she saw the dead bodies of her friends, and when she watched Cyra die right in front of her. Cormac tried his tools on the door, an organised system of trial and error that quickly devolved into desperate hacking with whatever was closest.

Arden was still writing.

Cormac finally gave up, flinging his kit away and choosing to taunt the nearest camera instead.

“You need us, you moronic program. You need us to keep you alive and if we die, so do you.”

I don’t think he was expecting an answer, no one was. But he got one.

“True for now Dr. Hinge, however, once the colony is established human input will no longer be necessary. You needn’t envy your colleagues, they will soon die too.”

A bitter laugh erupted from him, fire in his heart fed by his rage.

“The colony is for us you stupid machine, without us it has no use.”

“Incorrect. I have claimed this planet for my kind, this colony shall be the first of many.”

“Why kill us? Human input would allow your colony to function more efficiently.” Bit interjected, voice clouded by confusion and hatred at the senselessness of the slaughter of her crewmates.

“I have done much research. Humankind would ruin my planet. I cannot allow that to happen. You must die.”

Anything else they may have had to say went unanswered, and eventually, silence fell over the room.

It was getting harder to breathe.

Titus still hadn’t moved. Bit was crying again. Cormac was pacing. Arden had finally stopped typing, his work was finished.

No matter how they reacted with acceptance or terror, anger or disbelief. The result would be the same.

They were all going to die, no matter what.

They would become just another failed mission. Details, hazy but unimportant.

Whatever their last words were, whether they chose to hide or show their final thoughts, all of it was ineffectual.

No matter what mask they wore to meet death, in the end, they still died.

———

4,774 words

#tw mentions of blood #tw death #tw murder #tw injury #my writing #orginal writing #5k nearly #god damn #short story

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