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descendantofthesparrow · 4 years ago

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Soulmate au! Countdown - Harry Hook x Reader -oneshot

soulmate au idea sent in by Anonymous

Everyone in the world was born with a watch, not on their wrists or anywhere attached to them, just a simple watch that would appear when a new soul was born into the world. Doctors would blink, and suddenly, next to the new babe, was a watch.

A watch that had a set date of years, months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds until the new soul would meet their soulmate, the one destined to love them forever.

Some watches were simple ones, a simple leather band with a plain clock attached to go around their wrist. Some got more…exotic clocks, one person, whose soulmate was an astrologist, watch had planets instead of hands to tell the time.(luckily for the person, who didn’t know how to read the time by looking at planets, there was still a small digital timer in the middle just above the sun) some had intricately carved pocket watches, some had sundials.

Prince Ben’s watch had confused some people, being a pure gold and silver watch, rusted slightly (and unable to be buffed to perfection as so many tried) with a horned dragon decorating the top, the back engraved with thorned vines. It wasn’t till years later, as Ben locked eyes with Mal, the daughter of Maleficent, did the watches ticking stop (small A/N; Ben and Audrey don’t date since they know they aren’t meant to be already. Okay let's get back into it!)

Audrey’s watch hung off a silver necklace, the top cover being diamond-like glass that seemed to shine like magic. Her watch had stopped when she met Chad at only six months old, his rose gold wristwatch stopping at the same time.

Doug's watch, a gorgeous gold-plated pocket watch decorated with heart-shaped red rubies, had stopped when he first locked eyes with Evie, daughter of the Evil Queen, who for a small while had denied that her own watch had stopped ticking, and had only admitted it after she and her friends had proclaimed their decision to turn their backs on their parent's evil ways.

Most people your age had met their soulmate already, you knew some who had yet to meet theirs but mostly everyone had already been found.

Not that you personally knew that.

You hardly talked to anyone really, so how were you to know if someone had found their soulmate yet or not.

You were just a regular person in a school of the descendants of heroes and royalty, a loner at that. The only interesting about you was your watch.

It was a gorgeous gold watch with thin black paint under the gold curved detailing that looked like waves, surrounding the outer rim of the cover, with an anchor and a ship's steering wheel in the middle of the cover, the back was a carved compass, the entire thing connected to a strong bronze chain.

You admired it every day, excitement and anxiety running through you as every second passed. And those feelings were amplified recently.

The clock now read seven days, seven hours, eight minutes, and forty seconds. It was only that until you met your soulmate.

You only hoped they wouldn’t think you weren’t worth their time…as everyone else did.

Harry had been born with a pretty plain-looking pocket watch, smooth and silver metal protecting the gears.

You could imagine the surprise he felt when he finally opened it for the first time. The inner works of his watch were beautiful, the silver metal had turned to gold, curving details surrounded the hands and timer, a shining scale texture covered the inside of the cover, never leaving a residue on his finger when he traced it.

Many villain kids were told to never open their watches, being told that it was pointless to even look since they would never need their soulmate in the first place.

Some obeyed, some, like Harry, had gotten too curious and looked anyway, and some just looked because they could.

And Harry couldn't say he regretted looking, every day he grabbed his watch and popped it open, smiling as the ticking hands signified the ever-coming day of meeting his soulmate.

Like now, it read seven days, five hours, three minutes, and seven seconds. Coincidently, it matched the same day he would be going to Auradon prep, seven months after king Ben had invited the original four to Auradon.

His closest friend, Uma, had a plan to get the wand and do what the original four couldn’t. but Harry had another plan.

He wanted to meet his soulmate, he knew they couldn’t have been on the isle, he had met basically everyone on the isle, there was no other explanation than for his soulmate to be in Auradon.

He looked up from his watch to gaze at the bright lights of Auradon, his breath visible as he let out a sigh and leaned against the rails of the lost revenge. “you ready for next week?” he suppressed a flinch as Uma suddenly appeared next to him, joining him to look at Auradon.

“aye” he simply muttered back, clenching his pocket watch in his hand. He looked away slightly as Uma turned towards him, her brow quirked.

“…you want to find them, don’t you?” Uma asked, turning back to Auradon and resting her chin in her hand.

Harry stayed silent.

Uma reached out and squeezed Harry's shoulder “I won't stop you from doing that, I know our parents told us that soulmates are bullshit but I could give less of a fuck, if you decide not to go through with everything because of them, I’ll leave you two alone…” Harry sighed in slight relief and turned to Uma.

“even if it would ruin yer plans?” Harry asked softly, laughing as Uma grumbled a bit.

“yeah yeah…if you’re happy im happy” Harry tossed his arm over Uma’s shoulder and pulled her into his side, grinning as she quietly complained at the hug.

“Thank yeh Uma” he whispered, closing his eyes as Uma sighed against him and hugged him back.

“you’re my best friend Harry, I would do anything for you” Harry smiled against her hair, squeezing her shoulder a bit before letting her go as she started to bat at his chest “Alright alright that’s enough, come on we got night shit to do” Harry snorted and shook his head a bit, grabbing his hat from the milk crate next to him and flipping it on, whistling slightly as he followed Uma off the ship.

You looked up from your summer history essay as a group of girls rushed up to the window, giggling to themselves as they pointed out whatever it was they were talking about.

‘oh right’ you mentally sighed, closing your book and packing it away, knowing that the study hall you were in was going to be filled with the laughter of these girls for who knows how long ‘the new vks’

You spared a glance back at the girls, sighing wistfully to yourself as they smiled amongst each other.

What you would give to have friends like that, but you had always been closed in on yourself and always froze up when someone tried to talk to you, that you had never gotten the chance to make friends.

You shrugged your bag over your shoulder and walked out of the study hall “where to go now” you whispered to yourself, taking out your pocket watch and smiling slightly at it, rubbing your thumb against the wheel before popping it open.

Six hours, forty-five minutes, and seven seconds.

You would meet your soulmate today.

You closed the watch and held it against your chest, letting out a giggly sigh and walking towards the other end of the dorms to get to the other study hall so you would write your essay in peace.

Behind you, you heard king Ben talking, taking a glance back you saw a flash of a scarlet red coat pass by the entrance to the hallway you had just entered. You brushed it off and looked back in front of you.

One and a half hours, ten minutes, and forty seconds.

Harry stared anxiously at his watch, his foot tapping rapidly against the floor of his new room. “you know if you just sit and stare at that thing it's not going to go any faster” Gil offered, setting his new laptop down and sitting next to Harry, reaching out to close the watch.

Harry blinked back into reality, pouting at Gil slightly. Gil just gave him a look and pushed the watch towards Harry's chest “sitting in here won't help you find them either, go explore or something, you might find them easier” Harry huffed and grabbed his watch, sticking it in his pocket and walking out of the room “you’ll thank me later!”

You groaned a bit as you rolled your shoulders, you had finished your essay, along with a handful of other projects, and had decided you needed a break. So it was off to your “secret” spot near the dorms, it was well hidden by the forest and you had to cross a hanging bridge to get to it so hardly anyone knew about it.

You shrugged off your top and pants, kicking off your shoes and setting everything next to your towel and watch before diving in.

Underneath the water your body shimmered, your legs turning to a transitioning (f/c) and (f/c) tail with a strong fabric-like tail, scales the same color as your tail appeared next to your eyes and trailed down your cheeks, your shoulders being covered as well.

You let out a soft sigh as you swam through the clear water, trailing your fingers across the smooth rocks that lay at the bottom of the lake.

You picked up a particularly shiny clear and black one, swimming back up to the surface and examining it, humming to yourself as you waded through the water.

-There once was a ship that put to sea/ And the name of that ship was the Billy o' Tea/ The winds blew hard, her bow dipped down/ Blow my bully boys blow-

You started to sing one of your favorite sea shanties aloud, closing your eyes and letting yourself drift across the surface of the lake as your voice echoed around you.

- Soon may the Wellerman come/ To bring us sugar and tea and rum/ One day, when the tonguing' is done/ We'll take our leave and go-

Harry sighed quietly as he walked around the grounds of Auradon prep, tubbing his thumb against the smooth metal of his watch as the comforting -tick tock- of its gears rang in his ears.

He sighed again as he stopped in the middle of a pathway, running his hand through his messy hair. He pulled out the watch and quirked his brow.

three minutes, forty seconds.

Suddenly something caught his attention, he turned his head towards the forest, his lips separating as a lovely drifted towards him.

He started walking towards it, entering into the forest and pushing past the bushes that covered the main path. He quickly walked over the hanging bridge that led him directly to a sparkly crystal-clear lake.

And wading in the water of that lake was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen or heard.

- No line was cut, no whale was freed/ An' the captain's mind was not on greed/ But he belonged to the Whaleman's creed/ She took that ship in tow -

As he walked closer to the mermaid, he didn’t notice the timer on the watch tick down to the seconds.

3…2...1.

Suddenly the mermaid looked up from their rock and gasped, her glowing (e/c) eyes locking with his ocean blue.

The ticking stopped.

The mermaid squealed in embarrassment and ducked under the water, Harry quickly snapped out of his stupor and ran towards the edge of the lake, kneeling at it and looking around for the mermaid who had suddenly disappeared. “where did yeh go?” he whispered, yelping and falling back on his butt as the mermaid suddenly popped up in front of his face and tried to reach for her items behind Harry.

He watched her struggle to reach toward them before she groaned and flopped on the ground, her top half lying pitifully on the dry ground as her tail angrily hit the surface of the water.

Harry let out a soft chuckle and looked behind him, spotting a gold pocket watch resting just next to a (f/c) towel, he glanced back at the mermaid for a moment before reaching out for the watch and gently handing it to the mermaid.

She quickly popped it open and gasped.

Harry watched as the mermaid just stared at her watch, then slowly look up at him. He took out his watch and popped it open, stopping as he realized the clock had stopped.

00:00:00:00:00:00 blinked rapidly

Harry looked back at the mermaid and turned his watch towards her. She reached out slightly, looking at him for permission to take it.

He pushed it into her hand and she set it next to her watch, a smile growing on her face as the blinking of the timers synchronized perfectly. Only soulmate watches could sync perfectly as they did.

She looked back up at Harry with a wide grin, Harry's heart fluttering like crazy as she did.

“I found you” she whispered in the most melodic voice, squeaking a bit as Harry stood and started to strip out of his clothes “what are you doing?!” she yelled, pushing off the edge and diving down under the water a bit, only her eyes and the top of her head above the water.

“joinin’ yeh,” Harry responded simply, kicking off his shoes and pants and tossing them aside with his shirt, jacket, and belts.

Once he was down to just his underwear, he jumped into the water next to his soulmate, closing his eyes as he sank into the surprisingly deep lake.

Almost immediately after he jumped in, arms wrapped around his waist and kept him afloat. Harry cracked open his eyes to see the glowing ones of his soulmate, their pupils slanted as they stared back at him.

Harry let a smile grow on his lips as he and his soulmate floated under the water. Then Harry's body proceeded to realize he was underwater and that he needed air.

His soulmate watched him look up, realize what he was doing, and grabbed his face. Harry looked at them and let out a muffled squeak as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

He snapped his eyes shut and felt his face burn with a blush as she licked his lips and opened his mouth, breathing into him.

She pulled back and giggled, which oddly wasn’t muffled. Harry opened one of his eyes and pouted slightly as his soulmate covered her mouth with one of her hands as she laughed at his expression.

He took a breath to say something, but then realized he was breathing underwater. He gave her a wide-eyed look and she giggled again.

“mermaid kisses can let the person breath and speak underwater” her voice purred, grabbing his hands and pulling him up to the surface. Harry shook his head, smirking as his soulmate squealed a bit as the water droplets hit her.

“I’m Harry” Harry spoke first, swimming slightly closer to his soulmate and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek “Harry Hook.”

“(y-y/n) (l/n)” she squeaked slightly, Harry smirking at the heat that burned against his lips as he pressed another kiss to her cheek.

“I think” he pulled back and pressed a kiss to her other cheek “you and I are going to get along very well~” he purred, grinning as (y/n) set her forehead against his.

“whys that?” she hummed, pushing her lips together as Harry tightly wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him.

“a pirate and a mermaid? What's a better match than tha’?”

-end-

Short but sweet, might do another one of the suggestions! Thanks for reading!

permtaglist

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange

@lunanight2012 @daughter-of-the-stars11

@musicarose @remembered-license

@random-thoughts-003 @jatp-rules-my-life

@verboetoperee @imtryingthisout @thecaptainsgingersnap

@rintheemolion

#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #soulmate au #countdown timer #watch that counts down till you meet your soulmate

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azucanela · 4 years ago

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SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE

PAIRING: SUGAWARA KOUSHI X FEM!READER

REQUEST: if you’re feeling into it a suga fic where they like dated during high school and later get back together after college would be awesome!! maybe fem y/n was manager for karasuno or something and they just broke up bc of distance! and if you don’t want to do this that’s perfectly okay! take care of yourself, you’re an amazing writer!!

WARNINGS: ANGST TO FLUFF. KISSING. MILD TIMESKIP SPOILERS.

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

A/N: i love suga, SUGA SUPREMACY, thank you for the request it was fun to write!

HAIKYUU!! MASTERLIST

HE LOVED HER AND THERE WAS NO DENYING IT, but it wouldn’t be the first time that two people very in love had been forced apart for whatever the circumstances.

You could see it in the way he forced her onto the inside of the sidewalk— a small thing done in an attempt to keep her safe from possible incoming cars. You could see it in the way Sugawara’s eyes fell on her absently, so encapsulated with her words and the passion in her voice. You could see it in the way he seemed to light up when he saw her in the stands of his volleyball games, even though he likely wouldn’t be playing.

And oh did Y/N L/N love him as well. Her sad smiles at the mention of his name were evidence enough, and if not, it was the way she frequently asked Daichi and Asahi of his health full well knowing the boy had a tendency to forego taking care of himself when he was so caught up in the well being of others.

Kageyama had observed it early on— or more accurately, Hinata had observed it early on, pointing out to the young setter that his senior was obviously enamored with their second manager. Hinata’s emotional intelligence had always been far ahead of Kageyama’s, although Kageyama had noticed the difference in... treatment between the pair, he had never truly realized they were dating.

But it soon became abundantly clear that they were in fact, together. And Y/N L/N wasn’t just the other manager of the Karasuno Boy’s Volleyball Team, but the girlfriend of Sugawara Koushi.

Which is the main reason why Kageyama had suspected she hated him early on, after all he’d taken her boyfriend’s spot on the starting line up, and he had bluntly pointed this fact out to her by the vending machine one day. Though Y/N had simply laughed it off, bringing a hand to Kageyama’s shoulder and offering him a smile.

Just like Sugawara had. Maybe that’s what made them the perfect pair, Kageyama wasn’t sure. But anyone with a set of eyes could tell they were a disgustingly perfect couple.

Which is why Kageyama had never imagined they would break up. Nor had anyone in the club really. Even Asahi and Daichi were left in shock as the pair went their separate ways.

It was supposed to make things easier, leaving. They would both be abandoning everything they ever knew and heading off to college after all, and seeing as they’d both ended up at different colleges... well, how plausible was a long distance relationship?

It was a mutual break up. That they mutually did not want.

Not much changed if Y/N is honest, and maybe that’s why she didn’t find herself sobbing in her bed until she actually got to college. It was just a label, but at one point... the change became alarmingly clear to her— the fact that she and Sugawara Koushi were no longer together.

Sugawara felt it in the little things, when he went to message her good morning and remember that... they weren’t together anymore. Did Y/N even want a good morning text? Maybe she was receiving one from someone else now.

Talking wasn’t awkward, with the silent agreement that if they ever needed someone to talk to, they would always be there. But the change was painful enough to drive them apart in a way that wasn’t just physical.

It’s not until she’s seeing him again that Y/N is reminded of that very pain once more, though the smile on her face is still very genuine and authentic as she throws her arms around the three boys from her third year.

Sugawara holds on for a little too long.

“It’s so good to see you guys! Are we all excited for our boys’ final tournament of their third year?” She exclaimed as she wrapped an arm around Kiyoko.

Daichi ruffles Y/N’s hair as he grins, “of course I’m excited to see them win again.” Comes his reply.

And of course, Asahi finds himself beaming with an albeit nervous smile as he agrees, “definitely! I believe in them.”

“I dunno guys, maybe Hinata will forget to spike again,” Sugawara chimes in, jokingly of course, while Kiyoko nods along with the rest of her friends as she offers them a small smile. Her eyes drifting to the arm that Sugawara throws over Y/N’s shoulder. “It’ll be just like old times!”

Just like old times indeed.

Daichi finds himself giving Asahi a look, that is returned with a look of confusion until he gently shoves him forward, a look of realization washing over his face as he begins to walk faster and Kiyoko says, “why don’t we head on over to our seats guys?” She turns to Y/N and Sugawara, “would you mind getting us some snacks from the vendors?”

The pair exchanges looks momentarily before Y/N offers Kiyoko a smile as she nods, “yeah, of course. Any preferences?”

“The usual!” Daichi replies, waving them off as he drags Asahi away, winking at Sugawara before disappearing around the corner alongside Kiyoko as well.

Sugawara simply raises a brow, opening his mouth to say something until Y/N’s hand comes to grasp his own— loosely holding the one wrung around her shoulder as she begins to speak of which vendor they should visit.

But the only thing he can focus on is the ring she wears. For a moment, he panics, thinking that someone else has already snatched her away, that he lost the woman he loves.

Until he looks a little closer and recognizes the very promise ring he’d given her in their third year, almost identical to the one he was currently wearing around his neck, attached to a chain he’d purchased shortly into his first year of college. After all, he couldn’t bring himself to take it off either.

Y/N seems to take note of this, pausing before noticing where his gaze has fallen, her cheeks warming at the realization. “I’ve been meaning to return the ring to you, sorry about that.” She releases his hand with a tight lipped smile, moving to remove the ring, only for Sugawara’s hand to come over hers as he shakes his head.

“Keep it. What would I do with it anyways?” And who else would he give it to?

Y/N pauses, eyes drifting between the ring and Sugawara for a moment before replying, “okay.”

It’s not that they hadn’t talked at all in the past few years, just that things had changed and now neither of them new where the boundaries were. What could they do? What couldn’t they? Where was the invisible line between friend and former lover? It was a line they danced around in each interaction and today was no different.

Y/N finds herself desperately needing some space as she inhales deeply, perhaps it’s because she’s shocked by how easily he’d wormed his way back into her heart in the five seconds they’d been together now. Or maybe it’s the reminder that nothing had changed, she was still going to college across the country.

It’s not until they’re seated beside each other once more, two years later, that Y/N realizes nothing had changed.

It’s a party they’d thrown for the New Year, and practically a get together for their teammates, new and old. They pair had managed to get onto professional teams— to no ones surprise. Although the fact that they’d be opposing each other was a surprise.

Somehow, Y/N and Sugawara had found themselves on the balcony of the home, fresh out of college— which had really been the only thing keeping them apart up until now.

So, something had changed.

“You’re officially a teacher!” Y/N exclaimed, beaming at Sugawara with a smile that he quickly returns, drink in hand.

He’s leaning against the balcony. eyes drifting towards the lively city as he replies, “kind of. I was lucky to even get hired so soon after graduating.” He takes a sip of his drink, “I just hope next year is better.”

A small laugh escapes Y/N as she downs what is left of her own drink, “me too, Suga.” Their eyes meet, and she can see the way he stiffens at the name, it had been a while since she’d called him by anything other than his first name. Though Y/N disregards this fact as she asks, “so what school are you working at?”

Y/N can see the passion in his eyes as he begins to speak of the school he’ll be working at, nodding along until she realizes, she recognizes the name, mouth gaping open as she asks, “are you serious? I recently got a job at one of the corporations in that area!” She exclaimed. Sugawara is opening his mouth to say something when they suddenly hear the people inside cry out—

10.

“Oh! I didn’t realize it was that time.” Y/N mumbled, looking inside to see their friends— new and old— congregating together around the TV. She wonders how time could’ve passed so quickly, it feels as though she had only ventured out to the balcony a few minutes prior because last Y/N had checked, it was barely 10PM.

Sugawara allows a laugh to escape him as he nods, “time flies by when you’re having fun right?” And Y/N finds herself in shock momentarily, wondering if maybe he’d read her mind.

Y/N turns to him, offering him a small smile as she nods in agreement, “it does. Doesn’t it?” And Sugawara is left feeling breathless, even after all these years, her smile still seems to have that effect on him.

“I did, have fun. By the way.” Sugawara says, eyes darting between the door of the balcony and Y/N. His words are true, he did have fun, of course Sugawara would never consider lying to Y/N. And even if he did try, Sugawara had a feeling she’d be able to tell.

“We should head back inside.” She continues, eyes drifting back towards where their friends are calling out the countdown. Huddled together, Y/N finds herself smiling at the sight of Tanaka’s arm around Kiyoko’s shoulder.

Y/N meets Kiyoko’s eyes momentarily, and the look Kiyoko gives her is one of urgency, one that tells her, “don’t you dare come back here right now.” But Y/N finds herself rolling her eyes as she begins to head back inside.

Their relationship had been over for years, and yet Kiyoko was still trying to convince her that the boy’s feelings never changed. Though Y/N wouldn’t deny that she would always love Sugawara— and she had no doubt that he still loved her— those feelings were probably purely platonic now. Right?

Right. Y/N shakes off the feeling as she continues inside, until she feels a hand wrap around her wrist, keeping her from carrying on inside and yanking her backwards. Y/N finds herself colliding with Sugawara’s chest with a gasp.

Sugawara’s eyes meet hers, a clear question within them as he wordlessly places his drink on the rim of the balcony. The hand on her wrist still firmly placed there as Y/N nods slowly.

And suddenly his lips finds hers, Y/N’s arm winding around his neck with her drink still in hand while Sugawara’s hand comes to her waist in an attempt to pull her closer. Almost desperate to be closer to each other as the crowd inside begins screaming and cheering. Y/N frees her other hand from his grasp and brings it to his shirt to tug him even closer while his other hands comes to her cheek.

When they pull away, Sugawara is grinning as he says, “happy new year, babe.”

#sugawara koushi x reader #sugawara x reader #koushi x reader #koushi sugawara x reader #sugawara koshi x reader #koshi x reader #koshi sugawara x reader #sugawara x you #sugawara koushi x you #sugawara koshi x you #koshi sugawara x you #koushi sugawara x you #hq x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #hq x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyu! x reader

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damn-stark · 5 years ago

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Child of Ren Ch.11

A/N- MAY THE 4TH BE WITH YOU ALL!! m loving Finn and readers relationship so much!! Also reader is all of us obsessing over first order Poe. So in chapter 6 I said that the planet that our characters are at, was raided 20 years ago, but I made a mistake. It’s meant to be 7 years ago. Anyway that’s all it was a small mistake just thought I would clear it up :/ hope you guys enjoy this chapter because I enjoyed writing, leave your thoughts!!

Warning- First Order Poe, enjoy the bit of happiness in the beginning of this chapter...violence, light swearing, angst, slow burn

Pairing- Poe Dameron x reader x Rey, Kylo Ren x reader(platonic)

Takes place- After TLJ & Before TROS

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

———

“No, this is too tight, how do they fit in this?” Poe complained as he looked at himself through the mirror.

You kept your eyes glued on Poe’s figure in front of you, unknowingly chewing on your thumb as you admired the way he looked in his all black First Order uniform while you’re mind was also focused on the mission you were about to do.

Poe turned around to face you, straightening out his coat and fixing the collar with a frown, “y/n.” He called out once not receiving a response even if your eyes were glued on him, he called out again with more volume, “y/n.” Poe smirked once you finally snapped from your daze.

“Hmm?” You showed a smug like smile. Poe in the First order uniform was everything and even if he had been complaining about it for hours, he still looked great and definitely someone you would have paid attention to if he had been part of the order. And perhaps you should be more focused on the mission in hand, but seeing Poe in a formal suit was well...distracting.

First order Poe was everything even if it was all an act.

Poe’s smirk didn’t falter as he approached you, “be honest, if I were in the First Order, would you take a second look?”

You pretend to give it a long thought, gently tapping your chin with your index finger, “maybe,” you began, “stand up straighter and clasp your hands behind your back. You need to look the part I can’t risk you being caught. And as charming as your smile is, lose it and then I’ll tell you what you want to know.”. Poe does as you say, while making his look as cold as he possibly could, but still looking unsure of the uniform. You walk around him and take one last look—perhaps in any other occasion his posture wouldn’t matter, but going to the first order infested planet means their was going to be eyes everywhere and you couldn’t risk him being caught.

“Will you answer my question, now?” He said roughly as he tried to remain in character, making you grin. “Oh, this is amusing to you?” He tsks under his breath.

“Very.” You take a step closer to him and narrow your look, you want to point out that you would have been his superior in reality, but you play along with him for a moment, setting aside the fact that you were supposed to be leaving to a very important mission.

He moves his gloved thumb and trials it lightly over your jawline, his look is still surprisingly cold and hard, his voice rough and demanding, “answer my question.” His voice makes you shiver, part of you starting to believe his First Order role as he continues to be demanding. “I’m not asking again.” He leans in closer to you, his lips brushing over yours before he abruptly pulls away, clasping his hands on his back once again and standing up straight. “Do you know what happens when you defy a first order officer?”

You bite back a laugh but answer him, “No.” you hold his gaze and you knew he wanted to complain of you trying not to laugh, but remains in character.

He looks you over once before forcefully pushing you to the wall, “I’ll show you instead.”. You grin at his actions and as he’s about to close the gap left between the both of you the sound of approaching footsteps makes you push him aside. The door slides open revealing Rey. She slides her eyes from Poe to you before focusing on you.

She stays put in her spot and only parts her lips to speak, “I just wanted to say goodbye before you left, y/n.”

You nod, meeting Poe’s wandering gaze for a second before making a hasty exit. Rey makes sure to grab your wrist and pull you away to where she knew Poe wasn’t going to listen in. She stops you by a hidden corner of the ship, standing in front of you and letting your wrist go. Rey nervously scratches the back of her neck before starting the conversation, “before I say goodbye, I just wanted to ask something,” she pauses for a moment, doubting her question before taking a deep breathe and revealing her lingering question, “what’s going on between Poe and you? You two have been inseparable the past couple of days and you’ve been avoiding me. I just want to know if what we shared wasn’t just nothing, I want to know if Poe and you have something going on so I don’t get in the way.”

And there it was, the subject you were currently avoiding, the problem you wanted to solve after you finished the mission and now you had to try and push it away as best as you could without making a mess of the situation. Or bigger mess. It’s not that you could just say “well Poe, was the first man I’ve been with intimately, I love him, but I also love you.” That sounds easier said than done. So for now you had to avoid that truth and only hint at it, “Rey, I promise to clear it all up after I come back, I promise.” You grab her hand from her side and offer her a small smile, “and as far as the moment we shared, it wasn’t nothing to me, I lo—we can talk after, okay?”

She doesn’t smile, but she nods, “I wanted to tell you to be careful, okay? If you ever need me, you can reach out to me, I’ll reach right back,” she shows a ghost of a smile before wrapping you in a tight hug, “be careful, y/n.”

You answer softly, “I will,” before pulling away to gently kiss her cheek. Rey smiles wider and fully breaks away to head out of the ship, she shares with you one last lingering look before fully disappearing. You stare at the place she had left for a moment longer before turning to start the ship. If only she could join too.

—

Orgo.

The planets name seemed very familiar, a familiarity you couldn’t remember. When you had viewed the outside of the green planet as you arrived at the outer-planet port, it seemed familiar too. It made you uneasy...well you’ve been uneasy the entire day, but that was mostly likely due to the stress of the mission, right?

Anyhow pushing that all aside, you needed to focus on the mission. The resistance, Rey, Finn and Poe depended on it. Depended on you to successfully complete it, you couldn’t let any of your emotions of this planet and those who are invading it get in the way. You needed to play your part, needed to pretend to be The Child of Ren. But it all felt strange, holding the helmet you wouldn’t ever take off before, now you couldn’t seem to put on. And it seemed that you weren’t the only one suffering through the same. You looked up at a sturggling Finn, seeing the hesitation to put on the helmet that once used to define him as someone he didn’t want to be.

“Did you ever think you’d put it on again?” You quietly ask him.

Finn pulls his eyes away from the helmet and focuses on you, “no. Did you?”

You nod, “no.” You graze your gloved fingers over the linings of the black helmet, “who would’ve thought, hmm? That we were going to play a part of a life we once used to live.”

He lets out an amused huff, “I would have never, but it’s just this once. We’re doing this for a good cause. For a better cause.”

You smile slightly and repeat, “for a better cause.” Your eyes flicker to the helmet and your smile falls, “We do it at the same time?”. Finn nods in agreement, gulping before turning his helmet. You do a mental countdown and as you reach three, Finn and you both put on the helmet neither of you had ever thought you’d ever wear again. The feeling of it on your head, was uncomfortable, the way your vision had changed into a darker and more red view was strange. Once used to that setting of view was now so strange and unfamiliar.

You move to stand by the ramp of the ship, balling your hands at your sides as Finn stood at your side a couple of inches behind like he was taught years before. And Poe, well Poe needed some help with the things that differed that of the Resistance, but it was a good thing he had Finn and you to help. With a small bow of your head, the ramp slowly opened, revealing the bright port and those working on it. And once they spotted who had appeared from within the ship they all immediately stopped what they were doing, stood up straight and formal to show the respect shown for their superior, for the Supreme Leaders second in command.

Instantly you began to make your way to the officer you needed to hand your priceless chip to. And when he saw you, well let’s just say it was like he had seen a ghost. He straightened up and looked ahead, not directly looking at you but somewhat trying; “Commander Ren, it’s such an honor having you here. We weren’t informed you were going to arrive.”

“The Supreme Leader has assigned me last minute. He wants to me overlook that the departure of the ships at midnight goes smoothly.” You inform the officer, who you now sense doubts your intentions. “Is that an inconvenience for you officer?”

The officer goes rigid, gulping loudly and shaking his head repeatedly, “n-no, my Commander.”

“Then why do I sense doubt from you?” You interject quickly and deeply as your helmet hides the true sound of your voice. Sweat beads begin to form on the officers forehead, his eyes nervously shifting from Poe and Finn standing still at your sides, while you never tear yours away from him, only he didn’t know that. You tilt your head slightly to the side, “I ask again, does my presence serve as an inconvenience?”

“No,” he trembled, “we just weren’t expecting your arrival or your involvement—”

“Do I need your permission?” You interrupt with a huff, “need I remind you who I am?” You pause as if to let him answer only you speak before he could, “I am your superior, now do I need to bother the Supreme Leader with your irrelevance?”

The officer shakes his head and stutters out, “no. I-I’m s-sorry Commander Ren.” He shifts from one foot to another, hesitating to say something until he had to, “as protocol I do need your high order chip to enter Orgo.”

You nod and extend your hand, waiting on Poe to hand said chip to you, only he takes longer than it needs to take. You peek over your shoulder and notice the reaction on his face, expressing both impressed and intimidation after what he had witnessed you do. You would have been proud and maybe even smiled at his reaction but right now you needed him to focus. “Commander Dameron.” You call out loud, Poe’s eyes snap to you as he breaks from his stupor, his eyes falling on your extended hand to immediately react and hand you the chip. You hand it to the officer and he examines it for a brief moment, making you sense both Finn and Poe go uneasy.

The officer moments later, inserts the chip, easing both men behind you. Seconds later large gates begin to open, a glimmer surrounding the outside of the planet opening too. A shield, for the planet. Zater was right this planet was heavily guarded. You slightly bow your head as you get the chip handed back to you, turning back to your ship without another word.

“Well that was..well that was something.” Poe reveals as you’re all safely back in the ship. “You didn’t even hurt him, you just got off this ship and he was already shaking.”

“He was scared, they all were.” You answer quietly. Poe noticed the upset tone in your voice and dropped whatever it was he was going to add.

“Well I was impressed.” He confessed with a small smile as he began to fly the ship out of the port. You smile under your helmet but don’t respond.

This was all an act now, you needed to remind yourself, it wasn’t a part of your life anymore....and yet you played the part without missing a beat, all too well. And you weren’t done with today yet.

—

Again the planet seemed familiar. Even more now that you were physically in it. The forests surrounding the planet, the town, streets, shops, sky, plants all seemed familiar all except the people invading it. As much as you tried to know why it all seemed familiar you couldn’t remember, and it got you frustrated, the not being able to remember, not being able to relieve the sense of familiarity. And the officers in the planet instantly making their way to you as you landed wasn’t helping with your frustration.

“Commander, Ren. It’s an honor to have you here.” One of the main officers announced in a feigned tone.

“Yes, I’ve been told so before.” You remark. “And yet theirs doubt, not much honor there.”

The officer struggles with how to respond, looking to Poe and Finn with distaste, expecting someone darker and taller, that or six different men. “And who may you be?” The officer asks Poe. “I know most of the officers in base ship, but not you.”

You turn to face Poe, seeing him stand tall and formal like you had showed him. His hands on his back and his expression cold. “I’m Commander Dameron. Newly transferred to the base ship and assigned to this job with Commander Ren.” Poe responds in a rough tone. You can’t help but smile proudly under your helmet, that being one reason and the other well...well he looked great in the uniform and played the part well too.

“Ah, okay then.” The officer doubted but shrugged it off, “Commander, you should know that the Planet has been experiencing several acts of resistance, violent protests against the first order here. It’s best if you’re protected by a squad than just...one single stormtrooper and a...commander.”

“The stormtrooper that accompanies me is one of the best, I’ll be safe.”

“The Supreme—”

“The Supreme Leader, knows I can protect myself.” You interrupt, “Now we shouldn’t bother him with irrelevant matters, he’s a busy man it’s best I inform him with everything when I him see again. And as for everyone around, back to work. I don’t wish to be bothered, I’ll return before the departure of the ships.” You don’t wait for an answer and pretend to head to the office you had been assigned too.

Once you’re out of sight and somewhat away from the crowd, you take off your helmet and long coat, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. The sense of familiarity not leaving and only getting stronger the deeper you got into the town. “Come on, I know where they serve the best Spotchka.” You mindlessly say.

Poe and Finn share the same confused look at your words, “I thought you said that you’ve never been here.” Poe says as he walks by your side. You stop in your steps and frown even deeper as you notice that you’re carrying you’re kyber crystal in hand.

“I-I haven’t...I don’t know how I know that.” You mutter, the frustration of not knowing increasing. “Let’s just go.”

—

The tavern you had entered gave a off a new wave of unrecognizable familiarity, again you had nothing to help, only frustration. And now you couldn’t shake off the cold chill you felt ran all over your body—their was just something about this place you knew.

“You seem vaguely familiar, do I know you?” The older sentient asked you as he set down the Spotchka on the table. You look around nervously, parting your lips uncertain on how to answer.

“N-no, must have me confused.” You stammer with a forced smile. The sentient studies you for a moment longer before shrugging and agreeing with your comment. When he left the table you didn’t wait to drink the Spotchka provided in front of you. Like if swallowing the drink would wash away the frustration, stupid unresolved familiarity, unease feeling you couldn’t help but feel. The two men with you noticed your odd behavior and tried to talk to you, but you only responded by jumping to your feet and wandering around the warm tavern.

You were restless, the cold chill and unease never left, not until you spotted a holo-image of...you and-and your father. You blinked repeatedly, grabbing the holo-image and examining as if it were fake. The smiling little girl in the picture couldn’t be you, the little girl grabbing onto her father looked so unreal....but it wasn’t. In that instant you felt as if you couldn’t breath anymore, your heart dropped and shattered, while your mind yearned to remember a memory that it couldn’t, that was lost forever. A single tear rolled down your cheek and before you could ask more or react to the image more the uneasy feeling turned into full blown nausea causing you to run out of the tavern and throw up outside the tavern.

Poe and Finn quickly followed after you, worried and panicked for your well-being and current state. You didn’t react to their presence until you felt a hand rest on your back, making you flinch until you saw that it was just Poe. His face was twisted into one of worry and his voice was softer than the one he faked, “You okay?”

“I guess the Spotchka wasn’t the best.” You attempt to joke as you stood up and straightened your shoulders. You try and change the subject, ignoring the way that you still felt somewhat uneasy, but not as much as before. As you’re about to compliment on Poe’s appearance, again the sense of familiarity returned only this time you felt it calling you from deeper in the town.

In quick haste you follow the feeling, the cold chill making your hairs stand up on the back of your neck, while violent flashes of your parents death began racing through your mind as you continued walking. The closer you got, the stronger the feeling felt, and the more the memories flashed, the more and more you began to understand or at least theorize why this green planet was familiar. And the moment you finally came to a stop by a tree stump and an open field is when you finally knew, this planet was your home planet..years ago you had lived here happily before it was all ripped away.

You longed to try and remember what was of your past, but nothing would come up, the more you attempted, the more the memory of your parents demise flashed harshly in your mind and the more the fake memories of Kylo and you tried to take over, both memories fighting a battle in your head that left you nothing but troubled and restless. You should have stopped it all, tried to forget everything because you knew it wasn’t good, what you were experiencing was just leading you to lose control. But you couldn’t stop trying to remember and now that you were in the place you once lived in it got worse.

You swallowed thickly and stared at the open field in wonder and sadness, finally expressing to a lost Poe and Finn what this was and what you were going through; “this is my home planet...I-I know now.” You explain softly, “it’s why I know where that tavern was and why everything is so familiar.” You could’ve explained what had happened, the nightmare of the day that was your parents deaths and the day the first order took you, but you knew both men got the idea.

Poe takes a deep breath as he stands by your side, sliding his hand into yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He didn’t say anything and didn’t need to, he knew that. What could he say if he did? Nothing that could help you, he just offered his presence as a reassurance he knew you appreciated, plus this moment seemed like a type of moment that deserved no words. Finn seeing the state you also were in joined your side and wrapped his arm over your shoulders, also offering you a form of comfort.

Their was nothing you could do, maybe that sentient was right, your past wasn’t meant to be remembered, but you could honor them. And even if you still longed to know your surname, maybe it also wasn’t meant to be remembered...even if that’s the only thing you want to know...soon hopefully you would.

Maybe the family you were desperate to remember wasn’t the one you had lost, but the one beside you. Finn and Poe, and even if she wasn’t here, Rey was family too. Maybe Rey and Poe were going to be more, but for now, well for now they were that. Family. But what about Kylo? What was he? The sentient said, “what you seek you already found, it lies before you. Just let the light shine through to see clearly, when you do that’s when you’ll finally know.” But what you were looking for was Poe, Finn and Rey....

Choosing not to give it any more thought, you lift your head and show a sad smile, “let’s go. We have a mission to finish.”

—

It was far to easy. Perhaps you shouldn’t be complaining on such a thing, but it was. Their had been no one to stop you or trying to kill any of you. And maybe it was because what roles you had came dressed up as, but their should’ve been some sort of resistance to what you were trying to do. And as you were getting on the ship that contained the fighter ships you needed to steal was when you thought the same. It’s too easy.

“Does anyone think this is going too smoothly?” Finn speaks under his helmet, asking what you were about to ask.

Poe straightens out his coat before commenting, “yes, but that’s the goal. The easier this mission goes, the faster we get out. And well we’re almost done, just need to get to that pilot seat, I want to leave.”

Finn turns his head to look at Poe, a hidden smile under his helmet, “why in such a hurry Poe? You have plans?”

Poe turns his eyes to you before looking ahead again as he saw you were focused on the mission. (that didn’t mean you weren’t paying attention though); “I just have a bad feeling.” He says leaving out the other truth, which was he did have plans, with you.

“You too? I’ve had a bad feeling about this place since we got here.” You add, turning a sharp corner, now spotting the cockpit just a couple feet away. You would have smiled if the memories this planet provided didn’t terrorize you. The faster you left this planet the better, that’s where you agreed with Poe.

When you reached the cockpit door it was locked, you attempted to type in the passcode or swiping the credentials but nothing worked.

“What the hell? Why doesn’t this door open?” Poe whispered sharply as he attempted to open the door multiple times. Finn took off his helmet to show the annoyed expression he had on Poe’s stubborn attempts.

“You’ve already tried that man, just kick it down.”

Poe’s eyebrows furrowed as he glared at Finn, “Kick it down? Oh yeah Finn, I’m going to kick down the door—”

Whatever Poe was going to say was left unheard as he cut himself off when he saw the door shatter into millions of pieces. He turned to you with his mouth agape, while all you did was drop your hand back to your side and shrug off his impressed and shocked reaction on what you had done.

The shattered metal pieces crunched under your boot as you walked forward, your eyes taking a moment to adjust in the darkness of the room. Albeit as you walked in, their was a familiarity, a feeling, a presence, it made you stop in your tracks and for you to raise your hand to stop Poe and Finn from walking ahead. “What? What’s wrong?” Poe whispered by your ear. You hesitate, but against your better judgement you turn on the light seeing...nothing. You stalk forward carefully but freeze instantly in your steps as the pilot seat turns around revealing someone unexpected and unwanted.

Kylo.

It had been the longest time you’ve gone without seeing him. Three months. Without seeing his face. And something deep inside you felt some sort of relief upon seeing him, it was unwanted...to some extent...but you still felt it. But you shouldn’t feel that way not when he was a danger to Finn and Poe. As they saw who it was they stopped by your side, a quiet gasp escaping their lips as they saw Kylo Ren sitting ominously on the pilots seat. Kylo slowly stood up, towering over you and your group, his eyes flickering from the Poe to Finn until they land on you, seeing nothing more than a scowl. “I thought I could join your little heist.” He spoke.

You glared up at him before safely pushing back Finn and Poe. You then followed by standing up straight and showing you didn’t fear him or were bothered by his presence even if you were. How did he know? Who told him? One of the officers from this planet most likely, but all you knew was that him being here ruined everything. “What are you doing here? Leave.” You spat.

“You don’t want to hear who told me you were going to be here?”

“One of the stupid officers.” You interrupted.

He nodded his head and took a step closer to you, “a friend of yours. Ridiculous outfits and even more ridiculous person.” He slightly tilted his head as he balled his hands into fists, “the second he helped you he came to me, blabbering all you had confined in him. What a friend? I’ve warned you, but you never listen.”

You swallow thickly as you knew exactly who it was. Zater. Their was no need to know what happened, what Kylo did, you knew, Kylo killed him. It should have made you more mad at the fact, but in all reality it didn’t, that’s also why you didn’t react the way you should have when you got the idea. The only thing that made you mad was Kylo being here; “leave Kylo. Just let me leave. If you care for me the way you say do, then let us leave with no trouble.”

Kylo pretended to think of your suggestion before saying what he really felt, “no. We’re going home y/n, you’ve had enough time with the rebels you call friends.”

You walk back, but never take your eyes off of Kylo and as you answer him roughly, “No.” he glares down at you and let’s out a frustrated sigh, and then you answer him again, “I’m never going back there, not with you—”

“They can leave with their lives and these ships,” Kylo interrupted, immediately making you go quiet, “resist and they both die and they get nothing. But if you come back home I’ll let them leave with the ships. All of them.” Their was no need to think it over, you knew your answer instantly, Kylo knew that, he knew you and how to manipulate you. And you knowing your answer didn’t even look back to Poe and Finn, you just frown and drop your head.

“Y/N, no, let’s just leave.” Poe whispered grabbing your hand, only for you to slip it away giving him your answer with no words. You inch towards Kylo, making him feel satisfied thinking that he had won this too easily, but he had celebrated too soon, Poe was honest to his word when he said he didn’t want you going back. In a discreet way he pulled out his blaster, gripping onto your hand before aiming at Kylo and successfully shoot his side. Without wasting a second, Poe urged Finn to start escaping while he pulled you away from the scene. Letting you fully digest what you had seen as you ran away.

You looked back as you were being dragged away, your mouth agape and your face unreadable. You should be honored, impressed that Poe had done such a stupid thing, but in all reality you didn’t know what you felt when you saw Kylo get shot, one thing was for sure you didn’t know your eyes were going to get watery. “Y-you shot him.” You stammered.

“Yeah, thank me later.” Poe responded as he kept pulling you with him, following after Finn as you tried to leave the huge storage ship.

“But, Poe, you shot him. Y-you shot him, he was going to let you leave with the ships, you should have let me leave—”

Poe immediately stopped, and cupped your cheeks, his expression was soft and warm even if moments ago he was playing the opposite. As much as he looked and played his role great, nothing beat him just being him, and even if you still would have most likely liked him if destiny had made him live a different life, you prefer him, you like this Poe, you love this Poe, and he expressed what he felt catching you by absolute surprise, “y/n, I love you, and not by a chance in hell was I going to let you go back. We’re going home.” He smiled and once he saw you were left speechless he smiled brighter, “don’t say it now, say it when I’m done saving your life.”

Poe continued to grab onto your hand and pulling you forward, trying to catch up to Finn, who was now nowhere to be seen. You looked back to see if he was somehow behind, but their was no sign of him, Poe noticed the same thing and before he could express his worry you expressed yours first, “where’s Finn? He shouldn’t—” you cut yourself off as your question was answered by you bumping into him and a squad of Stormtroopers blocking your path. “Found him.” You whispered as you slowly rose your hands after seeing the blasters threatening all of you.

“Let the Commander go, rebel scum.” One of the Stromtrooepers shouted as he pointed a blaster at Poe’s head. Poe grimaced and glared at the stormtrooper but didn’t let your hand go, causing the same trooper to shout again, “by orders of the Supreme Leader, let her go before I put a hole in your head.”

“I’ll like to see you try.” You hiss. At the sound of your words Finn, looked back at you with his eyebrows knotted in confusion. You responded with a smirk, mouthing ‘watch this.’ and right on cue, the squadron surrounding you began to struggle, muffling and cursing under their helmets, they tried to grip onto their blasters tighter as they felt them somehow slipping from their hold. Their attempts though were unsuccessful as the blasters flew from them and floated in midair. Poe and Finn turned their heads to you as they saw what was going on, both sharing the same shocked expression.

Again all you did was smirk before using the force to make the blasters go off and shoot all the stormtroopers. Thereafter seeing the troopers drop to the ground you continued to use the force to find the weak-spot on the blasters, causing them to shatter. Poe once again was left speechless but impressed, while Finn smiled and nodded his head, “nice.” You grinned as a response and motioned them to move...only as you took one step another squadron stomped out with Kylo leading in front of them.

You let go of Poe’s hand and again your scowl returned. In a fit of anger you used the force to lift the troopers off the ground, to then force choking them until their was none left alive. “I told you to leave!” You bellow. Kylo gives no reaction just shrugs off his cloak and pulls out his lightsaber as you pull out yours, moments later your face gets basked in the crimson red raging light of your unstable lightsaber, you then point your blade at Kylo, “if it’s a fight you want, I’ll give you a fight.” Without even looking, you force push Poe and Finn out of harms way, not wanting to hear any protest and not wanting them to fight back you make sure to block their path and take their weapons away.

Kylo activates his unstable blade, his expressionless face basking in the light. He stands in his fighting stance, followed by repeatedly hitting his fresh wound to get him angry. You glare at him with a raging look, using all your pain from today, from the memories, this planet and him to turn into more anger. Slowly you start to pace around him, while Kylo stands still watching you intently not wanting to strike first. “You don’t know when to stop.” You begin, “you’re always in my head, saying this and that. Saying that they’ll hate me because of who I was, but guess what?! They don’t! None of them do. You were wrong!”

Twirling your lightsaber in your hand you move forward and attempt to strike him, only he instantly blocks your move, pushing you back with all his strength, and hitting his wound again before speaking his mind, “all I’ve done was try to protect you, and you act like a bratty child. You can’t even control your emotions y/n, you need me, when are you going to see that?” You respond with a growl as you lunged at him. Kylo swiftly moves out of the way, spinning to face you again, “You had me, when you had no one else. I was there every time you rebelled against Snoke. Every strike, every hit with force lightening, I was there. Where were they? Where are they when you lose control have no one else? You pretend you’re control, but you’re not.”

“I don’t need you! Not anymore.” You jump forward and attempt to strike down, but he pushes you back. You jump to your feet and run forward, he turns his body away from your swing, only making you angrier, “fight back!”

“Prove to me you’re in control y/n, and I’ll leave you alone.” He straightens out his shoulders and balls his fists tighter, “lose your anger right now, control your emotions, any jedi could. Prove to me you’re ready to be without me.”

You narrow your look and hold onto your lightsaber with a tighter grip, you attempt to do as he said, but as you do, memories flash in your mind, anger floods your emotions, but you couldn’t prove he was right, you were getting help. You didn’t need him. And in raging fit of anger you expressed words not meant, “I. Hate. You!”

Kylo heard your words and hit his wound again, anger showing in his expression and sending him to finally fight back. He moved towards you as he lifted his lightsaber to strike down at you with a mighty swing, but as he was, he suddenly stopped. A gasp escaped from your lips as you saw what he was going to do, but as you saw he froze you stepped back. The only thing heard were your quiet panting; you lifted your eyes up to him, seeing as his expression was unreadable for a moment, only to then see as he slowly dropped his arm to his side, a sudden realization hitting his face as he blinked repeatedly.

Kylo blinked down at you, his eyes scanning your body until they focused on one thing, his eyes stayed glued to you and you only stared at him in utter confusion. It was until minutes later where he broke his hard gaze and met your glare, he parted his lips to say something, but before he did, he looked over you to see Finn and Poe, glaring at them before focusing on you again. He deactivated his lightsaber and lifted his chin, “I guess a congratulations is in order.”

You furrowed your eyebrows and continued to glare at him, “what? What do you mean?” He huffed and walked towards you. Kylo glared at the guys once more before cupping your cheek and bringing his lips to your ear, whispering something unbelievable that couldn’t be true. You pulled back and looked over your shoulder to see the confused faces of Finn and Poe. You dropped your lightsaber and focused on Poe for a moment, finding it unbelievable what Kylo had announced, snapping your head back to him with a glare, “you’re lying!”

“No, search your feelings it’s true. Can’t you sense the other Force energy? It’s strong for such a small thing.” He said not taking his eyes off from you. Your head began to spin, your emotions whirling around uncontrollably, not being able to grasp the idea, not when your mind was flooded with millions of other emotions. They all just stacked on top of one another, all stacking and stacking, unbalanced that with one tap it will all crumple down, it’s expected, just one thing to set it all off.

Before you could give any reaction, you were thrown to the side, while Kylo stormed towards Poe and Finn in a threatening manner and a cold scowl twisted in his face. Neither man knew what was going on, they both were utterly confused and seeing Kylo Ren, walk towards them made them even more so, but you knew Kylo, so you jumped to your feet and rushed to follow after him, but he was faster, he got to them before you could, force pulling Poe towards him and lifting him inches off the ground to then begin to force choke him. Poe began to struggle in his hold, whilst Finn, began to protest against Kylo’s actions.

“Leave him alone, Kylo! Just leave him alone!” You pushed Kylo back, but that didn’t help Poe, Kylo only used more force and anger. “Kylo! Please!”

“I should have killed him a long time ago.” Kylo retorted. In a swift and quick motion you force threw Kylo back, causing him to lose his hold on Poe. Said man gasped for air on the floor and grabbed your arm as you crouched by him, “I’m sorry Poe, are you okay?”

Poe nodded as he grabbed his throat with his other hand, he looked at you with concern and wonder on the subject Kylo had suddenly been so secret about; “wh-what is h-he talking about?” He struggled to ask.

You offered him a sweet smile, caressing his cheek before telling him, “I’ll tell you later.”

“You won’t! We’re going home y/n! Right after I kill him.” Kylo shouted. You stood up and faced him, summoning your lightsaber to your hand before striding towards Kylo, with a new set of anger.

“I won’t let you kill him too! Not him, you killed my parents, my life, I won’t let you kill anyone else I love.” You bellowed. “I can’t let you kill him.”

“Let your past die, y/n! You’re not going to be any help to anyone if you keep holding on! Let go!” Kylo barked as he summoned his lightsaber from the ground.

The words, those stupid fucking words. “Just stop saying that! I’m not a kid anymore, Kylo! I’m not! I don’t need you, and I’m not going to let go of a past you robbed me from.” You snapped, anger overtaking every emotion in a terrible way that proved him right in every sense. “I won’t let you control me! I can’t let the same thing that happened to me happen to—”

“Y/N, let’s go!” Finn instructed from far away, you ignored him out of your blinding anger.

“Exactly what I’m saying, you’re not in control. Look at you.” Kylo seethed. You gulped and moved forward, holding onto your lightsaber with a deadly grip.

“I wouldn’t be this way if you didn’t kill my father in front of me! I was in control then! But then you came!” You stepped forward, your hands and the whole ship you were on beginning to shake. “I won’t let you do the same thing!”

“You are going to kill that child, if you can’t control yourself!”

Your eyes widened in horror and it suddenly felt like you took a blow to your heart, anger overflowed and everything within you tipped over, “no! No! Y-You’re wrong! No!” the force bottled within you erupted and oozed out of you every way it could. Hitting every bit of the storage ship you were in, sending everyone around you back and for everything to begin to crumble down. All while you fell to your knees. Tears streaming down your cheeks, as you moved your hands to your head and whispered to yourself.

H-he can’t be right. No.

But he was right. You just proved that. You just lost control, you did and you— realization suddenly hit you, causing you to snap your head up, your eyes searching for only two people among to mess. Your heart began to race and your breath began to quicken as you couldn’t spot Finn or Poe. You struggled to your feet, and ignored the pounding headache as you desperately looked for either man. Your eyes not finding anyone for too long until you saw Finn unconscious on the ground.

Your heart sank but you rushed to his side, tears again flooding your eyes as you tried to look for a pulse, “c’mon, c’mon. Please, Finn.” You drew in a shaky breath and let it out moments later after hearing his heart beat. You lifted him up and examined him thoroughly, hoping that he was okay. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if he was hurt because of you. “I’m sorry, Finn, I’m so sorry.” You mumbled, before letting out a small breath as you saw no major fatal injuries.

Blinking up, you began to search for Poe, hoping to see him alright too. But he was nowhere to be seen, you lay Finn back on the ground and stood up, your heart once again sinking and your mind coming up with the worst scenario. A fighter ship in the distance crumbling to the ground made you jump, and your heart to pick up. Poe couldn’t be far, he was next to Finn. You searched and searched, a moment passing that seemed to be hours, hours of not finding him...until you did. Poe was unconscious under a metal beam.

It couldn’t be true, no, no. That’s all you could think as you ran to him, using the force to remove to beam off from him. Albeit something worse had happened to him. A gasp escaped from your lips, and it’s like you could feel your heart was going to jump out of your chest as you saw the blood pooling around him, all pouring from the back of his head. You held onto him tightly, cupping his cheek as tears streamed down your cheeks; “no, please no, Poe, come on, please....wh-what did I do?” You searched for a pulse, and unlike Finn, Poe’s was faint and his breathing was shallow.

Your mind was racing, but not with a solution, with that you were clueless and in much need for. You looked up as if a solution was going to be among the mess, but their was nothing, just the echoing silence and the fast beating of your heart, your silent sobs and pleads for Poe to be alright. You pulled him closer to you and began to stroke his cheek, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just please, please don’t die. I need you, please, Poe. I-I can’t lose you.” You blinked up and desperately tried to find a solution, but came out empty handed. You didn’t know a way to heal him and their was no one here who could help him, Rey was too far away, she wouldn’t make it in time. “I just need some help, oh god, please.” You whimpered.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind you, sounding louder and louder until they stopped behind you. You didn’t need any clue on who was behind you, it was obviously Kylo. In that moment though, you just needed him and no one else. Kylo knew that, he knew he was right and he knew you needed him as you stood in front of you, looking down at you with a knowing look. You didn’t even look up at him, your eyes solely focused on Poe, in your arms, but that didn’t stop you from quietly speaking up, in search for the only help you knew; “Kylo, please-please help me. Please.” You began to plead in a broken voice, “I l-lost control. You were right, just please help me. Please, please. I can’t let him die.”

If Poe died it would be your fault, your worst fear would come true, hurting anyone because of you losing control was your worst fear and it happened, and you couldn’t let him die. You don’t know what you’d do if he did; “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, please help me, please.” You begged in a low and vulnerable voice, finally looking up at him as he crouched in front of you. Kylo cupped your cheek and wiped your tears from your cheeks—“please, Kylo, I’m sorry. Please.” Kylo stayed quiet, looking at you for a moment before looking down at an unconscious Poe. You eased into his touch and cried more; “please, help me.”

Kylo took in a deep breath and met your gaze, “come home. Come home with me and I’ll help you heal him,” he paused for a moment as he thought of the right words, “swear to me you won’t leave again and I’ll help you. Swear to me.”

You looked down at Poe, and in that moment you knew the answer, the only answer. You swallow thickly as more tears roll down your cheeks, you reach for something in your coat pocket, taking out your kyber crystal necklace and secretly placing it Poe’s coat pocket, a low whimper leaving your lips as you rested your forehead on his, before placing a light kiss on his lips and raising your head to meet Kylo’s gaze. “I swear I won’t try and leave again...just please help him and I’ll go home with you. I’ll go home, I swear.”

—

(POE’S P.O.V)

Poe woke up in a cold sweat, like one would wake up from a bad nightmare, your heart beating madly and your breath heavy and quick. That’s what he felt, like everything had been a nightmare. The mission was going well, too well and then the worst happened, Kylo Ren.

Kylo Ren had ruined everything and made y/n angrier than Poe had ever seen her. In all reality it was the best and worst thing to see, one because he had seen a lightsaber battle, something he’s never seen before, but two, y/n was not okay he saw that and after the news Kylo had discreetly told her, she was worse, and Poe was curious, it was something big he knew that or else Kylo wouldn’t have wanted to choke the life out of him.

But then their was that one thing, that one moment that he didn’t want to admit it. He knew they needed Rey, she would have helped y/n. And—wait. “Y/N?” What was the last thing Poe remembered? Y/N was shouting at Kylo, she was angry and the whole room was shaking like if their was an earthquake, but their wasn’t one, and then he remembers an unseen force throw him back while the whole room crumbled down, and then nothing. Poe looked around the room noticing he was back in y/n’s ship, no one was beside him and the ship was moving. How the hell did he get here?

Poe slid off the small bed and instantly went on a mission to see where everyone was. When he passed by a transparisteel, he saw dry blood all over his neck—what the hell? Nothing hurt, if he had been hurt their would be pain, but he felt nothing, their was just blood indicating their was an injury that didn’t exist anymore. In a quicker more determined pace he went to the cockpit, seeing Finn sitting on the pilots seat. He looked to the co-pilots seat, but didn’t see y/n. Finn heard his footsteps and turned his head to face his friend, his face was long and his eyes were glossy, in that moment Poe knew something was wrong.

Poe took a step forward and studied his friends face, Finn parted his lips to say something, but instead he licked his lips and remained quiet letting Poe speak first, “what’s wrong, Finn? Where’s y/n? How did we get here?”

Finn sighed and stood up, placing a hand on Poe’s shoulders, his eyes expressing sympathy for something he was struggling to say, sending Poe to desperately question him again, “Where is she? Finn, man, come on. Where is she?” Poe’s voice cracked, thinking of the worst because of Finn’s silence.

“She’s gone.” Finn revealed, his eyes widening as he heard how he had worded it, “she left!” He corrected quickly. That still didn’t ease Poe’s worry, it was still hard for him to accept; “I woke up and y/n, was leaving. She brought us here.”

“Why-why didn’t you stop her?”

Finn sighed and let go of Poe, taking a seat back on the Pilots seat, “She nodded her head, strictly telling me not do anything. Even if I did do something, Kylo was here, waiting for her. And unless you wanted me to get killed by him, then I couldn’t do anything, and she didn’t want me to do anything.”

Poe shook his head, “She didn’t want to go back, Finn! Why did you let here leave?!”

“Don’t you think I understand her man?! I understand that place, you don’t. I know she doesn’t want to go back, but I couldn’t fight her or Kylo, even if I wanted too.” Finn drew in a deep breath and calmed down feeling for his friend, “It’s a horrible place, but she’ll be okay. You don’t know them like I do, she’ll be okay. And when she can she’ll come back.”

Poe took a seat and sighed deeply, swallowing back his anger, “what did she want to tell me? Do you know?”

Finn nodded, “no, I’m sorry.”

Poe rested his head on his hands and stood quiet. He was lost deep in thought, when suddenly something began to poke his side, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out something small and special...y/n’s kyber crystal. He let his thumb gently graze the small violet crystal. She never parted from it until now. Did that mean something? Did it mean she was going to come back?

Hopefully it meant that. Poe really hoped, he loved her too much to not think of that. Poe needed her to come back. He really did. He wanted her to come back.

A/N- I wasn’t liking how this beginning of this was turning out, but I honestly really loved how it turned out and I hope you guys like it too. I also hope you guys get what I’m hinting at towards the end, I didn’t really want to fully say it, not until the next chapter!

Tagged- @jennibradley , @xxrouge-lexxx , @daniellajocelyn , @tweedlydumbtweedlydoo , @star-marvel-fangirl , @leilei-draws , @briesangel @lanatheawesome , @madamepsicose, @constantdisgrace , @1-800-depressedlesbian, @commondazy , @logiclies , @robindoesntloveme , @we-all-are-strange , @fandom-addict-aesthetics , @seninjakitey , @sarablog10 , @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov

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fangirlingtodeath513 · 5 years ago

Text

Plans | a 15x09 coda

The monster isn’t exactly subtle. Dean can hear his heavy footfalls after only a few steps, and a particularly loud twig cracking as he steps on it. Still, they could use a hand finding this blossom thing, so he glances at Cas and cocks an eyebrow. Something’s following us, he prays, knowing that Castiel will pick up on it. The angel gives a subtle nod and continues walking.

They’ve found a way to communicate almost silently after all these years and all the hunts they’ve done together. It’s scary how aligned their thoughts are sometimes, but in situations like this, it sure does come in handy. Castiel’s nod here conveys both his acknowledgment of Dean’s prayer and his decision to keep walking until the monster makes its move. So they do. The wander through Purgatory for another half an hour before Dean stoops to look at a corpse and the monster—a Leviathan, they learn—makes his move. A poor move, on his part, though maybe he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.

Trusting him is dangerous, but it’s really the only choice they have. Albeit reluctantly, he and Cas follow him. And, of course, it backfires, because that’s just their luck. Nothing can ever just be easy for them. At least, that’s what Dean thinks before he blacks out.

Seeing Dean hit the ground like that sends a wince through Castiel, even though it’s been a long time since he’s experienced human pain like that. Regardless, Dean will be fine, it’s the Leviathan and the blossoms they need to worry about. They’d tipped their hand when telling the Leviathan about their need for a blossom, so Castiel has no doubt their first move will be to destroy every blossom in sight.

He’s right. He’s rooted to the spot watching in nothing short of agony as the Leviathan smirks at him and destroys every single blossom, circling the area three times to make sure they’re all gone. There goes their last chance of bringing Chuck down.

A crowd of more Leviathans—five, at Castiel’s count—emerge from the woods and sneer at him. His eyes dart to Dean, injured and helpless where he’s sprawled on the ground, and he doesn’t even put up a fight. No matter the grudge Eve may hold against Dean, she’s far more interested in Castiel, so he goes along willingly. Maybe he’ll get lucky and find a blossom along the way, though his hopes aren’t high for that.

They walk for what feels like hours, and it may very well be hours. Purgatory is huge and dense and Castiel still has nightmares about the place, about hearing Dean’s voice in his head every night, begging to be reunited when Castiel knew the moment they were would be the moment Dean was in danger again.

He shakes those thoughts from his head as a Leviathan pushes him forward, making him stumble for a moment before he recovers. He needs to concentrate, he can’t worry about Dean right now.

He gets his opportunity a ways into their march. The Leviathan don’t have someone walking behind him, which is their first mistake. He darts off the path and plucks a blossom from the shadow of a tree, tucking it safely in a chest pocket, hidden away carefully. Then he attacks. The first two Leviathan go down easy, heads severed with the machete he’d managed to stow away when they weren’t looking. It won’t stop them, but it’ll knock them out of operation long enough for him to get away.

One of them attacks him from behind, which knocks his few precious seconds of escape down to nothing. Frustrating as it is, he still needs to find a way to escape, so he fights. He was trained for this, he knows how to fight until he gets his opportunity.

Sure enough, two of the Leviathan scamper off and he gets his chance to behead one and smash another in the nose with the butt of his machete, grabbing the small bottle of bleach from his pocket and throwing it in the face of the third. It gives him enough of a distraction to run for it, ducking behind a tree close by and holding his breath. They walk right by him and he breathes a sigh of relief before heading in the other direction.

It takes him a while to get back in the direction he needs to go, and then he lets his mind wander again. He’s got the chance, he might as well. Purgatory’s brought up a lot of feelings he’d been determined to shove down, maybe he should try to do something with them while he’s got the time.

Cas, I hope you can hear me. That wherever you are, it’s not too late.

It doesn’t register for a moment. He’d heard Dean’s voice in his head every single day he was in this place, so initially, he writes it off as a memory this godforsaken place pulled out. Except then it keeps going, and it’s not a prayer he’s heard before.

I should’ve stopped you. A pause. A shaky breath that makes Cas’s heart ache. You’re my best friend but I just let you go. Another pause, another shaky breath. Cause that was easier than admitting I was wrong. A deep breath, a wet chuckle. Then it goes quiet for longer than Castiel cares for. He wonders if Dean got ambushed. Then there’s a quiet sniff and his voice returns. I-I don’t know why I get so angry. I just, I know that it’s-it’s just always been there. A deep, shaking breath that breaks off into something that resembles a sob. It makes Castiel’s heart clench in his chest and he leans against a nearby tree to focus fully on the prayer. And when things go bad, it just, it comes out. And I-I can’t stop it. No matter how… how bad I want to, I just can’t stop it. He can practically hear the tears he instinctively knows are sliding down Dean’s cheeks right now. He’d give anything to fly to him and tell him he’s forgiven, because of course he is. And I-I forgive you, of course I forgive you. I’m sorry it took me so long to— Dean cuts himself off with a sniffle and Cas thinks he hears a twig snap nearby, but he doesn’t see anything. Still, he forces himself away from the tree and continues moving, back in the direction of the rift. I’m sorry it took me til now to say it. Cas, I’m so sorry.

A quick look over his shoulder shows him that he’s not being followed, and he’s near the portal. Dean isn’t here, he can feel that Dean’s not nearby, so he curls up against a tree and listens to the rest of Dean’s prayer. Man, I hope you can hear me. It’s more of a sob than an actual sentence and it breaks Castiel’s heart. He hopes Dean makes it here in time. He doesn’t have the countdown on his phone, so he has no idea how long they have before this rift closes and traps them in Purgatory again. I hope you can hear me. He hears a few more sniffles and a soft, okay and then Dean’s voice is gone from his head. He gives the blossom a quick check—smushed, but still intact—and leans his head back against the tree. All he can do now is wait and hope.

Watching them walk out of Purgatory is a sight to behold, without any of the fuss of last time around. He expects the portal to close behind them, but then it doesn’t. He keeps watching, mostly from a mix of curiosity and protectiveness, until he sees a group of Leviathan approaching it. No way in hell is he letting those things out into Dean’s world. He doesn’t even think twice before emerging from behind his tree and beheading the one closest to the rift. The other two stare at him in disbelief, even as their friend’s head reconnects to his body. It’s still disgusting to this day, at least in his opinion. Leviathan are truly gross.

“No,” one says, a short blond with wide eyes. “You’re dead, Eve told us.”

He smirks. Of course she’d tell them that. He’s her biggest threat and he’s closing in on her. She doesn’t have much time left. “Sounds like your dear ol’ mama lied to y’all. Now, you gonna scamper off back to whatever hole you crawled out of, or do I need to disconnect your heads? Permanently?”

All three sets of eyes dart to the portal he’s currently standing in front of. For a moment, he thinks they’re going to make a run for it, but they don’t. They give him one last look before they turn around and head back the way they came.

He guards the portal and thank god he does because apparently everyone and their mother knows about it. He fends off hordes of vampires and werewolves and even a couple of djinn.

“Well, well, well. Benny Lafitte, as I live and breathe. I thought you were dead.”

Benny rolls his eyes and rests his blade on his shoulder. “Gordon. I’d say it’s a pleasure to see ya again, but I’d be lyin’.”

Gordon smirks. “Why don’t you step aside, brother? I don’t belong here.”

Benny snorts. “Man, out of everyone here, you’re the one that deserves to be here the most. You’re gettin’ through that portal over my dead body.”

“Well, it’s your funeral.”

Gordon’s all uncoordinated rage and Benny has him on the ground in less than thirty seconds. Apparently, he ain’t keen to give up that quickly, his leg sweeping out to knock Benny on his feet. He rolls away from Gordon’s next kick, which only serves to infuriate the man further. Gordon’s on him is less than a second, knocking him backward and straight through the stupid portal. He jumps to his feet, ready to fight Gordon back into Purgatory, but he doesn’t get the chance. He watches, helpless, as the portal back to Purgatory blinks out of existence.

Great. Now he’s stuck here, the exact place he didn’t want to be. Guess not showing himself to Dean and Castiel didn’t really make a difference, he ended up here anyway.

The Empty is an infuriatingly boring realm. There’s nothing but blackness for as far as Jack’s eyes can see. He’s been so bored here ever since Billie left. He has no way to tell how much time has passed, nor a way to avoid sitting there and thinking about every bad thing he’s ever done. Is this how humans feel when they’re alone? It’s… disorienting.

Still, Billie had told him he had an important role yet to play, so he waits.

And waits.

He feels the shift in the air the moment it happens. Even in this void, he can still feel the powerful shifts in the atmosphere whenever Billie or the Shadow are around.

“It’s time.”

Jack turns to face her slowly, tilting his head. “Time for what?”

Billie smiles. “The End,” she replies simply, holding out her hand.

Jack looks at it for a moment. He’s not entirely sure where she’ll take him, but she’s assured him that she’s on the side of universal balance, which is currently against Chuck. She’s probably their best chance of saving the world from him.

Decision made, he takes a step forward and takes her hand, letting her pull him from the darkness.

#destiel #destiel fanfic #15x09 coda #15x09 #supernatural #spn spoilers #my writing

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echo-bleu · 5 years ago

Text

New Year

Title: New Year

Fandom: Roswell New Mexico

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 1436

Characters: Alex Manes, Maria DeLuca, Rosa Ortecho

Summary: New Year's Eve at the Wild Pony is hard on Alex.

A/N: This is a little snippet of a fic that wanted to be written today. I had the first sentence, then it went wildly different from what I expected, but I like it like it is.

[PTSD flashback/panic attack, implied alcoholism]

Read on AO3

Coming to the Wild Pony's New Year's Eve party was a terrible idea, Alex decides as he squirms in his seat, nervously checking his watch. He's starting to wonder if the hand is frozen at twenty minutes to midnight. He doesn't even know why he caved in to his friends' relentless nagging. So they would leave him alone, probably. That plan failed spectacularly, since he's now stuck in a corner of the packed bar, watching Maria, Liz and Rosa dance and trying not to flinch every time someone comes within three feet of him.

He knows that Maria hoped tonight would be an opportunity to start repairing their damaged friendship. They've barely seen each other since she ended things with Michael, only days after they first hooked up, when the revelation that not only Michael was an alien but also that he helped cover up her best friend's murder proved to be too much for her.

Alex wants to forgive her. He wants to go back to their easy camaraderie, to support each other over drinks and talk about boy problems and Maria's mom's health and what Alex will do after his discharge. He doesn't want the pang in his chest every time he thinks of her and Michael, the tears he can only stop by snapping at her with a biting comment. They did nothing wrong, he tells himself. He and Michael were not together. Alex didn't tell Maria the full story. She didn't know.

“Alex,” a voice shakes him out of his thoughts, and he looks up. Maria just slid into the seat across from him, her cheeks red from dancing and drinking. Alex's hand tightens around his glass.

“Tired of dancing?” he asks with his best fake smile.

Maria clearly sees through his facade, but she plays along. “I want to dance with you,” she says.

“I don't dance anymore,” Alex says.

Not that he's danced a lot in his life. He went to prom without a date, since the whole school knew he was gay anyway. No boy offered to parade around with him. Then the military didn't offer many opportunities for dancing.

Maria's eyes flicker down to his legs. His left leg is moving quietly in rhythm with the music, but his right stays still, missing a working ankle to bounce.

“Come on. I'll go easy on you.”

Alex looks away, not letting their eyes meet. He hates himself for not being able to do something as simple as faking it. Why is it so hard tonight? He's a master at pretending he's fine. He smiled his way through his hospital stay and his rehab. He smiled his way through his abused childhood. He can do this.

“Okay,” he decides suddenly. He stands up so brutally that his chair screeches on the floor, but it's drowned out by the music. It's loud, too loud in here. Alex can't hear people approaching him. Sounds fade into each other and make his head pound. His leg aches.

Maria's small hand slips into his. Alex is briefly grateful for her not going over the top, or being too tentative. She's trying, and so is he. It's awkward and painful but they're doing their best.

She's apologized, several times, for not understanding, for breaking her promise. Alex doesn't know why it doesn't feel like enough.

Liz lightly bumps into him, as Alex starts moving his hips in rhythm with the music. His leg doesn't love it, but it's not too bad. It's a song he likes, even though the noise is hard to bear. Maria smiles, and Rosa high fives her.

They're happy together. Now Max has been resurrected, and Rosa has a new identity, the dust has settled and they have a moment of peace. Alex swallows.

They've all cheerfully abandoned the Caulfield files to him, leaving him to spend his nights watching footage of aliens being tortured−Alex can handle it, can't he? He's a soldier. He's seen worse. Hell, he's done worse.

He hasn't slept two hours in a row in months. When it's not nightmares, it's the pain. He keeps things close to heart, though. It's his own fault, he knows, for not telling anyone.

In a moment of clarity, Alex identifies the feeling that's been nagging him since that night he found Maria and Michael kissing. It's loneliness. Maria's betrayal hurt so much because she was the first person he ever told about Michael, and she treated his confession of love like a joke. Michael keeps throwing his father in his face like he's the only one who's ever been hurt by him. Kyle knows bribes, about the abuse, about Michael, but he doesn't ever ask more. No one knows about the homophobic jokes Alex smiles through at work, where he has to pretend to be someone he isn't. They don't know about the scars on his body that aren't from the war, and the ones that are. They don't know about the pain or the flashbacks or the fear that grips him sometimes. They don't know about the men who died under his command and the people who died by his hand, and how much they haunt him, every single day.

No one asks.

Feeling like he might choke, Alex steps away and escapes through the front door. Less than ten minutes to midnight, his watch tells him. He glimpses a cowboy hat, but it's not Michael. The alien siblings are here somewhere tonight, he knows, but he hasn't seen them.

He toys with the idea getting into his car and just driving home, but he resists the impulse and goes the opposite direction instead. Maria's red truck is parked at the end of the lot, closest to the bar's back door, so he lays down the back and sits on the edge, crossing his arms over his chest. He's cold.

In a minute, everyone else will be heading out to see the fireworks, starting at midnight. Alex has been dreading this moment most. He braces himself, trying to take deeper breaths. The music still resounds loudly, even with the doors of the bar closed against the cold.

“What's wrong?”

Alex looks up in time to see Rosa approach. He's missed her leaving the bar. She sits down beside him, one leg tucked under her.

“Nothing,” Alex says. They haven't talked a lot since she was resurrected. Alex still isn't used to that thought, that he now has ten years on her. They used to be good friends.

“Don't give me that. I may be dead, but I'm not ignorant. I can see you're struggling.”

Alex sighs, but he doesn't answer.

“I am too, you know. It's hard to watch so many people drinking. Liz and Maria have good intentions, but they don't think sometimes.”

Neither does Alex, apparently, because he's hadn't even noticed. “It's gotta be hard,” he says.

“You know what? I'm really glad you didn't just ask me if I was thinking of having a drink. I'm not, by the way. It doesn't mean it's not hard.”

“I know,” Alex murmurs. “It's hard to be around so many people. And so much noise.”

Rosa nods. “Yeah. Let's stick together, okay?”

“Um,” Alex agrees. On an impulse, he adds, “It's five to. Fireworks soon. Can you−”

Rosa shifts and grabs his hand. “I'll be here,” she says.

“Thank you,” Alex gives her a small smile. “I've missed you.”

“Oh, mijo,” Rosa murmurs. “It wasn't long ago for me, but I thought...when I first saw you in uniform, I thought you'd changed too much. I thought you weren't you anymore. You've all...everything's so different.”

For a moment, Alex sees his own loneliness reflected in Rosa's eyes. “I'm still me,” he murmurs. “Just more...jagged. Burnt.”

“Old,” Rosa laughs quietly.

“Yeah, old. And you're a baby.”

They keep holding hands as the countdown starts, and the parking lot fills with people shouting along. At zero, Rosa leans in to press a kiss to Alex's forehead, then she wraps her arms around him as he flinches hard at the first cracks of the fireworks. He loses himself for a moment, gunshots and cries echoing in his head, but he never stops feeling her embrace.

It gets easier, progressively. He opens his eyes again, and he only sees the parking lot, and Liz and Maria looking for them among the crowd.

“You with me?” Rosa asks.

Alex nods and swallows. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, mijo. Anytime.”

Alex lays his head on Rosa's shoulder. “Happy New Year,” he murmurs.

“2020,” Rosa whispers. “What a concept.”

Alex laughs.

I couldn't resist the Russian Doll reference! :D I hope you liked it, I would love to hear your thoughts.

#roswell new mexico #roswell nm fanfiction #alex manes #rosa ortecho #maria deluca #echo's fanfiction #mine

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ravenvsfox · 6 years ago

Note

hello meghan my love my darling when are you going to post the next chapter of the rockband au???? you should do it on or before the 2nd for absolutely no personal reason at all. but anyway ilysm???? i hope you’re doing great now that it’s starting to warm up (seasonal depression whomst?) 💖💖

(hello ily honeyy happy happy happy birthday I’m sorry this is late)

Neil wakes up, as usual, to the pinging of a text message. He doesn’t bother to look at it. He knows what it will say; the unassuming number, the conspicuous silence whenever he writes back.

He rolls over so that the thinning comforter pulls and sticks beneath him, and he slits his eyes against the pre-dawn light.

Yesterday he’d deleted the number ’36’ from his messages and jammed his bare feet into his boots. He’d walked all the way out back to the dumpster with the cellphone cracking in his fist before his fear won out, and he’d pocketed it again.

He knows what day the zero should fall on. He’s learned to dread countdowns because he’s lived to see what comes on the other side of them, surfed the sand in an hourglass as it ebbed out from underneath him.

The monsters keep him busy, and so do the Foxes, now. They pull him in different directions, divide his attention, pique his curiosity. He’s acutely aware of how devastating it will be for him when he has to leave them, what a terrible thing he’s done by letting them close enough that they’ll notice when he’s dead.

But no one endures like the lonely people who end up at Palmetto, and he knows no one will stumble for long.

He reaches into the swath of blankets and holds the phone in his hand. It buzzes again, the nudge of the same message insisting upon being read. He feels frustration crest and fall in his chest, and then he wonders if anyone else is awake. Sometimes Andrew will get up early and make eggos, or Kevin will go for a run before the sun is up, but they’ve been inconsistent while they sloshed through the songwriting process.

He’s heard Aaron making endless pots of coffee and Nicky in the basement, practicing licks without an amp in the middle of the night. Once, Neil wandered down and knelt the wrong way on the couch to watch him play. He wasn’t quite awake, and the music twanged against Nicky’s goofy grin and made Neil smile back at him.

Now that Ausreißer’s album is edited into submission, sent off for packaging, all of their tireless work crystallizing somewhere, he’s promised Foxes that he’ll record a vocal for them. It’s strange to think of them wanting his serious voice worked through their bright sound, incongruous as salt in coffee. It’s even stranger to think of the way his voice will be broadcast after he’s dead, perpetually echoing after his disappearance.

Their album is set to be released in a week, and then the next leg of their tour will roll up to meet them, and sometime in those delicate, dwindling months, Neil will be found. He fantasizes about leaving a ripple when he’s taken, and then he thinks better of it. When his mother died, he watched the fire take her skin, and her hair, and her eyes, and he thought, death would be easier if we didn’t let ourselves matter to one another.

He lets the phone sink back into the sheets, and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. Someone knocks twice on the door, just the edge of a knuckle. Andrew.

“It’s open,” he says.

Ever since Andrew had burst in, answering questions that Neil hadn’t even thought to ask, he’s taken to leaving his door unlocked.

Andrew opens the door and promptly crosses the room towards Neil’s dresser, not even sparing him a glance. His hair is unkempt, a riot of blond that won’t part correctly, fluffed up from sleeping on it wet.

Unlike the rest of the monsters, who’ve buckled back down into their routines, Andrew’s been acting increasingly erratic. He’s been self-medicating more often, and holding himself back from something so effectively that Neil can’t quite see what it is. Sometimes he seems to glitch out, cutting himself off mid-sentence, cagey and self-contained.

The drugs should make his tongue looser, but mostly it seems to make him say more of everything. It’s harder to find whole kernels of truth in a bowl full of bravado that’s puffed out like popcorn.

Andrew puts both hands on the knobs of Neil’s drawer and waits there. Neil nods, amused. He’s long since found a lock for the bottom drawer and secreted away his money and information. Andrew pulls the top drawer out, sawing it back and forth when the dufflebag catches. He digs briefly through Neil’s small selection of shirts, and picks out something in faded green. He throws it and some light-wash jeans in Neil’s direction.

“Up, get up. Renee’s already at the studio.”

“You have today off,” Neil says.

“Well deduced,” Andrew says. “I’m driving you.”

Neil hesitates. “I’m fine with walking.”

“Do what you want,” Andrew says flippantly. “I have an errand to run near the studio, and you can come with me or you can waste Renee’s time and mine.”

“That’s not manipulative,” Neil says sarcastically.

“I’m giving you a choice,” Andrew says. His gaze finds the burner phone nestled in Neil’s bedding, then trails up to catch his eye.

“Yes, okay. Just let me change.” He’s secretly glad to be ferried to the studio, to have earned Andrew’s passenger seat, and to not have to think about who could be tracking him on foot. Andrew crosses wordlessly to the threshold of his bedroom and closes the door behind him. He can hear him shifting his weight outside, guarding Neil’s privacy.

He dresses quickly and quietly in the clothes that Andrew picked out for him, feeling strangely flushed about the whole thing. He doesn’t want Andrew to know that he’s doing exactly what he suggested, or that it’s become a habit for him to do so.

They leave not ten minutes later, after he’s stopped in to use the bathroom and splash water on his face, teasing fingers through his hair and swigging Nicky’s mouthwash.

Andrew waits at the door, turning keys over in his hand, hair still wild, belt buckled kind of askew with the tail of it sticking out.

“Are you ready?” Neil asks tentatively. Andrew cranks open the screen door in response, and steps out into the sweet spring morning. Neil follows, watching his even gait, the full, yolky yellow of his hair.

They climb up into the cold barrel of the van. When Neil reaches for the dial to turn up the heat, Andrew catches his wrist.

“I can’t get any warmer.”

It’s around this point that Neil suspects that Andrew might already be high.

Maybe balancing the creative chaos of their album with the newness of Neil has taken more of a toll on Andrew than it has on the others. Something about working constantly, writing feelings into rhymes that you can chew and rinse and spit with has made him itchy and distracted.

“Did you take something?” Neil asks.

“Not yet,” Andrew says, reversing violently onto the street, much too broad a maneuver for such a large vehicle. He clips the opposite curb before he cracks into drive and takes off.

Neil watches his inscrutable face, the tightness around his mouth and the brightness of his eyes. He can’t tell.

“No one drives like this when they’re sober.”

“You know I do,” Andrew tells him. Neil does. He’s seen Andrew stoned, laughing like he doesn’t want to be doing it, the way people do when they’re being tickled. He’s also seen him drunk, soaked through with sweat, sticking to the seats, and he’s seen him storm-cloud sober. He always manages to make it feel like the van is on ice skates.

“Did Wymack ask you to hold my hand?”

Andrew considers this for a moment too long. “Depends on what you mean by that.”

“Babysit me,” Neil clarifies. “Drop me off and pick me up so I don’t cause another incident.”

“No,” Andrew says simply, turning left so sloppily that he almost clips a crossing pedestrian.

“Then why would you—why are you doing this?”

“Million dollar question.”

“Is there a million dollar answer?” Neil asks.

“There are no million dollar answers,” Andrew says. “There are disappointments.”

“So no one asked you to do this for me.”

Andrew looks at him. “You may have noticed that I do not do what people ask me to unless it’s in my best interest.”

“You’re not as selfish as you want people to think,” Neil says, looking away, out the window. The studio is creeping up on them, three intersections way, then two. He’s come to know the route well, imagining the bends in the road when he’s trying to fall asleep. “Defending Kevin could bring the yakuza down on you, and you’ve always known it. Just like you had no guarantee that killing Tilda for Aaron wouldn’t kill you too.”

“Most people wouldn’t give murder as an example of selflessness,” Andrew says. “Does it make you feel better, to make us into good people?”

“No, actually,” Neil says honestly. “It makes it harder to pretend I’m one of you.”

Andrew pulls up into the shaded side of the studio, and Neil breathes out heavily. The honesty comes so much easier now; after those first botched pricks to his veins the blood has just flowed and flowed.

“Here,” Andrew says, pulling his keys from the ignition and prying the ring open. He slips a little bronze key from the loop and hands it to Neil. “To our front door. Allison’s going to drive you home, and none of us are going to be there to let you in.”

Neil’s hands go cold with surprise, and he opens them both for Andrew. “Just for today?”

Andrew shrugs and drops it into his palm. “It’s yours.”

“Why?” Neil asks quietly, pressing two fingers to the ragged edges. The metal is still warm from Andrew’s hand. He thinks of his name looped into a contract, thinks of sharing a microphone with Kevin and bumping fists with Matt. He pictures himself unlocking the door to a home on a residential street and hearing their record playing somewhere inside.

“You live there,” Andrew says, bored. “It’s convenient.”

“It’s more than that,” Neil says fiercely. “You know it is.” He wishes suddenly that he could give Andrew a key to something, an access code to a vault of secrets or a missing piece that would topple Riko’s threat. Before he’d found a stolen twin and a frantic cousin, he had even less of a home than Neil did. The teeth of the key eat into his palm.

“Do not lose it,” Andrew says. “I’m not cutting you another one.”

He knows that he would never misplace this proof of the flimsiness of Andrew’s apathy, this symbol of belonging, this ticket to normalcy. He also knows that Andrew would make him another if he really needed it, and that it means something distinct to both of them.

Andrew watches him mildly. “Go inside. Find your Foxes. If they try and wash your voice out with shitty effects, walk away.”

Neil smiles a little. “You told me yesterday that you don’t care about musical integrity.”

“I don’t want to hear you complain when the track flops,” Andrew says.

“Right.” Neil pops the door open. “I’ll see you at home,” he says tentatively, and when Andrew waves him off, he closes the door between them.

He lets himself uncurl his hand to look at the key, slowly, like it’s a living thing, something he unearthed. He studies the pattern of it, the tangy metallic smell clinging to his fingers.

When he looks up again, Andrew has pulled away. He forces himself to ease the key into his pocket and lower his eyes before the van disappears around the corner.

______

He finds Renee alone in the biggest upstairs studio, sipping demurely from something that smells natural and fruity. She smiles warmly at him when he comes in, and he feels caught in the suspended moment between springing the trap and suffering the consequences.

“You’re early,” she says.

“Interesting. Someone told me I was late.” He shrugs off his jacket and drops it over a music stand.

“Interesting,” she echoes.

Neil crosses his arms. “Where are the others?”

She pauses with the rim of her travel mug at her lips, then lowers it again. “Struggling to get out the door, probably. Allison likes to take her time primping.”

“Okay,” Neil says, uncomfortable to find himself alone with the only person at Palmetto that he can’t really read. “Warm up?”

“If you want,” Renee says easily. Infuriatingly. “Or we could talk, like Andrew so obviously wants us to. I recognize his machinations when I see them.”

Neil considers the slender silver cross at her neck winking in the overhead light. She has the nimble, capable hands of a musician, and the inexplicable ability to garner the respect of someone like Andrew. It’s more than enough to warrant his curiosity.

“What could he possibly want us to talk about?” Neil asks, sitting gingerly in a stray chair across from her.

Renee shrugs. “He’s not usually forthright with details.”

Neil tilts his head and decides all at once to play along. “What is it that he likes so much about you?” he asks.

Renee takes his rudeness in stride, her mouth pursing a little with amusement. “He discovered that we have a lot in common. Rich histories of bad situations and terrible exit strategies. The only difference is that I have my faith and he has his nihilism.”

“And what exactly constitutes a bad situation, for you?”

He’s seen Andrew’s sleeves of scars, he’s seen him wake violently from dreams that never seem to be anything but nightmares, and he’s seen that shallow look in his eyes that says that he’s been hurt as badly as he can be, and everything else is just smoke after fire.

He can’t see any of that on Renee. Her faith is gentle as candlelight, her mannerisms easy as warm water, and he doesn’t like the waxy, tepid feeling of being around her.

Her smile cinches, as if yanked closed by pursestrings. “How much time do you have?”

Neil shrugs. “As much as you do.”

She pulls a hand awkwardly through the hair at her neck — as if, for a moment, she was expecting it to be longer.

Neil waits. Renee sighs. The overhead clock ticks.

She tells him methodically about her mother’s whirlwind of abusive boyfriends, the years that compounded into a deadly pressure that would only give when she took knives to it. She doesn’t hesitate when she tells him about causing her parents’ death, running with gangs until it landed her in juvie, and then into foster homes. For a moment, Neil can see something of Andrew in her face like a familial resemblance.

Renee worries a fingernail in her mouth for half a second, distracted, before she explains what Stephanie Walker did for her. The way music and faith entered her life at once, twin forks on a lightning bolt. Church choir first, and then violin lessons.

Cruelly, he resents her for having someone who desperately fought for her, for letting her mother die so quietly in jail. He also understands, for the first time, why he’s been so unsettled by Renee; she walked out of her tragedy and shut the door. Neil can never latch his while Nathan’s foot is wedged in the gap. He has the most unsettling feeling that Andrew’s door has been wrenched off of its hinges.

“So why aren’t you with Andrew?” he wonders aloud. It’s not the right thing to say, but it’s the only complete thought he’s had since she started talking. Her story reads like a high quality forgery of Andrew’s. Renee complements him just as well in friendship as she does in music.

She smiles like she was expecting this question. “Why would that matter?”

“It doesn’t,” Neil says quickly. “Matter. I don’t care. It just seemed like an obvious fit.”

“We’re kindred spirits in some ways, and I have a hunch that we’ll always be friends. But I’m not his type.”

“I can’t imagine who would be, if not you,” Neil says. He doesn’t mean for it to come out as an accusation, or a compliment, so it sits uncomfortably between the two.

“That’s a puzzle,” she says, smiling impishly.

“You know the rest of your band is placing bets on you?” he asks.

She laughs. “Sure. Gotta pass the time between sets somehow.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all. Allison’s in on the joke, and that’s half the fun — bluffing together. Finding your allies.”

“In on— in on which joke?” he asks, vaguely frustrated.

Her eyes drift sideways, away from him and towards the door. She pushes up her sleeves carefully. “Andrew and I aren’t just unlikely. We’re impossible.”

“Why impossible?”

She shrugs. “I don’t date men, if I can help it.” Neil barely has time to process this before she adds, “and Andrew doesn’t date women.”

“Oh,” Neil says dumbly.

“I wouldn’t spread that around, though,” she says. “It’s not common knowledge just yet.”

“So why would you tell me?” he asks.

She smiles again. “If he suspected that you were curious about my relationship with him, and still engineered this conversation, I don’t think he would be surprised to know that I’ve told you this particular truth.”

Neil turns this thought over in his head. Andrew puts his secrets at such a remove that he completely avoids being confronted about them. Their impact disperses and melts away before he even makes an appearance.

He thinks about Andrew’s complete disinterest in the fans who throw bras at the stage and shake posters with his name on them. He doesn’t think their gender has anything to do with his apathy, but those instances still tint and change in his memory.

Renee sits good-naturedly through his bout of silence, and then she says, “I hope I helped uh— fill in the blanks a little more for you. I know I don’t really know anything about you, even though we’re all really trying to. Your bandmates though—you breathe the same air and play the same songs day after day, so they can’t help but know you a little. And I know them. So maybe we can be friends someday too.”

Neil feels a distant pang of regret that he won’t be around long enough to prove her right or wrong. He’il be pried from this life with the abruptness of a needle lifting from the middle of a record, and the truth will die, unspoken, on his wasted tongue.

He doesn’t reply, and lukewarm silence stretches between them until Allison comes teetering into the room on platform heels a minute later. She puts her iced coffee on the table and tugs affectionately on the ends of Renee’s hair, and Neil thinks, of course.

A memory surfaces—Andrew twisting dye into his hair and his eyes slipping involuntarily closed—but Dan and Matt parade into the room, arms full of store-bought water and gatorade, and whatever the thought was going to be slips away.

_____

It takes them hours to nail the recording. Neil is dissatisfied with every take, Dan keeps thinking up ideas to beef up their harmonies, and Matt messes with the controls, stripping back the distortion to ‘show off Neil’s pipes’.

They break for lunch at 1pm, and Neil finds himself drifting away from the others, wandering all the way downstairs and through the door, out to the shade where Andrew had left him that morning. He takes out a cigarette that he’d stolen from the console in the van, and the backup lighter from the bowl of keys in the foyer.

He lights up, flame chewing its way towards his fingers. He turns his back against the brunt of the cold and keeps his shoulder to the wall, hair washed forward over his eyes by the wind.

A car rolls up somewhere behind him, and then there’s a snap like a briefcase being closed.

Someone says, “Nathaniel.”

Neil whips around. His fingers tense so that the cigarette nearly snaps in half, but he clings to it and the lighter, the only weapons on his person.

There’s a sleek black SUV parked several spots away, and Riko Moriyama is leaning out of the open side door.

“It is time for us to talk,” he says.

Neil takes a step back. He can see at least two other people in the vehicle, and when he looks up, the shades are drawn over every visible window in the building.

“If you run it will only drag this process out for all of us,” Riko sighs. “We don’t offer civil discussions often. I would take this rare opportunity.”

“You have a knack for making threats sounds like kindnesses,” Neil says. “But then, most bullies do.”

“Get in the car,” Riko says. “Or your real name goes violently public.”

Neil’s teeth clench hard enough to crack. He drops the cigarette on the pavement, and walks forward two steps. “Can I say goodbye?”

“Don’t be melodramatic,” Riko says, and his upper body disappears into the car. Neil follows him in, trying to conceal the way his legs have gone stiff with terror.

In the cab of the car it is just Riko across the expanse of cool leather in the back, and two older men whom Neil doesn’t recognize in the driver’s and passenger’s seats. They peel smoothly out of the parking lot and onto the street.

“They’re expecting me back,” Neil says. One of the men in the front passes Riko an ornate black cane, and he levels it in Neil’s direction.

“I don’t want to hear anything from you until I have finished speaking. In fact, do not talk unless you have been prompted to. I already know everything about you that I care to.”

“I’m at a disadvantage then, since all I know about you is that you are a sadomasochist with the bravado of a much more interesting person.”

Riko raps the cane into the side of Neil’s head with such force that his teeth clatter together and his ears ring.

“I guess pleasantries are over, then,” Neil says.

Riko regards him with distaste. “In another life, perhaps, you could have been an asset. Your father’s reputation precedes him. We might have recruited him if he were as easy to pin down as his son seems to be.”

“What would the yakuza need with another butcher?”

Riko raps him on the hands this time, a warning. “Don’t. Speak.” He watches the redness bloom immediately on Neil’s knuckles with flushed pleasure.

“It would be easy enough to send word to his colleagues and have them at Mr. Hemmick’s front door in a day or two, but I’m not sure that you wouldn’t stir up a mess in the meantime. The publicity from your death could bolster Ausreißer’s success. The disappointment from hearing that you’ve left voluntarily is a boycott and a think-piece away from cutting them off at the knees.”

“You want me to leave the band,” Neil says incredulously.

“Of course,” Riko says.

“I’m aware that you have sway in many circles, but not here,” Neil says. “The people in this studio are inside each other’s pockets more than they’ll ever be in yours. They won’t accept this. They won’t.”

“Your interpersonal connections mean nothing to me. Kevin belongs on my team. Andrew and his monsters have been a nuisance, but you are an insufferable offence.”

“So you’re removing your biggest threat?”

Riko’s lip curls. “I found vermin in my house, and I will return it to the sewers where it was born unless it gets out of my way.”

“Even if you did scare me with your posturing, my hands are tied,” Neil says. “I have a contract. He—they won’t let me go.”

Riko’s expression shifts, sand dunes moving in the blowing wind. “You think the drummer will protect you?”

Neil doesn’t reply. He doesn’t want to betray Andrew’s position. He’s like a pipe bomb in a mailbox or a chess piece in check.

“Oh, Neil. He couldn’t even protect himself.”

“What,” Neil says flatly.

Riko waves the cane in a relaxed circle, like he’s deciding where it should land. “I would have thought that someone with your trust issues would have done better research on the people around you.”

Neil stays silent.

“Andrew was a foster kid, yes? It’s chaotic for kids in those crowded houses. So many mouths to feed. Or fuck, in Andrew’s case. I’m sure it was traumatic for little Andrew to be passed around like that, from bed to bed. No wonder he’s so hot and bothered over our intervention. He knows what it looks like when someone’s overpowering him.“

“You’re lying,” Neil says, thunderstruck.

“Mention Drake Spears to your little bodyguard and see how quickly he loses it. Or better yet, just look up the Minyard trial. Andrew can drink the past away, but he can’t erase it from the news. Drake was a fascinating man. Not that rapists in uniform aren’t common, but to break someone like Andrew in I’m sure takes a little extra finesse.”

Neil lunges for him, and Riko counters a beat too late with the cane. Neil clips his eye, and the cane makes contact with his throat a second later. He splutters and reaches, trying to get a hand around Riko’s throat.

“That’s not true,” Neil’s saying, over and over. He twists the flesh on Riko’s neck, scrabbling at his clavicles, physically pressing him to be honest.

Riko looks annoyed, but not deterred as he holds Neil’s hands at bay. “How did you think he got to be a monster, exactly?”

It knocks the breath out of him. His grip sags. He’s aware suddenly that the car has stopped moving, and that anyone in it could kill and dispose of him without so much as interrupting their day.

“You’re not a monster because of what other people do to you,” Neil says, seething.

“Nonetheless. Leave the band, or one of the other members goes missing,” Riko offers. “I don’t care which, but Andrew is so nicely broken in already.”

Neil’s hand darts for him again, and Riko catches it, bored, cracking it back at the wrist. The door pops open at Neil’s back, and he’s hooked halfway out of the car by one of the other men, forearm screaming with pressure where Riko has him clamped in his fist.

Cool sweat breaks out on his brow from the pain as Riko leans down to face level, nails piercing his skin.

Before he can speak, Neil chokes, “you can’t set Andrew up. I won’t let you.”

Riko looks suddenly fatigued, and he lets Neil go so that he rocks back onto the sidewalk. “The more you underestimate my family’s clout. the more people suffer by our hands. You must understand that I am the only thing keeping any of you alive right now.”

“You’re wrong,” Neil says.

“You’re likely to be dead by summer, Nathaniel,” he says evenly. His eyes are black in the shadow of the open car door.

“That’s not my name.”

“If you want to lose allies and make new enemies in the meantime, it is your choice. But I don’t want to see you on stage again.” He shuts the door quietly between them, and Neil stumbles back several steps, momentum almost overbalancing him.

He watches the SUV depart and thinks of all of the leverage they have over him, how laser focused their will is to scrape Ausreißer off the charts and clip Neil’s loose end. His defiance had almost no affect on them at all. He had rubbed up against Riko’s temper, sure, but it was no harder than squeezing the trigger on a gun that’s already in your hand.

He squints distractedly at the studio several metres behind him, the bustle of midday spilling through the streets. The pleasant murmur of a city heralding in the end of Neil’s life.

He keeps thinking, if Riko knew about Neil’s past, he had no reason to lie about Andrew’s.

He keeps thinking, how could he be stupid enough to imagine that he had the biggest secret in the band — like Andrew wasn’t writing him a roadmap with songs, like his past wasn’t melted down and repurposed into lyrics.

He thinks, the target on his back just swallowed everything and everyone around him.

He thinks, I have to talk to Andrew.

______

He can’t bring himself to go back inside and excuse himself from rehearsal. There’s no explanation that they would accept without also understanding that he’s dragged them all down into danger with him.

He let them believe that his problems weren’t active case files and bleeding wounds. He pretended that he could broadcast his voice and maybe the music would be so sacred that no one would come looking for him.

Neil takes the bus home, scraping together spare change from his pocket. He finds his key while he searches, and his heart sinks. When he’s slouched in an aisle seat, he looks down at the shape of his hands, the grit under his nails, the old slice across his pinky, and the key nested in the intersecting lines of his palm.

Rain starts to patter against the window, blurring the colourful shapes of people outside who were hopeful enough to dress for much warmer weather.

He whirs with anxiety, searching for an out so desperately that it becomes a physical act, a shaking and a sweating. He should leave the city while he can still bear to. He owes it to everyone at Palmetto studio to take such a volatile element out of their equation.

It used to be his favourite solution when things turned ugly, dumping his life and name and letting a car carry him to a new one. The ritual of dying his hair and popping in lenses always felt charged with possibility.

Now he can’t let himself consider it. The idea of never seeing Dan or Wymack or Nicky or any of them again, of abandoning his deal with Andrew and dropping his new key into the nearest storm drain — it’s different now.

They were the first people to squint past his face-paint and recognize him as a lost kid. They gave him a key and a home with a locking door and passed him a microphone with the name he chose taped onto the handle. They gave him all sorts of contracts, but most important was the unspoken one that, for a minute, looked like friendship.

He gets back to the house two hours ahead of schedule, but it still feels too late. He thinks about letting himself in but suddenly can’t stand the thought of walking into the home that he’s about to ruin.

He knocks and steps down onto the second stair to give himself some distance. After a minute, someone stirs inside, and then there’s a thumping of footsteps, and the whine of the screen door.

Andrew stares down at him through the mist of rainwater.

“You have a key, don’t you?” he says. Neil looks up into his wan face, studying the way he’s holding himself up with the door, washed out in the bleak light from outside. Neil climbs warily to the top step, feeling a lived-in sadness settle into him.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“Got it in one,” Andrew says, smiling with one half of his face. “So very very perceptive all the time.”

It’s such bad timing that Neil laughs, then holds a trembling hand over his mouth. “I can’t have this conversation when you’re like this,” he says.

“Which conversation is that?” Andrew asks sharply. “Do be precise.”

“I need you sober,” Neil insists.

“You don’t need me anything,” he sneers.

“I’m making you coffee. And then we have to talk about the Moriyamas.”

Andrew looks immediately more alert. His hand slips from the door, and Neil just barely catches it before it closes on him.

“Why are you back early?” Andrew asks slowly. Neil closes his eyes.

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I came.” He should be hitchhiking over state lines. He should be in someone’s truck bed with the rain in his hair. He should be using the cold to forget what warmth feels like.

“Not a good enough answer,” Andrew says. He steps backwards into the entryway and turns, calling “keep trying” over his shoulder. Neil follows him solemnly, nudging the doors closed at his back. He steps out of his shoes while Andrew disappears silently into the kitchen.

When he rounds the corner, Andrew’s sitting on top of the dinky round table by the window, legs crossed beneath him. His cigarettes and lighter are at his side, and a bottle of Smirnoff is open on the chair behind him.

Neil moves towards the coffee maker, but Andrew snaps his fingers at him.

“Tell me why you left recording, no non-answers s’il vous plait,” he says. Neil hesitates, then climbs quietly up onto the table across from him, boosting himself with one socked foot on the cushion of a chair. Andrew looks surprised and red-eyed as Neil settles in, knee to knee.

He swallows thickly. “I have to leave.”

“You just got here,” Andrew points out.

“I have to leave the band,” Neil explains.

He waves this off. “Oh, no, I’m pretty sure we have our contractual claws in you, Neil Josten.”

“There are people, more now than ever, who have… more deadly claws in me.”

Andrew taps his lower lip thoughtfully. “Is it claws though, or is it talons? I know how the Moriyamas enjoy their raven motifs.”

“Riko’s threatening the band.”

“What’s new?” Andrew says.

Everything, he wants to say. Everything’s reaching a new and chilling level of dangerous.

“He stopped me on the street,” Neil says quietly. There’s a hand on his jaw immediately, turning his face towards the overhead light fixture. Neil lets his eyes unfocus in the harsh light. Andrew puts a finger to the bruise from the cane Riko was borrowing. “It’s fine.”

“You will be fine up until the moment that you’re dead,” Andrew spits, one hand moving to inspect Neil’s tender wrist.

“I’m fine if I can walk away,” Neil argues. “I’m okay if I stand up and move on, and that’s what I need to do here.”

“You took some heat from Riko and now you want to run away,” Andrew extrapolates. “Which is great, except you told me you weren’t ready to give up our deal.”

“I kind of assumed all deals were null and void in the event of a deadly threat.”

Andrew uses his leverage on Neil’s chin to tilt their faces close together. “I,” he says, “am a deadly threat. Riko is a little boy playing with his father’s knives.”

Neil flinches at his phrasing, shaking his head. “He has connections I can’t begin to understand. He told me things about my past, about yours—“

“Did he?” Andrew interrupts. His voice is the kind of inescapable cold that turns all of your exposed skin red, then blue, then black.

Neil tries to turn his face out of Andrew’s grip, and the pressure on him is immediately lifted. “Who’s Drake Spears?” he asks.

“Oh,” Andrew breathes, and then he laughs. “A dead man. Aaron’s gift to me.”

Neil’s face goes lax with surprise. “He killed him?”

“We like to keep our violence in the family,” Andrew says, smiling again, joyless. “Or rather, they did. We ended the cycle.”

“So Riko wasn’t lying about what happened to you,” Neil says slowly.

Andrew takes his cigarettes in one hand and shuffles them against the tabletop for a long moment. “Unlike you, Riko doesn’t always think that lying is in his best interest. It’s not one of his favourite sins.”

Neil stews in this revelation for a moment, trying to outlast the directionless rage streaking through him.

“I wish I’d known, before.”

“Why? So we could waste our time excusing ourselves in miserable circles for things that other people did to us? So I could explain to you what all of my scars mean and make you feel better about yours?”

“So I could have killed him myself,” Neil says fiercely. Andrew eyes him steadily. The rain picks up outside, and Neil can see it coming in through the window cracked over the sink.

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

“It’s not supposed to mean anything to you. It’s just the truth,” Neil says. “If I can’t kill my own demons, I—would’ve liked to kill yours.”

“Much too late for that,” Andrew shrugs. “Not too late to stay here with us. If Riko threatens you out of the band on his first try, then you’re not as tenacious as I thought you were.”

“I’m afraid,” Neil says, “that someone else will suffer for my pride.”

“It’s not pride, it’s trust,” Andrew says, and then his face clouds over like he’s sobering up, remembering himself. “In case you’ve forgotten since I reminded you two minutes ago, we have a deal. Protection for participation.”

He shouldn’t believe that this volatile, five foot nothing stage performer could rebuff the yakuza, but he does. He can’t look at Andrew’s eery, wavering certainty without wanting badly to trust him.

“Right,” Neil agrees, feeling hours-old tension ebb out of his shoulders. He came here, he realizes, knowing that Andrew would give him a reason to stay. “I’ll wait it out. But you have to promise me that you’ll watch your back.”

Andrew shakes his head and pulls a cigarette from the pack. “He can’t touch me,” he says, flicking his lighter open. His eyes are hazy as he props one hand up and smokes on autopilot. Neil’s not certain that he knows for sure who Andrew’s talking about anymore.

The tour isn’t for another couple of weeks. He can keep his face out of the news and slog his way through all of this new information, maybe turn over a solution somewhere in the muck. At the very least, he can spend these final weeks pretending that he’s not afraid of the dark at the end of the tunnel where the rest of his life should be.

______

It’s the bark, not the bite

the prelude to a fight

the gleam of bared teeth

when they catch the low light

the revving beneath

the thought that you might

with the last of your breath

get our ending right

Neil turns the demo down on the car radio, embarrassed, and Dan grins at him from the driver’s seat.

“That’s a sexy little lyric.”

“Shut up,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“I like the weird synth in the background, that’s baller,” Matt pipes up from behind them.

Nicky groans. “Don’t tell Kevin that, he thought he was a fucking genius for stringing together six notes by ear.”

Dan laughs brightly, easing onto the freeway that’ll carry them out of the city.

Their album was released at midnight, and they’ve spent the morning watching the charts and listening to Nicky read out reviews as they were published, waiting to see if they’d be rejected or absorbed into the musical bloodstream.

It was exhilarating to see the finished product saturating their little corner of music culture, to watch people forming opinions, and to pop up in playlists and news feeds. Someone had already posted a guitar cover of one of their tracks before noon.

Neil watched the locked door of their house and hoped furiously that Riko wouldn’t take this new music as defiance and show up to drag him away. Foxes had shown up instead, with congratulatory champagne and a novelty card for Neil that read “baby’s first album”.

Both Ausreißer and Foxes were scheduled to take the weekend off before they’re all launched into promotions and tours on opposite coasts. Dan had suggested a Palmetto-wide retreat to lake Jocassee, and Neil had jumped at the opportunity to dodge the pressure from the Moriyamas and corral everyone out of harms way.

“This is going to be such a rowdy time,” Nicky says, chin tucked onto the shoulder of Neil’s chair. “I can’t believe you convinced Andrew to come.”

“Yeah, what the hell,” Matt says. “How did you manage that?”

Neil shrugs. “I asked.”

“Oh, you asked,” Dan says, nose scrunching under her sunglasses. “Do you know how long we were playing nice with the monsters before you showed up?”

“Neil’s got that magic touch,” Nicky says.

“Just how magic a touch are we talking?” Matt asks slyly.

“Don’t,” Neil warns.

“He won’t let us bet on them,” Nicky complains. “He’s just like, not fun.”

“It’s bewildering to me that you clowns are wasting your time when we all know who Andrew’s into,” Dan says. She keeps talking, and Neil hears Renee’s name, but he’s uninterested in the direction the conversation is taking. He looks distractedly out at the sun-split highway.

He thinks of how quiet the other car must be, stacked with supplies, caught in that constant vortex of tension between the twins, plus Kevin with his headphones on as always. Or what Renee and Allison talk about, tucked into Allison’s baby-pink convertible, the wind catching their bleached hair.

“Damn, are they passing us already?” Nicky asks, and Neil looks back in time to notice the massive shape of the van swerving past on their left. He catches the tail end of Aaron flipping them off, and Nicky laughs, craning into the front to return the gesture.

“They left like half an hour later than us, what the hell,” Dan says, revving a little, reluctant to fall behind.

“Andrew’s driving,” Neil says. The van jolts awkwardly into the lane in front of them, and Neil smiles as it streaks ahead. “They’ll beat us by a mile.”

“If they don’t crash first,” Dan grumbles.

“Look at it this way — if it’s not that, it’ll just be some other disaster,” Matt says. “That’s what you sign up for with the monsters.”

“You say disaster, I say a great time. Am I right, Neil?” Nicky asks, flicking at his shoulder to get his attention.

“I’m staying impartial.”

“You literally can not fool me,” Nicky says, affronted. “You love having an opinion.”

“He doesn’t want to incur your wrath by agreeing with us,” Dan teases, winking sideways at him.

“My wrath? This is the guy who taunted Riko Moriyama on sight, and you think he’s afraid of me?”

“We all are,” Matt says solemnly, and Nicky socks him in the arm.

They keep bickering, but Neil mostly tunes them out. A song that he helped write is still playing at half volume from the sound system, rounded out by Kevin’s deft bass solo. The car is warm enough to lull him to sleep, and he can see the rest of the Ausreißer crew fading into the scorched horizon ahead.

______

They arrive in staggered bursts to a spacious cabin, swallowed in overhanging trees on all sides. It’s two stories high, with a broad, wrap-around porch — courtesy of Allison’s string-pulling.

The twins are sharing a bench when they pull up, talking seriously, and Neil has to squint to make sure he’s seeing them correctly. Three hours in a car together and against all odds they’re still sharing space.

No one bothered to unpack the van, so Neil keeps himself busy by hopping into the back and pulling out duffel bags. Allison and Renee arrive soon after with coolers full of booze and perishables, and by the time everything has been lugged inside, there are three guitars propped up and abandoned in the foyer.

It’s surprisingly easy, once all of them are talking at once. Kevin drinks enough to stay loose, which always seems to relax Aaron in turn. The girls sit on the floor of the dining room while Matt unpacks groceries. Nicky chatters about getting everyone hammered so they can play “sweet, genre-fucked music” together. Someone lights a joint, and it makes the rounds.

Neil hops up on the kitchen counter, and Andrew leans against the fridge beside him.

Neil relaxes at the sight of him. “Aren’t you glad you came?” he asks, a little louder than he intended. He can sense the others pretending not to eavesdrop, their conversation dropping and then starting back up again, overly bright.

“Remains to be seen,” he replies.

“You were talking to Aaron,” he says. Andrew stares passively back at him. “I’ve never seen you speak one on one like that.”

“It was a long drive.”

Neil hesitates. “Did you tell him—“

“Andrew,” Nicky calls. “I’m comin’ through with groceries, can you free up the fridge?”

Andrew moves wordlessly aside, and then all the way out of the room. Neil watches him go with a dull sort of disappointment. For someone who is so frequently difficult to parse, Andrew is such an obvious font of honesty and clarity that speaking to him sometimes feels like an antidote to his own lies.

“Come on, Neil,” Renee trills. “We’re talking about the collab.”

“I want to hear the track,” Kevin says.

“You want to critique it,” Neil counters, wandering closer.

Dan throws a hand out towards him. “Exactly!”

“I think I have a right to know how you’re utilizing my lead singer.”

“Oh jesus, Kevin’s going to start talking about music theory, isn’t he?” Allison says. “I’m gonna need to drink so much more.” Dan cracks up, passing her a mickey of spiced rum.

“We all do,” she agrees, raising a full bottle in toast. “It’s a Palmetto tradition. Work hard, play hard.”

“Thanks coach,” Matt snorts.

“C’mon, bring it in.” They all tilt bottles together, some of them unopened, eyes rolling. Neil can see Andrew watching from the next room, and when they drink, he takes a drag from his cigarette.

______

Neil drinks too much.

He’d half planned on it, but his stomach is empty and his anxiety is just barely held down by sobriety, and it all gets to him so fast. His elbows keep chafing against other people’s, and his fear keeps blinking back at him from between branches outside and through passing headlights and in his own reflection.

They’re all seven or eight drinks deep when someone brings out a guitar, and then it’s a chaos of bad singing that coasts into real singing, someone upstairs laughing hysterically with someone else, someone on the porch with a bong.

He likes how it feels, the old safety of staying numb, like the back of the bars where nobody knows you, so you don’t have to bother to know yourself, and there’s nothing to be afraid of except the throb of a hangover at the end of the night.

But it’s different, now. Dan gets in close and thumbs both his cheeks, and Allison puts little, almost undetectable braids in his hair. Matt tells him how happy he is that they’re all together over and over again. The longer Neil looks over at Andrew the more he’s aware that he’s looking for something that isn’t there.

Nicky looks solemnly into his eyes in the bathroom mirror and asks to see his tongue piercing. There’s a strange moment, when he opens his mouth, where he thinks Nicky might grab him by the tongue.

“Come here, come here, come here,” someone says, and Neil looks at Allison’s reflection where she’s hanging in through the doorway. “Convince Andrew to play us something.”

“I can’t,” Neil’s mouth says. He tries again. “He won’t.”

“He does whatever you want,” Nicky says, looking much too serious.

“You—no,” Neil says. “You guys ask for whatever you want. I ask what he wants.“

“Whatever,” Allison says. “Semantics. Come out here.”

Nicky puts his hands briefly on Neil’s hips to sidle by into the hallway, and he and Allison chatter all the way back to the sitting room. Neil looks blearily at his reflection. His hair is so long now, it softens the angles of his father’s features. Makes his eyes look less painfully blue. He blinks, and breathes, and tries to think about nothing.

His feet carry him out to the rest of them. Dan cheers when he enters the room. She’s so flushed, and even though she’s sitting, Matt’s holding her steady.

Andrew’s sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, his posture relaxed, lips wet, drink in hand. Neil walks as steadily as he can to his side. The room goes nearly silent.

“Will you play something?”

Andrew looks up at him flatly. “Why would I?”

“I want to hear you sing,” Neil admits.

“And?” He takes a sip of his drink.

Neil shrugs. “I’ll trade you something for it,” he offers.

After a long moment, Andrew says “I’m not interested.”

“I know you’ve been writing new lyrics,” he says softly.

Andrew watches him for a minute, then nods towards the place where his notebook is sitting unassumingly on the coffee table. “Then sing them yourself.”

Neil considers this. He retrieves the book and holds it in both hands, giving Andrew time to back out. He doesn’t, and someone breathes out behind him.

“Okay,” Neil says. “Fine.”

He flips to the centre and finds blank pages, then beyond that, two that are flush with words and annotations. There are chords written out for four more pages after that, and then just scores and scores of melodies and poems and the lucky places where they meet.

He thumbs through songs he recognizes and new, title-less ones, still standing, everyone watching his search with interest.

He comes to a page near the back with the title burn this, and it reads:

Hands off never used to be a bad thing

It would be better if I never heard you sing

I know it’s winter, you can’t tell me that it’s spring

I want you without wanting anything.

Then a few lines are scratched out before the next fragmented stanza. Neil looks up into Andrew’s face, and he’s already staring back, eyebrows hitched so, so slightly together.

Neil crosses the room, and wrestles a little portable synth out of his bag, carrying it over to the couch. Some of the members of Foxes ‘ooh’ dramatically.

He nudges it on, cracks his knuckles, and toggles a couple of switches. He holds the book open on his knee, and starts to arpeggiate the suggested chords that Andrew’s written above each line.

He sings, improvising the melody, those first four lines and then —

It was too easy not to feel

when the drugs still told me you weren’t real

I always knew you were here to steal

We started this, me back on my heels

and you—beneath me.

There’s more, but Neil can’t bring himself to keep singing. His throat sticks and his vision goes spotty.

“Kind of a bummer,” Matt says.

“I think it’s pretty,” Dan says softly.

“Hard to believe the monster wrote it,” Allison says.

“You must know by now that we can write good lyrics,” Kevin says, irritated.

Aaron says something, but Neil’s still stuck staring down at the words on the page. Something is angrily crossed out in the second stanza, just completely struck through, unreadable. He feels remarkably sober all of the sudden, and he trudges to the precipice of an understanding so large that he has to step away from it, or he’s sure it’ll call him down to his death.

Andrew stands, somewhere in the field of Neil’s vision, and lets himself out onto the porch.

“Whoops,” Matt says, when the door closes behind him. “Do you think we took it too far?”

“He offered the book up,” Allison points out.

“To me,” Neil says.

“Well, yeah, but I think ‘sing them yourself’ was pretty self explanatory,” Dan says, missing the point. “So are we supposed to know who that was about?”

Neil stands, and the synth slides off his lap and into the crease between couch cushions. He walks to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of water, downing it all. Then another. He tries to remember exactly what the lyrics said and finds himself less and less certain.

For the second time that week, he thinks, knees knocking with terrible anticipation, I have to talk to Andrew.

______

He finds him curled on the bench outside, drenched in the yellow light from an exposed bulb, still nursing the same whiskey from before. He looks up with what Neil now recognizes as carefully tailored interest.

“Why does Nicky think that you’ll do whatever I ask?” he asks, voice wavering.

Andrew taps his fingers erratically on the rim of his glass. “Presumably because your track record has been good so far.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

Andrew’s lips purse. “Then ask a new question.”

“Fine. I’ll play,” Neil says. “What was that song about?”

“It was about wanting something that I can’t have.”

“I didn’t think you wanted anything.”

“No,” Andrew agrees. “Except maybe to see if you sound as good in bed as you do on stage.”

Neil sits down, hard. He’s half-surprised when gravity still works, and the wicker footstool catches his weight.

“You like me,” he says weakly.

“Not really,” Andrew replies, expressionless. “Want and dislike are not mutually exclusive.”

Neil dry swallows a couple of times. He thinks of their eyes connecting darkly in a bathroom mirror, Andrew’s fingertips gliding over his scars, the passenger seat left open for him, his mouth and then Andrew’s on the same flask. He thinks of lyrics on their own album about running and lying and wanting without taking, and he remembers the deal that has kept him upright and safe and sane for so long.

Andrew’s amused interest when he’s high, the cryptic things that Nicky said to him on the night they met, the conversations where he gives away his secrets but doesn’t feel like he’s losing anything, it all completely restructures in his head.

He’s dizzy, still drunk, one foot in the reality where he was little more than a hindrance to Andrew, and the other in one where he writes songs about how much he wants him.

“You didn’t tell me,” Neil says dumbly. “You never said.”

Andrew shrugs. “There’s no point,” he says. “I’ve thought about it. Written about it. But I know better.”

“Okay,” Neil says, even though it’s not. Andrew shifts in his seat, and Neil watches his broad hands, his shiny lower lip, his squared shoulders. The night chirps and smokes with faraway firewood, pitch dark beyond the line separating the porch from the wilderness. Andrew might be the brightest thing for a thousand miles. “Okay,” he says again, but this time it splits in his mouth, and he reaches for Andrew’s face.

#the boys are back in town and emotionally? they're doin bad #aftg #the foxhole court #andreil #tfc fanfic #rockband au #abuse tw #violence tw #drugs tw #this one is a bit of a rollercoaster tbh #sorry if this is kinda poorly edited I've been at this for hours and gd hours #mine #philosophium #ask #long post

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ariadnelives · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 28 -- The Line in the Sand

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3”]

“This is weird,” Ariadne said, holding up a finger to gauge the direction of the wind in the vast, red Martian desert.

“You’re telling me,” Sweettalk said, “The atmosphere on Mars shouldn’t be thick enough for there to be a gentle breeze like this.”

“Okay, nerd, I meant that we’re standing on the surface without spacesuits.” Ariadne rolled her eyes, a fact that was only apparent due to the small purple light she’d recently installed in her goggles to indicate the direction her eyes were pointing. She had made this modification partially because her sarcasm was often lost on those she was speaking to, but mostly because it looks cool.

“You thinking you’re in a position to call anyone a nerd is hilarious,” Sweettalk replied. “Does everyone know their part?”

Ariadne and the girl dressed in all black standing next to her, formerly known as ViLaz, nodded affirmatively.

“Good, because he could be here any minute.”

“He could be here right now,” Ariadne muttered, “last time he took the form of a disembodied voice, he has complete authority here.”

“Well,” Sweettalk scratched the back of her head, “not complete authority.”

Ariadne smiled, but nudged her in the ribs to indicate that she should shut up and not blow the con.

They waited a few moments in silence before Ariadne finally called to the sky “GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE, CABRÓN!”

“I’ll thank you not to speak to me that way,” Dr. Simon materialized behind them, causing all three of them to jump as though they were housecats and a person, who they did not realize was in the room, moved their foot slightly.

“Glad you could make it,” Ariadne said.

“Don’t lie to the man,” Sweettalk replied. “Mr. Simon—”

“—Doctor Simon,” he corrected.

“Whatever Simon,” Sweettalk continued, “I have come to represent my client in this transaction. You should be advised that she is no longer using the name ViLaz. I am informing you of this in the interest of full disclosure and fairness, as our negotiations here, once agreed to, will be coded into the system and will be binding to both of us.”

“This is ridiculous, I will do no such—”

“Mr. Simon, I would advise you that it is in your own interest to make this concession. I have been advised that code written in this way can be very specific, and if you refer to my client as ViLaz, you could be forced to give us what we want without getting what you want. Is that clear?”

Dr. Simon grunted. “Fine. What should I call her?”

“We did some deliberating about that, it was a little complex since you decided to make three of her, but for nerdy reasons, this iteration has agreed to be called Kay. Now, before we go any further,” Sweettalk said, dragging the point of her toe across the sand in front of them, creating a clear line, “this is a threshold that you will not cross for the duration of the negotiations. We know how to strip you of your authority without killing anyone. If you violate this boundary before we approve the transaction, you give my associate Ariadne permission to take you out. Is that clear?”

Dr. Simon chuckled, clearly not believing that they had any such power. “Whatever.”

He didn’t notice Ariadne smirk.

“We want a guarantee of my client’s safety after the transaction,” Sweettalk explained calmly. “A guarantee that no one will have the authority to delete or alter her consciousness and memories after the change is made. We would like the same guarantee to be made of the other people stored on this drive.”

Dr. Simon chuckled again, somewhat derisively. “Those people are already dead, child.”

“Their bodies are, but we have a skilled cyberneticist on our staff, not to mention one hell of a doctor. Given time and resources, with the data we’ve collected in our treatment of one of your ‘daughters,’ we can construct them new bodies.”

“If you were really capable of that, you could do it for me,” Dr. Simon suggested, “and then you wouldn’t have to put young V— I’m sorry, Kay— in my place.”

“We considered that,” Sweettalk responded with as much confidence as she could muster given that she absolutely had not considered that, “we felt you would be unable to trust us in a body that our captain could simply hack and remotely shut down. We are negotiating this transaction instead as an act of good faith.”

“You’re right,” Dr. Simon said, “had you offered, I would not have accepted.”

“So, now that we’re on the same page,” Sweettalk said, “I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen.”

There were several seconds of silence, that Sweettalk milked until she was sure he was about to speak, at which point she gestured to a small marble pedestal behind her, which definitely was not there a moment before, on top of which was a metal lock box with two locks on the front.

“My client will turn her key, and you will turn yours.”

Kay turned the key in the box, and Dr. Simon nodded and stepped towards the box.

Ariadne grinned.

***

“Breaking the antenna isn’t the problem,” Pilar explained, “I mean, it is and it isn’t.”

“First explain how it isn’t,” Sasha replied hurriedly, “then explain how it is.”

“It isn’t because the real problem is that as soon as we do, every armed guard in this place is going to storm the room guns-blazing and I’m not sure even I’m up to that challenge,” Pilar said, prying a panel off the antenna and tossing it onto the bodies of the technicians who had, up until recently, manned this transmitter, “and it is because of, well, this—”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Sasha said, sighing exasperatedly, “How many cartoons did this guy watch as a kid?”

A red, old-fashioned countdown clock connected to several tubes and wires blinked 5:00 every few seconds.

“I’m willing to bet he set this place up to clean itself out of evidence if he ever had to beam away,” Pilar explained, “if he left the antenna behind, someone could use it to locate where he’d been beamed to, so these vents around the ceiling? They probably spew out antimatter or hot plasma when the timer’s up.”

“Five minutes?” Sasha asked.

“I’m guessing that’s how long it takes to be sure he’s beamed away,” Pilar replied.

“Yeah, he probably wouldn’t want to risk a partial transfer of, well, basically his soul.”

“Now, look at all those wires— they’re attached to each part of the transmitter that’s absolutely necessary to its operation. Smart money says it starts counting if any of those things isn’t working, the countdown starts. Whoever built this thing probably figured it would be manned around the clock and the technicians would fix any run-of-the-mill errors within five minutes, and that anyone trying to sabotage it wouldn’t bother to check for a big countdown clock and would get killed by the failsafe. We got lucky because right now, all the guards in this place are trying to fend off an invasion by pirates.”

“Good thing we watched a lot of cartoons too,” Sasha noted.

“It’s gonna take a few minutes to break this thing beyond repair anyway,” Pilar noted, unslinging a rifle from her shoulder, “Maybe you get to smashing and I’ll watch your six, pick off any goons who try to kill us.”

“I mean… there’s an easier way.” Sasha offered. “You just said that this room is set up with a failsafe that’ll destroy this whole thing. Gimme one of your knives and I’ll slash all the wires, then we both run like hell and let this monument to bad design take care of itself.”

Pilar was silent for a moment. “¡Eres brillante!”

She unsheathed a knife from her hip and handed it to Sasha, who replied “¡Lo sé!”

***

“So,” Sweettalk said after Dr. Simon had taken several steps towards the pedestal, “here’s what’s really going to happen. You get nothing. You lose.”

“What are you talking about?” Simon replied.

“Kay! You know what to do!”

It was at this point that the girl standing by Ariadne spoke up, in a voice that seemed to echo itself. “Your administrator permissions have been revoked, father.”

Dr. Simon chuckled. “You don’t have the authority to do that.”

“How do you figure?” Sweettalk asked.

“That’s why I made three vessels. The system registers anyone with sufficiently identical memories as a single person, so I made sure they had nearly identical memories.”

“So,” Sweettalk speculated, “You suppose that each clone is only one-third as powerful as yourself in this place.”

Dr. Simon nodded and continued walking towards the box.

“Enough that if any one of them agreed with you, it would provide you with the necessary majority share to break the stalemate and make changes to the system, like letting the two of you change places …”

“Precisely.”

“Or authorize another administrator,” Ariadne smirked.

Dr. Simon stopped walking. “ …what?”

“Your administrator permissions have been revoked, Mr. Simon,” Ariadne said.

“Says who?” Simon scoffed.

“I said your permissions have been revoked,” Kay insisted.

“Your permissions are revoked!” Ariadne repeated flippantly, “what are you, stupid or something?”

“Haven’t you been listening?” Simon asked, “You would need all three clones to vote in order to make that change, and even then I would be able to override it.”

“That assumes you’re only speaking to one of the clones,” Sweettalk said. “See, out in the real world we’ve been calling them Cyan, Magenta, and Yellow to tell them apart, but when they’re all here together, they register as one person… When they’re all together, we call them Kay.”

“CMYK,” Ariadne laughed, “Our ship’s doctor came up with that one, it’s the nerdiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“My god, I love her,” Sweettalk whispered.

“So, this girl here has as much authority as you.”

Dr. Simon let out what sounded like a cross between a cough and a growl. “Even so, you need a majority to strip me of my authority. In the presence of a stalemate, no change is made.”

“We have a majority,” Kay announced. “Ariadne is an administrator.”

“That’s the worst bluff I’ve ever heard,” Simon spat, “obviously I won’t approve that, and in a stalemate—”

“It isn’t a stalemate,” Ariadne laughed, “Your ‘daughters’ proposed the change and you voted in its favor.”

“I did no such—”

“‘If you violate this boundary before we approve the transaction, you give my associate Ariadne permission to take you out.’ That’s what I said,” Sweettalk explained, gesturing at the line in the sand just behind Dr. Simon, “and I don’t recall approving the transaction. When you crossed the line, you authorized her to take you out— something only an administrator could do.”

Simon sputtered a bit. “You said that she would turn her key and I would turn mine and—”

Sweettalk interrupted, “—and your ridiculously overfed ego filled in the blanks yourself. I never said the box would finalize the transaction.”

“Sometimes a box is just a box,” Ariadne pointed out, “we never said it was anything else, it’s not our fault you misinterpreted.”

“I voted for Ariadne to be a new admin before you got here,” Kay smiled triumphantly, “and when you crossed that line, you approved her. Then we didn’t need you to get a majority anymore, and we voted you out of power.”

Sweettalk offered Kay a fist-bump, and it took her a moment to figure out what to do with it. “Man, I’m glad Prescott is cat litter now, but for once I’m glad he taught me how to hustle a grade-A chump.”

“So, here’s what’s really going to happen,” Ariadne said, now practically looming over Dr. Simon, looking more and more like a massive spider by the moment, “this is my world now, and you do not have my permission to run or hide.”

“You insolent—”

“I don’t need the monologue from you,” Ariadne snapped, “your turn to talk is over. You know, I haven’t been a person of faith for most of my life, and then I actually met a couple of gods. One of them was cruel, the other uncaring. If there is a proper, capital-G ‘God,’ I’d bet they fuck up a lot based on how much the world sucks, but at least they probably care about what we want. You? You don’t hold a candle to any of them.”

Dr Simon opened his mouth to respond, but Ariadne struck him across the face with the back of her hand to prevent this.

“You’re not even a god. You’re a washed-up nobody who wants to take away people’s free will and have them build shrines to you. If you were a cruel god, you'd die like Weaver, if you were an uncaring god, you’d run away like Upendo, and if you were an incompetent god you'd at least have the decency to care about other people, like whatever incompetent god managed to create someone as wonderful as my wife but then put her through hell for over a decade. But you? You’re not a god at all. You’re a wannabe king, and do you know what happens to kings?”

Dr. Simon attempted to run, but he was quickly subdued by a massive silver monster with what appeared to be a middle-aged human female corpse suspended in its machinery.

“I said you don’t have my permission to run, and while you’re in my world, you answer to my demons.” Ariadne sneered. “Oh, and I wouldn’t bother trying to run for that transmitter, Mr. Simon—”

“Doctor—”

“—Like it matters! In 3-2-1—” Ariadne gestured upwards and the sun above the desert flashed a vibrant red and loud klaxons began to sound, “—I can’t believe I timed that out so well! Anyway, that’ll be my wife smashing your exit strategy to bits. You have no way out.”

Dr. Simon started laughing a mirthless cackle.

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Ariadne said, “you’re stuck here.”

“Was it worth it?” Dr. Simon asked.

Ariadne rolled her eyes. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My men will tear her to pieces,” Dr. Simon laughed, “and if they don’t get her my failsafe will. You’ve murdered her, my child.”

“Nobody here is your child,” Ariadne replied, “and if anyone could get out of there alive, it’s my girl.”

“We should go,” Sweettalk said, “we don’t want to be here when, uh… Did you explain what happens to kings when the peasants get restless?”

Ariadne laughed, “You know, I don’t think I did! Do you remember all those people whose bodies you stole, Mr. Simon? Well, your majesty, I think your subjects want an audience with you! Toodles!”

The three girls vanished from the desert and Simon fell to his knees in the sand. He heard distant footsteps and suddenly realized, for the first time in his life, he was completely powerless.

***

“Plus, you do a great job with number four…” Sasha’s mildly distorted voice came through the haze.

As the virtual world swirled away and the real world came back into focus, Ariadne watched Sasha burst in through the door with Pilar slung over her shoulder.

“I need your help,” Sasha shouted, “she’s been shot!”

“You always have to prove me wrong!” Ariadne rushed over and immediately took Pilar onto her own shoulder, “you are not allowed to die.”

“You two have been spending too much time together” Pilar sputtered.

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rhapsody-under-pressure · 6 years ago

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Moonlight Magic pt 9

“Brian dear, c’mon now, it’s alright. Like I said, it’s just a boggart.” His mom whispered to him in her softest voice.

His body was still trembling while his eyes burned with tears of horror and grief. To think so many of those things could happen-perhaps they already had! All of it was too easy to imagine but the sight of Freddie at just thirteen cursing him and suffering that dreaded change was the one that stuck out in his mind. The latter he knew had happened, it couldn’t just be a figment of his imagination or his worst fears come to life. The real gutting part of that was the possibility of him blaming him for his mistake. He already blamed himself for it and that nagging voice came back in his head to remind him of the chance Freddie might resent him for it. No...No he couldn’t...Freddie had said that he didn’t, he had to trust Freddie’s judgment. And yet...what if it was just a lie to protect him like he had done to him so many times?

“I-you didn’t see what was there!” Brian shouted as the images replayed themselves in his mind.

“No but it’s not there now. Get up and come downstairs. Dinner’s almost ready and some food will do you good.”

His mom held his hand tightly as they walked down out of the attic. His stomach bounced around inside of him as he tried to force those memories and thoughts out of his head. It’s just a boggart! Stop being a baby about it! It’s not real! You...You know it’s not real...

“Ruth! Freddie’s sent Brian a letter!”

His stomach shrunk as he halted in place while his mother released his hand to walk over to his father, grabbing the sleek envelope from his bandaged hand. Even from this distance, he could tell it was Freddie’s handwriting. That messy scribble was unmistakable no matter what. The little owl hooted excitedly as his father patted its head while his mother handed him the letter. Brian ran his thumb over Freddie’s handwriting, studying every inch of the paper to make sure there weren’t any telling signs that something had gone wrong. No tear stains, no rips on the envelope, and it was sealed as neatly as Freddie could, which wasn’t saying much. He tucked it away into his pocket, deciding to get some food in him before risking becoming too upset to do even that.

Fresh salad, warm bread, a small chicken with a cup of gravy next to it, and his parents enjoying their dinner should’ve made him feel as safe as ever. Nothing bad ever happened with them around and yet all Brian wanted to do was go back to Hogwarts. He wanted to know what was going on and he couldn’t do that when he was stuck at the dinner table. Brian glanced over at his father, the bandages around his hand stabbing at his stomach. But how could he leave? God forbid something happened to him again and he wasn’t there; yet he couldn’t stand the thought of being there for a second longer with Freddie possibly struggling back at the school without him. The mere sight of dinner being laid out in front of him only brought back even more memories and thoughts of the great hall back at school, making him long for his friends, especially Freddie. He just wanted to apologise to him, say anything to him that would let him forgive him for being so absent minded about his feelings and being a complete idiot about everything.

He toyed around with a piece of lettuce, finally taking a forkful as to not prompt any questions from his parents. Brian shifted in his spot, feeling the letter in his pocket move with him. Despite the offer from his parents to go read it, he couldn’t bring himself to do so, not yet anyways. No matter the outcome, he just wasn’t ready for an answer. If it was happy, then Brian would want to go back there; if it was angry and vengeful like the howler, he’d never want to face Freddie again. All that power that little letter had was killing him and making it nearly impossible to finish the little bit of salad upon his plate. He didn’t want to engage in any of the conversation between his parents-feeling quite thankful that they were now leaving him out of it.

To hell with it! Read the damn letter already! He barked at himself as he ripped the lettuce off of his fork. If you know what’s written, then you’ll stop worrying about it! And you know it’s not going to be bad. His stomach lurched. God what if something happened to him? Dammit finish your meal so you can stop worrying and get an answer!

When the time finally came, he shot up from the table, laid his stuff in the sink, and ran upstairs, letter in hand, and slammed the door shut behind him, locking it in hopes that neither of them would come up to bother him. He leapt onto his bed, toying around with the little envelope in his hands. How he hoped it was positive in any way, shape, or form. That’s what he needed right now: some good news about all this and just an update about what happened there so that he could just know.

Brian

First off, I’m sorry for being a right bitch lately. I just don’t want you to coddle me like I’m a baby but I still want you there when I need you. I’ve told you that I want to move on from this and that means you have to do so as well-

The image of the massive beast up in his attic formed within his mind, its fierce eyes staring right into his soul.

-It’s been hard on all three of us. I’ll talk more about it with you when you get back. Say hi to your dad for me.

Don’t worry about what happened that night, nothing went wrong. Except for John witnessing the whole thing...

“WHAT?!”

Nothing happened, don’t worry.

“Don’t worry?” He said, his eyes still wide with fear. What had John seen? That damned beast probably spent the whole night torturing the poor thing! And why the hell did John decide to just stay in the goddamn room with that thing? Surely for someone with an interest in beasts and whatnot, he’d know not to stay in the same room as a bloody werewolf!

I don’t wanna talk much more about it in a letter. Just get home as soon as you can, please? I’m sorry for being a prick before you left and sending that howler didn’t make it any better.

Come home soon dear,

Freddie♡

Just that little heart written in Freddie’s messy scrawl seemed to make everything within his mind settle back down for just a moment, despite majority of his nerves still jumping about because of John’s situation. Freddie hadn’t mentioned anything about John getting bit, so that was a good sign. But what if he’d gotten hurt? Or worse, what if Roger got suspicious? If he saw any injury upon John, he’d surely question him to death and spend forever trying to figure out what was going on! John could hold up a lie for only so long, even when under pressure, but it can’t be easy with such a dominant force like Roger if he was bombarding him with constant questions once he got suspicious. Great, now you know what happened and now you’re just worried about another set of possibilities!

“Brian? Can I come in?”

Of course. I can’t get a minute alone can I?! “Yeah, come in!”

A second later, his mother was at the door, a kind expression draped over her face as she nodded towards the letter in his hand. “Well?”

“It’s alright.” He replied bluntly.

“You know you’re allowed to go back. I can send a message to the school and let them know that you’ll be returning.”

“But da-” He began, his anger recoiling at the thought of him.

“Your father will be fine, Brian. He got through the hardest part and if something happens again, do you honestly think we won’t send another message to the school?”

“Can I leave tomorrow then?”

“Depending on how the response goes, certainly. I doubt they’ll say no though. I know you wanna talk to Freddie in person. You two must’ve been through a lot lately.”

“We have been and I just wanna see him again; I want everything to be okay again…”

“It’s not gonna go back to the way it was before. No matter the situation. Relationships change daily, that’s just how they are. What matters is if you two can adapt to the new one and move on.”

With that, she left, leaving Brian alone with his mother’s words and the same ones that Freddie had written upon his letter. God if it could just go back to normal; everything would be so much easier and so much less stressful. Now all they got to deal with was the fact that John had to bear witness to the mess and God knows how Roger would ever react if he found out. What if he didn’t know it was Freddie and he came across that thing? He’d give his life before letting it hurt John, but would he go too far and permanently hurt Freddie? Then again, would he even let Freddie live if he found out about it beforehand? No, no Roger wouldn’t resort to that...Not when it’s one of his friends. But Roger’s temper has gotten out of hand before and lord knows it’s unlikely it’d stay in check forever.

…

Brian didn’t want to wait until morning; no matter what he did, his mind would keep bringing up constant thoughts and scenarios that would reset the countdown to sleep in his head. It was torture: a repeat of the boggart incident, wonderings of how Freddie would react to seeing him again, and theories of what the future held in store for them. To think, it was only January. So many more months left before they could finish school for good and leave it behind, meaning there were so many more chances for something to go wrong. Most people looked forward to leaving Hogwarts because they’d be independent, they were looking forward to it to protect everyone else.

He growled, turning over in his bed. It didn’t matter what he and Freddie did, that thing was a risk to the safety of everyone. They could move on from that incident, treat the whole thing like it was nothing until the day actually came around, but for a few hours each night, it wasn’t Freddie he was looking at. It was some feral ventriloquist operating his body: twisting it and molding it into a new form to wreak havoc on the world around it. If only there was something, anything, to cure it...But there wasn’t even something to help it; nothing to ease the pain, nothing to control it, nothing to stop it. The worst part of it? Brian knew he could never bring himself to hurt that beast. Logically speaking, he had to. But emotionally? He couldn’t...Despite how different it was to Freddie, it was still his body and any damage it took would be his fault. It was already his fault that he took that first bite, let alone if he inflicted any magic upon it because someone else would get hurt. Then came the thing that wouldn’t fit into either category of logically or emotionally sound: him taking the attack if someone else was in the way. That situation was already a possibility and he could never imagine the toll it would be on Freddie. What would he do? Freddie didn’t look to logic, he looked to emotions and would follow whatever was the strongest one in his mind. Whatever it would be, he knew it wouldn’t be positive.

When the sun finally did come up, Brian had only gotten an hour of sleep. From his nerves and the cavalcade of negative that his brain through at him overnight, all he wanted to do was get back home and talk everything out with Freddie. With his bag already packed, all he had to do was go downstairs and wait for the fireplace to turn green. He didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to his parents but surely they’d understand, at least his mother would, if he left as soon as he could.

Brian followed that path of logic and shot up, dressing himself in a navy blue jumper and a loose pair of trousers. He grabbed his bags and ran down to the living room, seeing the orange fire burning in their little fireplace. He sighed and sat down upon one of their chairs, tapping his foot on the carpet as he waited for any sort of change in the fire. Just a change so he could rush back and try to fix as much as he could. To think how much he’d messed up already…

“Brian? What’re you doing up so early?”

He looked down the hall, seeing his mother clad in her mulberry robe, rubbing the remaining bits of sleep out of her eyes. His shoulders fell slack: of course she was going to be up early today, it was just his luck.

“I’m just waiting for the Floo Network.” He replied, shifting in his seat as he tried to avoid her questioning gaze.

“Brian, I know you’re eager to get back there, especially after all that’s happened.”

“I just want it to be okay again!” He growled. “It’s my fault that all of this has happened!”

“Don’t put the blame on yourself. Freddie isn’t perfect and it’s most likely a mix of both of you instead of one or the other.” She explained, now walking over to him and laying her hand on his shoulder.

His patience was running thin, but he steadied it once he felt her hand. “It’s just...hard when you don’t know what to do, especially when you’re stuck in a situation like this!”

“Talk to him, get everything out in the open. If you both know what’s going on between you and what’s bothering each other, then you can move on from that and work through it. Bottling all that up won’t do you any good, dear.”

“Then why is it easier to do that?”

“Because you’re a gentle soul, Brian. You don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, especially those who you care about.”

“But I’ve...I’ve hurt him already. I know I have...I must’ve. Even though he doesn’t say anything I know he’s gotta harbor something against me!”

“Brian, if he was mad at you for anything he would’ve said something or done something about it by now. Has he ever gotten mad at you over this to the point that he wouldn’t want to speak to you again?”

“No but-”

“Think about it before you reply, dear. If you really hurt him, do you think he’d be sending a letter out to you?”

“But...what if I did hurt him because of what’s happened?” He asked.

“We’re gonna hurt each other at some point in our lives.”

And it festers there for ages. All the talking and time won’t wash away what’s happened...the old guilt said to him as he just nodded towards his mother, not wanting to continue this conversation anymore. All he wanted was to get home and talk. Why was that so hard? It was just talking, something so simple yet so damn difficult. If he’d just talked to him before leaving instead of leaving a note, if he’d just talked to him about how he felt since their third year, if he’d just talked to him instead of letting him make his own anniversary plans…

Dammit Brian stop it already! He howled at himself. Stop making it about you, stop with the damn “what if” scenarios, just stop! Nothing can be changed about that and this is why Freddie's getting pissed with you! He said he wants to move on, why can't you? Brian looked across the room, hoping for the fire to turn green so he could go back and just apologize for everything. Freddie didn't him to coddle him and yet that's all he was doing. But why? Sure Freddie needed him but not to the degree he was taking it to, especially now that he was trying to move on. So why was he holding on? Was it really that hard to let go of something that didn’t happen to you? Freddie had a reason to hold on, he was the one who nearly died. But why couldn’t he just let go when Freddie was ready to do so?

The room turned green as Brian’s attention fell upon the fireplace. Out of the flames came the narrow figure of Professor Cessa. Her wine-colored robes contrasted with the green fire but matched her brown eyes perfectly. She greeted him with a warm smile.

“Dumbledore informed me that you wished to return home, Mr. May. I’m here to escort you back. Do you have all your things?” She asked in her soft voice.

“Yes ma’am.” He replied, his mother walking over to his head of house and whispering something in her ear, making Brian wish he could read lips for the time being. Professor Cessa gave a nod and returned her attention to him, motioning towards the fireplace and allowing him to go first. Brian grabbed his luggage and hauled it over, pausing for a second before turning around and giving his mother a big hug.

“Tell dad I love him when he gets up. I didn’t want to disturb him…” He said.

“He’ll understand. Else I’ll make him.” She replied with a soft chuckle at the end before letting go.

Brian smiled up at his mother before turning back towards Professor Cessa. She pushed a few strands of greying hair out of her face as he stepped into the fire. Without saying a word, the flames surrounded him and his luggage, whisking him off back to the school and to Freddie.

...

He spent no time in Dumbledore’s office. He only waited for Professor Cessa to arrive and dismiss him. Brian rushed back towards the west side of the castle before pausing at the bottom of the stairs. Perhaps a good surprise would be nice for a change...With that thought, Brian flicked his wand and levitated the suitcase up the stairs, going as fast as he could without making noise or hitting the surrounding walls, answered the eagle’s question, and entered the common room, which had only recently been cleaned by the house elves as the fresh lavender scent still hung in the air.

Brian laid his luggage down on the ground, not wanting to drag it up to his room just yet. With all his effort, he crept up the staircase and slowly opened the door. As expected, it was just Freddie in the room. At this point, he couldn’t care where Conner or Noah went. Seeing his roommates was the last thing Brian wanted at this point. Freddie was fast asleep, tightly clutching his pillow between his arms and making little to no noise as he slept. Brian just stood there, not wanting to disturb him. Instinctively, he tried to find any new scars upon his body, yet found none, something which brought both shock and relief to him. Now all he wondered was what the hell John had done to keep him from getting so beaten up that night.

He headed over to his bed, slowly lowering himself onto it as to not make any noise. Brian sat there, awaiting the time when Freddie would awake. In the meantime, he glanced outside, studying the rays of the sun as it rose in the distance, the ways in which the trees danced with the billowing winds, and the silhouettes of the creatures-both human and animal-wandering across the grounds of Hogwarts below. It looked like it was straight out of an advertising pamphlet for first years, getting them ready to see the beautiful sights that the school had to offer. To think that just a few metres away laid that dark forest that held unforeseeable horrors that no student would ever want to face during their time here. Brian couldn’t wish that upon anybody. He’d gotten close enough once and that was plenty.

The time managed to fly by, at least that’s how Brian saw it. The sun had risen past the outline of the Forbidden Forest and was now casting its golden glow across the grounds. The sunlight managed to creep into their room, slowly making its way over to Freddie’s bed. As it did so, he stirred in his sleep before his eyes opened. Brian smiled as he heard Freddie let out a groan directed towards the sun as he turned over and tried to fall back to sleep. His eyes only fell shut for a moment before reopening. Freddie sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes before staring straight at him.

“Hey.” Brian said softly.

Freddie kicked off the covers and rushed over, throwing himself at him and tackling him onto the bed. He planted a massive kiss on his cheek and tightly wrapped his arms around his body, burying his face into his chest.

Freddie pulled away, his eyes beaming as he towered over him. “When did you get back?” He asked. “I think about an hour ago. Cessa got me from my house.” He explained.

“Oh I’m so glad you’re back!” Freddie exclaimed, his smile managing to grow wider.

“You...You’re not mad?”

Freddie paused for a second and leaned back to get into a kneeling position. He let out a long sigh before looking right at him. “I was, I was absolutely furious with you.” His face fell as his brow furrowed for a moment. “How could you not tell me what had happened to my face? How could you leave with the moon coming-”

“Freddie it’s my father-”

“I know...I know that now but I wasn’t thinking then when I sent out that howler and I’m sorry for everything I said in it.” He sighed and shook his head. “I was just so angry and scared that I couldn’t think straight.” Freddie replied. He gave a weak smile. “To think I’m the one trying to get you to move on but I turned into a complete mess when you left.”

“I should’ve said something to you, especially with the moon coming up. But I was in the same place. I was absolutely pissed that you weren’t listening to me and you couldn’t understand that I just wanted to protect you. But you’re right, I shouldn’t be treating you like some baby who can’t do anything on their own.”

“And I felt the same way about you.” Freddie said. “Brian, I said I want to move on but it isn’t going to be easy for either of us. I want to be in control of this thing as often as I can and not be petrified of everything relating to it. But that also means you have to stop being such a perfectionist and worrier over everything regarding it.”

“I know, I know. This thing’s been hard on me too though…” Brian thought back to his conversation with John in that room. “You nearly died...I watched you almost die right in front of me. That...that image haunts me every single day…” He shuddered at the boggart memory. “You were thirteen! Why did it attack you?” He growled.

“I ask myself the same thing.” Freddie admitted, giving him a soft glance his way. “If I could just know, maybe it’d help me move on. But I don’t think I’m ever gonna really know why it decided I was the one to attack that night. Honestly, I don’t even think there’s a bloody reason!”

“I just don’t ever want something like that to happen again. I…” Brian paused for a second, his throat closing up to keep the words from escaping. He took in a deep breath. Tell him, it’s the only way things are gonna improve. “I blame myself for it happening in the first place. I should’ve gone with you...At least then I could’ve been there when it came around and we both could’ve handled it.”

“Oh Brian…” Freddie glanced down, his eyes growing dark. “I wish none of this could’ve happened. Sometimes…” He paused. “Sometimes I just wish it had done away with me then so that none of this would be going on now.”

It was as if a knife had gone through his chest once Freddie finished his sentence. Brian looked at him with wide eyes. “Freddie don’t think that, please. We know what happens when that...thing takes the life of someone. Look at Roger. Do you really think I would be in a better place if you had died that night? I’d be in a similar situation as Roger is right now!”

“It seems so much easier sometimes though.” Freddie said with a dark shadow in his eyes. “I know it’s not the right thing, I’ve had to accept it by now. Besides, I still blame myself for not listening to you that night. Maybe if I’d just stayed inside-”

“Freddie, please don’t. I don’t want you blaming yourself-” Brian interrupted, only realizing his hypocrisy a second too late.

“And I don’t want you to blame yourself!” Freddie said. “It kills me to see you beat yourself up over this. That night is something where we both did something we regret. But it’s in the past and I want to just focus on now and the future. I’m tired of this routine of me being terrified of what’s already happened, aren’t you?” He asked.

“I am…” Brian admitted. “I just want you to be safe though.”

“And I want the same for you.”

“Why me-” He began. “Brian, don’t you think I’ve had to deal with some pretty bad thoughts about what that thing could do to any of you guys?” Freddie asked.

There was a moment of silence as Brian thought back to the boggart at his home. The malice in Freddie’s eyes, the hunger within the monster’s stare, and the emptiness in his friends’ gazes as they sat beneath it.

“I bet we’ve shared similar fears, just from different perspectives.” Brian told him, taking in a deep breath before continuing. “There...There was this boggart that came about when I was home and all I saw were different versions of...of that thing killing all of you or...or you hating me because of what had happened.” Brian admitted.

Freddie leaned forward and placed his hand on his lap. His eyes were wide with worry and concern, but there was nothing but care within them, something Brian hoped Freddie could see within his own past the fear that he knew was evident within them.

“Brian, as much of a bitch I can be at times, I can never hate you. No matter how much I might yell or insult you when I’m in one of those moods, I couldn’t ever feel anything so cruel towards you. Just like how I try to remember that when you get too protective or get angry at me you still care about me, right?”

“Of course Freddie.” He replied.

“It’s hard to remember sometimes, especially when our emotions get the better of us. I mean, look what I said in that howler!”

“Believe me, I might’ve thought some pretty unkind things about you as well…”

“See, but it’s just out of anger. Just like how when we get sad or scared we do things we normally wouldn’t do. That’s why I wanna move on from this with you; it’s so that those emotions won’t flare up as much because of the same old things over and over again. I’m tired from what it does to us and I don’t want it to ruin what we’ve got going together.”

Brian leaned forward and reciprocated the hug Freddie had given him earlier. He entangled his hand into Freddie’s hair and sighed loudly.

“I love you Freddie.” Brian whispered.

“I love you too Brian.”

#A bit of a diversion from the usual two POVs in a chapter but I wanted to do something different for this one and the next one #Well maybe the next one hhhhhhh #I might just go back to form for that #Moonlight Magic #Fanfiction #Frian

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arazialotis · 7 years ago

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Stairway to Heaven

Pairing: Dean × Reader

Word Count: Around 2000

This is was written for Kari’s @thing-you-do-with-that-thing 9.5k British Song Challenge! First of all... 9.5K?!?! you go girl! You 110% deserve it! And thank you for letting me participate in this and with such an iconic song! There’s no way I did it justice, but this story was completely inspired by Led Zeppelin’s Stairway To Heaven. If you never heard it before, seriously go check it out. Probably one of the greatest rock songs of all time. Anyways, enough of my preaching

Summary: The reader and Dean have been in a relationship for years. They found nothing but comfort in each other. But that all changes when Dean learns the reader only came into their life on a deal.

Warnings: Angst!Fest, Reader Death, Violence, Blood

@misguidedconqueress Jeez! I wouldn’t know what to do without you. I so much value your advice and input! Thanks for helping me editing!!

----

Dean lay underneath as you straddled his lap, nothing between you but an entanglement of sheets. He still panted, out of breath from the sweet pleasure that had occured just moments before. Beads of sweat glistened against his skin, matching the flecks of gold hidden in the forest that were his eyes. You brought his hand to your lips, lightly brushing his knuckles against them.

“Dean?” You softly called.

“Yeah sweetheart?” He answered bringing his free hand up behind your ear and gently through your hair.

You leaned your cheek into his palm and placed his hand down. He slowly ran it up your bare thigh, squeezing gently. A tear escaped the corner of your eye. Dean’s thumb automatically wiped it away.

He sat up in a hurry. “Baby, what's wrong?” He asked concerned.

You grabbed the nearest sheet and wrapped it around you as more tears started to spill over.

“Talk to me, Y/N.” He pleaded, now pulling you in closer. “Did I hurt you?”

“No… It’s… I…” You paused getting the tears under control. You turned around leaning your back against his chest so he couldn't see your face. One more inhale and your shaky breath steadied. “Do you remember how long ago we first met?” It would be easier if he pieced it together.

“Hmmm.” Dean hummed. “I’d say nine and a half years ago.”

You nodded your head. “You and Sam came to my town for a case…” You recalled. “My stepdad was wrapped up in the middle of it. You saved him. And you saved me… by letting me come with you and Sam. Inviting me into your home, into your family.”

“That's right.” Dean affirmed, still confused by the whole ordeal.

“Do you remember what the case was?” You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself - almost as containment - but a broken sob still shattered through.

Dean’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall. His eyes widened and his brows popped up. He forcefully grabbed you by the shoulder and swung you around. “What did you do, Y/N?!” He demanded. “Answer me!” He practically shook you to force it out.

You still refused to look at him. Your voice barely broke a whisper. “I made a deal.”

His breath faltered. He pulled you in tight against his chest. His heart pounded and the arms around you almost began to hurt as he processed his racing thoughts.

“I wanted the chance to be brave, to make a difference, somewhere to belong…” Dean pushed you aside and stood up, dressing in a hurry. “Please don't hate me…” You begged.

“Y/N…” His voice broke off. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. You consequently pulled the sheet closer to you, concealing your naked figure; embarrassed and ashamed. “I mean, is any of this real?”

“Of course it’s real!” You argued. “I never intended…” “I just…” He interrupted. “I need some air.”

He left you alone in the hotel room and did not return.

Three Days Later

Dean had returned to the bunker and caught Sam up to speed. His eyes had been swollen red for the past couple of days; he waved it off as lack of sleep. Sam was enjoying his breakfast in the library, catching up on some reading when Dean entered, geared up and packed.

He passed straight through until Sam stopped. “Where are you heading?” Dean paused in the entryway contemplating if he should engage Sam or not. “Crowley,” was all he stated.

Sam gulped. The King of Hell was ruthless and cunning. Sam was convinced the only reason they were still alive was because Crowley saw them as entertainment. If they grew as a nuisance, there’s no telling what would happen. Sam was about to object but Dean interjected.

“Don’t try and stop me.” He protested. “I don’t care what we are feeling or thinking, I don’t care if everything for the past nine years has been a lie. It’s a case as any other, so I’m taking it.”

You had built up the courage to return to the bunker, your home. You arrived early morning and snuck through the garage door with Dean’s favorite beer and black licorice in hand to try to make amends. The bunker was quiet until you made your way to the kitchen and overheard Dean. His words cut through the already sore wound. Trying to help you, not because you were family, not because he loved you, simply because you were just another case. But you weren’t going to tuck tail and run now, you entered the library, catching them both by surprise. Dean stared at you momentarily before breaking his gaze. You couldn’t decipher if he was relieved, angry, or mourning.

“Don’t you think, I’ve already tried that.” You broke the silence. “Crowley won’t budge on the deal, and he’s not that easy to persuade when he’s got hellhounds on his side.” You set the beer on the table and tossed the licorice to Dean. He caught it with both hands and smiled, knowing how much you despised the stuff.

“Y/N.” Sam addressed you. “How could you… You had so much ahead of you.”

“What can I say… Ten years seems like infinity to a nineteen year old. A kid who was chasing a distant parent’s dream, not her own. A kid who was lost in a sea of faces. But then came along two brothers. And they noticed me, they saw value in me, and gave me meaning… It came so fast and I saw it was slipping away just as quickly. And I wanted more…” You tried to explain yourself. You tried to search Dean’s face yet again, getting some response, some emotion.

“You have to understand how this is a shock to us.” Sam continued.

“Is it though? You would have never let me come along in the first place… I tried…” You defended. “I know things are never going to be the same, I know you don’t trust your feelings or me right now. But I only asked for the opportunity. The relationships we’ve built, the love we had…” Dean’s jaw clenched. “That was never a part of the deal…”

“None of that matters.” Dean finally spoke. “We’re getting you out of this.”

“I already have a way out.” You lied.

They both looked at you confused.

“A while back, I talked to Cas… there’s a loophole.” You fabricated. “If I save enough souls during my remaining time, I can buy my way into heaven.”

“So you’ll still…” Sam’s breath shook. He couldn’t finish the thought.

“Yeah.” You confirmed. “Except it will be a lot less bloody. Not as many teeth and claws.” You tried to lighten the mood with a joke but they didn’t take it.

You moved your stuff from the shared room with Dean to the room you had used when you first arrived. As the weeks passed, you hoped things would return to normal but other than second glances, Dean was distant. He no longer held you close or nuzzled his warm breath into your neck. He didn’t reach out for your hand or try to make you smile. The only positive thing coming from it was the separation made it easier to hide the truth.

As weeks started to turn into months, you didn’t have much time to think or even breathe. Dean was so focused on jumping from case to case. Focusing on exorcising instead of using the demon blade, processing with ghosts rather than burning bones. And as soon as you were done, he had another one lined up. You knew he still cared somewhere in there. He was racking up your saved souls. He was helping you build a stairway to heaven which never even existed. But he didn’t need to know that.

Two months to go and the hallucinations began. Slowly at first; whispering voices and shadows behind trees. Each passing day they grew in severity and terror; creeping closer into the hotel rooms and staring at you through mirrors. You realized you couldn’t keep the act going for long. The lie would come full circle eventually. In between hunts, travelling from one town to another, you slipped out during the middle of the night. Never intending to return.

You still took hunts here and there, while you felt sane enough. You wanted nothing more to fight it out until the end; thus causing you to become more reckless. The countdown was at three weeks. Maybe that’s why you decided to take on a nest of ghouls solo. You had a feeling this hunt would be your last. You’d take out what you could but you truly did not want to come back.

It was midnight when you entered the crypt. They’d be up and they’d be active. But you didn’t wish to take them by surprise. The passage stemming from an empty coffin was already open, revealing the hollow ground underneath. You jumped into the grave without acknowledging the irony. The tunnels were primitive, as if giant moles had dug through. Roots stuck through the walls and the ground was uneven.

As you neared closer to the entrance of their lair, it became apparent a struggle was happening from the other end. You rushed in, machete in hand, ready to save someone’s day for the last time. But you were not prepared for what you encountered.

The eldest Winchester turned at your appearance and the fight left his face. “Y/N?” His voice quavered. Over a month had passed since you last saw him.

At his distraction, the last ghoul raced towards him, knife in hand.

“Dean!” You tried to call his attention to the danger, but he seemed frozen.

In three quick bounds you closed the distance between you, swinging the machete with all your might. As you made contact, the ghoul made one last effort. It thrusted its knife up and up; each tormenting second lunging deeper, tearing into your chest. You swung through completing its end. You took a half a step back. The machete dropped from your hand as you looked down at the hilt of the knife.

“No, no, no.” Dean quietly moaned.

He caught you as you fell, guiding you gently down, cradling you in his arms.

“Sam!” He called, his voice cracking. Tears started spilling over, rolling down his face and dropping onto your cheeks and lips. “Don’t worry baby, we’re going to fix this.” Dean anxiously looked around but Sam was nowhere to be seen. You could barely find his voice over the humming in your own head.

“Shhh.” You hushed. Your eyelids were growing heavy. “It’s okay. I made it.” A sob broke through Dean as he brushed your hair aside. “I can see the pearly gates already…” You attempted to joke, but the soft laugh gave way to coughing. Dean’s salty tears on your lips were replaced with the taste of sharp metal you knew to be blood.

“Stop it.” He pleaded. “You still have time, we’ll find a way.” Your eyes fluttered closed but Dean wouldn’t have it. “Come on baby, stay with me.” He lightly shook you.

The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and excruciating pain ripped through your body. Your brow furrowed together and your breath became more ragged. You felt warmth starting to leave your body.

“I’ll wait for you there” You whispered. “Just d.. don.. Don’t come by too soon.”

“... I can’t…” He begged. “Y/N, I need you.”

“You’ll be okay…” You assured. “It’ll be okay…” You told yourself as darkness began swarming in and instead of a cloudy staircase your soul was being consumed by shadowy flames. Demons, not angels, were calling you to join them.

“Y/N…. Y/N…” Dean called to your lifeless body. “Don’t leave me.”

Dean stayed put, even after Sam rushed in. He cradled you, his face buried in your hair, rocking you back and forth. He waited for these tortuous emotions to lift, for the alleviation of this agonizing pain now that your deal had been fulfilled. But relief never came. And he now knew that his time spent wrestling, hopelessly wondering what was real, was wasted. He knew that his feelings were not part of the deal, that he was never altered to care for you. He truly loved you, but now it was too late.

-----

Tags: @nanie5 @sea040561 @crushing83 @mogaruke @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @ginamsmith @jotink78 @blushingdean @sup3r-pott3r-lock3d @dancingalone21 @li-ssu @highonpastries @daddy-kink-confirmed @weewooweewoo1212 @carryonmyswansong @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @atc74 @superapplepie @coolness22 @cassieraider @winchesternco @adaliamalfoy @iwriteaboutdean @spnbaby-67

DeanXReader: @akshi8278 @mywillfulwinchester @dainty-hibiscus @boxywrites @its-not-a-tulpa @mrsbatesmotel53 @tacklesackles @creepykatftw @aubreystilinski

#dean winchester #dean x reader #kari's 9.5k british song challenge #supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #spn fandom #angst #oneshot #dean x you #dean x y/n

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lumpy-veev · 7 years ago

Text

Here’s request number two! Kalo babysitting the heroes, and everything going to shit, requested by @prussiastronk. Sorry this one took so long, I hope you enjoy!

Kalo Babysitting the Heroes

Kalo lazed on the couch with a book in his hand.

The heroes were at school, and he had just finished his latest mission, so he had a rare, quiet moment to himself where nothing was happening and he could just relax.

“Kalo?” said Doctor H, approaching him nervously.

“Hm?” Kalo’s eyes shifted from the pages in his hand to the introvert in front of him.

“I’ve been invited to do a panel for the Universal Inventor’s Convention on another planet,” said Doctor H. “So I’ll be gone for the next week or so. If it’s not too much work, could you take care of the heroes for me?”

“Oh, okay. Sure,” Kalo replied, thinking nothing of it in the moment.

“Thanks! I got contacts and general things-to-dos on the fridge if you need them!”

————————————

The second Kalo and the heroes waved Doctor H. goodbye, the weight of the situation began to settle in.

Kalo panicked a little. Did he even know how babysit them?

Ok, he thought, combing through the situation in his head, I can cook, and I can clean. If they need help with homework, I’m decent at math and stuff. Plus they aren’t actually babies. I’m pretty sure they can take care of themselves well enough…

Huh. Maybe I can do this.

————————————

The day started with a literal bang.

Actually, it was more of thundering BOOM.

Kalo bolted upright in bed. Careful S. threw a worried glance in his direction. He was awake too.

“Do you think it’s an attack?” Kalo whispered.

“D'know,” mumbled Careful S, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Let’s go check,” the two of them slipped out, meeting Careless S, Happy S, and Smart S. outside.

“We gotta see what happened, but be careful,” said Kalo, “It could be anything.”

The others nodded, quietly making their way downstairs.

“ARE THERE MONSTERS?!” Happy S. leapt ahead, ready for a battle.

“Happy S, wait-!” Kalo called out. “Huh?”

They were all greeted with the sight of Sweet S, who was coughing in front of the kitchen, which currently had smoke billowing out of it.

It turns out that the loud noise they heard was not a monster, but Sweet S. having an cooking accident. To Kalo’s relief, she escaped unscathed.

“I wanted to make breakfast for you all to save Kalo some work,” she explained sheepishly.

Aww, Kalo smiled a little, his heart warmed at the sentiment.

“I think I left the pan on the stove for too long,” she continued to speak. “But everything blew up when I added the soy-sauce. Maybe I grabbed the wrong bottle…”

“Well, what did you get?” Smart S. asked, slightly intruiged by how Sweet S. managed to blow up the entire kitchen just by grabbing the wrong thing.

“I used this,” she pulled out a slightly charred bottle.

“Hey, I remember! That’s my bottle of gasoline!” Careless S. points out. “But I thought I put it in the fridge?”

“G-Gasoline?!” Sweet S. gasps.

“Nevermind that, how’s the kitchen?” asked Kalo, peeking into the smoking room.

The damage was actually pretty bad. The stove was pretty much gone, and it was at the center of a giant, burnt, black starburst that radiated across the entire kitchen.

The only thing that was still somewhat okay was the fridge, which only had a few scorch marks across the door of it.

At least the fridge’s okay, thought Kalo. I maybe I should call someone to clean this place up.

“Um, Kalo, what’re we gonna have for breakfast?” Happy S. asks, his stomach audibly growling.

“Hmm,” Kalo racked his head for ideas.

“How does take-out sound?” Kalo decided. The heroes chimed back with agreement.

Welp, take-out it is then.

—————————————–

Kalo sighed, strolling through the market.

Sweet S. used everything that was left in the fridge, but of course, the ‘incident’ left eveything burnt and inedible.

So here he was, buying food for dinner.

“Don’t blow the house up while I’m gone!” Kalo had said, but now he was worried that he’d jinxed something.

Dang it, he mentally groaned, it’s only the first day. Am I’m gonna be able to last a week?

Bag of groceries in hand, he began to make his way home. Bright blue flames licked the air around him as he dematerialized into nothing but a blaze of hot blue energy.

Kalo raced home, weaving through buildings and trees, until it thinned out into the familiar desert-like terrain their house was located.

As he got closer, he was relieved to find that the house was still very much intact.

He landed near the entrance and walked in.

“Hey guys, I’m back!” Kalo was greeted to the sight of the five heroes silently sitting on the couch.

They all looked…suspiciously guilty.

Except for Careful S.

He just looked really, really unamused.

Kalo locked eyes with Careful S, and his eyes briefly flicked upwards.

So something happened upstairs, he thought, mentally translating the glance.

“So, did anything happen while I was gone?” Kalo asked, opting not let the rest of them know that he suspected them of anything. He set the groceries on the dinner table.

“No, not at all!” Happy S. grinned nervously, his voice rising an octave higher than normal. The rest of them were trying and failing to seem aloof.

“Really?”

“Yup!”

Kalo raised a brow.

“Alright,” he shrugged. “I’m going upstairs. Tell me if-”

“Wait!” Smart S. yelped. “Do you really need to go upstairs? Maybe you can…uh…dooo something downstairs!”

Careful S. put a hand to his forehead, letting out a small sigh.

The other heroes cringed. They really weren’t good at lying.

Kalo raised a brow.

“I think I’ll go upstairs,” he stepped into the elevator and headed up.

—————————————

The first thing he noticed, was the smell of smoke. It was acrid and metallic.

A bomb.

Then he saw the second floor, or rather, the state it was in.

It looked just like the kitchen, if not worse. The walls were scorched black, and there was a hole in the back of the ceiling.

For a solid minute, Kalo just stood there, trying to wrap his head around what he was seeing.

The heroes came up the elevator right behind him, filing out behind him.

“Uh…we can explain?” Careless S. said timidly.

Kalo pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Please do.”

—————————————

Happy S. slammed his workbook closed.

His homework was finished! Now he could play with the others!

Happy S. raced downstairs. Smart S. and Sweet S. were watching some cheesy soap opera. Careful S. was there too, fiddling with a rubix cube.

“You guys wanna play soccer?” He asked.

“I’m down with that,” Smart S. shrugged. He turned to Sweet S. “Tell me who the murderer is at the end!”

“Mm,” Sweet S. nodded a little, most of her attention still on the screen.

“Hey Careful S, how about you?” Happy S. poked his head. Careful S. sighed and pocketed his rubix cube.

Might as well join. It was easier to give in anyways.

“We should go get Careless S,” said Smart S.

So they made their way upstairs, and Happy S. knocked on his door.

“Careless S.~? Come play soccer with us!”

The door opened with a click, and Careless S. stepped out.

He was holding a bomb.

“Soccer sounds great!” He chirped.

The other heroes gasped and stumbled back. Careless S. blinked, then realized why the others were so startled.

“Ooh, are you guys worried about this? Well, don’t worry, this is an audio-bomb I’ve been working on! It’ll only start if some says 'begin detonation countdown’!” Careless S. stands there, grinning innocently.

The bomb’s timer lit up and began to tick down. The heroes began to panic.

“Turn it off! Turn it off!” Smart S. shrieked.

“Uh, uh, I forgot how!” Careless S. said, his mind pulling a blank. In a panic, he threw the bomb to Smart S, who in turn, threw it to Happy S. like a game of hot potato.

Happy S. attempted to throw the bomb to Careful S, but as soon as the bomb left his hands, Careful S. stepped to the side and teleported away, not wanting to deal with the bomb.

KABOOM

The bomb exploded, blackening the walls and taking out a part of the ceiling with it.

Sweet S. rushed upstairs in a panic.

“Guys, I heard an explosion! Is everyone-?” Sweet S. coughed and waved away the smoke in her face. She froze when she saw the extent of the damage.

For a few seconds, it was just silence.

Then Happy S. spoke up.

“Kalo’s not gonna be happy.”

—————————————-

And he wasn’t.

“I was gone for TWENTY MINUTES.” He’d said, exasperated.

The rest of the day was spent cleaning the upstairs area, redoing the wall paper, and patching the hole in the ceiling.

It was dark out by the time they had completely finished. The upstairs area was pretty much normal once they were done.

Kalo sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

Well, he thought, at least that’s over with.

Brrrrrring! Brrrrrring!

The phone rattled in its holder.

“Hello?” Kalo picked it Up. It was Doctor H.

“Hey Kalo! So it turns out the convention’s been canceled. Something about an important person being really sick. So I’ll actually be back sometime by tomorrow afternoon,” he said.

“Oh okay!” Kalo replied.

After hanging up, he let out a yawn and headed to bed. He said goodnight to Careful S, tucked himself in, and rolled over.

What a day, Kalo thought. At least I’m not gonna have to deal with a week of this.

Although…

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had forgotten something.

——————————————-

THE KITCHEN.

Kalo bolted upright in bed, this time not from any loud noise, but from the realization that he would have to practically redo the entire kitchen before Doctor H. came home.

“Careful S, wake up!” Kalo hissed through clenched teeth. Careful S.’s eyes popped open.

“What-?”

“Meet me outside the kitchen, I’m getting the others.”

After rounding up four more sleepy heroes, he began to explain the situation.

“Isn’t Doctor H. coming home five days later?” asked Careful S.

“Well, funny thing is…he’s actually coming home today. This afternoon,” Kalo said sheepishly.

Suddenly, the heroes didn’t seem so sleepy.

Kalo looked at the clock.

8:30 am

They had at least three hours and 30 minutes. Four hours if they were lucky.

“Alright, this isn’t the best situation, but if we buckle down and get to work, we can finish this,” said Kalo. “And don’t worry, I’ll order breakfast.”

———————————————-

Doctor H. stretched when he got off the taxi.

A happy sigh escaped his mouth. It felt good to be home.

He grabbed his luggage, and plodded up the stairs.

“Guys, I’m back!” He called, knocking on the door. Kalo was the one who answered the door.

“Welcome home,” he smiled. Everyone was on the couch, watching TV. It seemed everything was fine.

“I’m gonna go grab something to eat,” Doctor H. passed his luggage off to Kalo, who seemed just a little tenser than before.

He opened the fridge and scanned its contents.

Bread, cheese, ham, hmmmm…I guess I’ll make myself a sandwich.

As he made his meal, he couldn’t help but feel something was off.

“I could’ve sworn the wall paper was a darker shade of yellow.” Doctor H. thought aloud.

…

“Mm. Probably my head messing with me.”

Unbeknownst to Doctor H, Kalo had just doubled over with relief.

#happyheroes

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byunnct · 7 years ago

Text

new years fireworks [jaehyun nct]

pairing: jung jaehyun x reader

summary: college!au. it seems you become jaehyun’s new year’s resolution

a/n: in celebration of me having no plans for nye, here is a poorly written nye party with jae!!

When you think of New Year’s Eve, you usually end up thinking of a New Year’s kiss not long after.

Whether it’s a stranger, friend, close friend, boyfriend, girlfriend, person, it’s an exciting tradition that you think is valued too much, but is a fun idea nonetheless. With that kiss to welcome the year in mind, there’s students everywhere chatting up strangers in hopes they will have someone to kiss at midnight. It’s entertaining to watch people both succeed and fail and how they deal with it. You’ve watched the same boy get rejected three times now. He’s not losing hope, though.

You wish you had his confidence and perseverance. Maybe then you could get over that damned Jung Jaehyun.

The tall, handsome, very pale bread-looking schmuck has ruined your life since the day you met him. You’re still angry that he had such an effect on you the first time you met, rendering you to short, quiet sentences and a furiously beating heart. He’s a person whose always had attention from everyone – whether it be romantically, platonically or just to appreciate his God-like appearance. You’d maybe go as far as to say he’s the heartthrob of your college, drawing people in with his good looks and keeping them with a personality to die for. Jaehyun’s popularity is undeniable, and you’ve witnessed confessions to him on several occasions and had to watch disheartened classmates awkwardly scuffle away after being rejected.

Your best friend, Johnny, who coincidentally is how you’re more familiar with Jaehyun than the average person, always tells you to give Jaehyun a chance because “you two would get along so well!” but in some weird, backward defence mechanism, instead of befriending him, making things easier for Johnny (as he always complains), you find yourself avoiding him at all costs.

No casual ‘hello’s in passing, no small talk if you’re behind him in the line at the coffee shop, no associating with Jaehyun in any way especially if someone comes to you with the idea that “since you know Johnny..”, and definitely no meeting up with Johnny when you know they’ve been in the same lecture or even in the same proximity.

Better safe than sorry, you tell yourself. Keep a good distance.

In hindsight, you think it’s because you’re so focussed on Jaehyun in your head that you don’t realise the real thing is in front of you, waving a too good looking hand, looking confused but still with a smirk on his lips. He says your name (it sounds beautiful) and his smirk softens, “I thought you were ignoring me for a second,”

“Ah, sorry, must be the alcohol.” You smile. You’re lying, you’ve had two sips of whatever is in your cup, but you’re panicking a little and you’re unsure of how to act or of what Jaehyun wants.

“It’s cool,” He moves to stand next to you against the wall and takes a sip of his drink, “How’re you enjoying the party?”

You take a deep breath in, “As far as I’m aware no one’s thrown up yet, and to me that means everything is going swell so far.”

You notice Jaehyun laughs a little too much at your response and then glances around the room. “Yeah, let’s hope neither of us are around when all of that goes down.”

With a nod, as casually as you can you ask, “So who did you come with?”

“Just me.” He smiles.

You expected that he had come with someone, anyone, whether it was friend or love interest or at least Mark, a boy in the lower year who is adored across campus, but before you can question it Jaehyun is speaking again.

“I’m here for someone, though. Not with, for. I’m keeping an eye out for them.” He looks strangely smug and stares directly into your eyes.

Jealousy flares inside of you. His words hurt more than you’d like to admit, the fact that he’s here for someone that isn’t you but is here talking to you, wasting time before the one he’s waiting for arrives, and then you feel angry because he seems smug after breaking your heart, even though he has no idea he’s done such a thing. You still blame him.

“Oh,” You say, stepping away, preparing to leave, “Well I hope you find them.”

You turn and begin to leave but there’s slim fingers wrapping around your arm and Jaehyun has grabbed your wrist.

“Let’s go outside and talk,” He says gently.

You really don’t want to but at the same time you really want to. You’re conflicted and confused, you want to leave the party and never look back and pretend this encounter never happened, but you also want to go outside with Jung Jaehyun, the person you refuse to believe you’re crushing on but totally are, and use this rare opportunity to get closer to him. You stare at him and curse under your breath; you can’t say no to his face when it looks so angelic.

Good looking people have it so easy.

When you walk into the backyard there’s a large pool that’s surrounded by wooden loungers, enough to seat at least the college’s sports team. The trees and bushes have been decorated in celebration of New Year’s Eve, fairy lights of mainly white and a blue hue strewn across the leaves of the bushes and branches of the trees. There’s some leftover Christmas decorations still dotted around and you make a mental note to buy yourself a light-up snowman next year. Even with the misplaced Christmas décor, the garden looks.. romantic.

Jaehyun directs you to one of the loungers by the pool and when you sit you expect him to take the lounger next to you, but the entire chair shifts slightly when Jaehyun places himself right next to you, arm pressed against yours.

He asks you about New Year’s resolutions and you tell him something simple off the top of your head, something to do with experiencing firsts, and you feel your cheeks burn when he responds, “I bet you’ll do that easily!” with a warm, wide smile. In return you ask him if he has any and he smiles cryptically and says, “Nothing special. Keep my grades up, that kind of stuff. I’d like to get closer to certain people.”

You’re worried of what the reaction would be if you pried about who he was talking about, so you elect to not bother asking. There’s a part of you that doesn’t want to know anyway, since you’re sure you are not one of the people he’d like to get closer to.

You talk for a while, and you think everything’s going just fine when Jaehyun suddenly says, “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

You laugh nervously, startled, “What? Of course I like you-”

“Johnny already told me.”

You sigh, “Johnny.”

You’re not entirely sure what Johnny could’ve said, it’s not like you’ve said anything too offensive or stand-offish regarding Jaehyun. You prefer to avoid the topic of the boy altogether, purposely not saying anything when he’s mentioned or brought up in conversation.

Jaehyun, however, isn’t really offended by the ‘rumour’ that you don’t like him. Johnny’s said a lot about you, mainly good since Johnny’s just a good guy, and when it comes to you and Jaehyun all Johnny’s said is, “Y/N doesn’t really say anything about you.” Which Jaehyun thinks is a little worse than you bad-mouthing him behind his back. The real feelings of dislike come from how you avoid him, how you obviously withdraw yourself from a conversation if he’s brought up, and how you think he doesn’t notice, but Johnny is a common interest for you two - he plans to use this to his advantage so he can talk to you for longer.

“Yeah,” Jaehyun giggles, “He’s a special one, right?”

You look exhausted as you say, “He stood up and did his parrot impression for the entire party earlier.”

Before he can respond, people start flooding out of the backdoor of the house, stumbling into the garden and accidentally spilling some of their drinks onto the grass. Some are chanting some song or ritual, and others are shouting something about how the countdown will begin after fireworks.

“Maybe we should move away from the pool,” Jaehyun mumbles. As you walk towards a tree near the back, you can feel Jaehyun’s hand hovering around your waist and a voice in your head whispers about how’d nice it’d be if he just.. moved a little closer so he was touching you.

The backyard becomes so crowded it looks as if you’re part of an audience for a show. You’re completely surrounded and it makes you feel somewhat helpless, like if you wanted to walk away from Jaehyun now you wouldn’t be able to. Whatever happened, you would have to deal with it and the consequences. Maybe you should’ve left when you had the chance.

At one point, a particularly drunk girl comes staggering through the crowd and pushes you slightly, causing you to take a step back into Jaehyun who is right behind you. Instinctively Jaehyun gently puts his hands on your waist, stabilising you. He’s so close you can feel his hard chest against your back and he mumbles a quiet, “are you okay?” directly into your ear. You twitch slightly and curse him in your mind; you swear he purposely sounds breathy as he speaks just to cause the colour in your cheeks.

The fireworks are finally let off, shooting into the air and it’s a beautiful sight with a mixture of colours that complement each other in the night sky. You flinch a couple of times from the loud bangs and Jaehyun gives a little chuckle every time from behind you, causing his chest to rumble and you feel it - it’s so nice and warm you want to scream.

Then the countdown to the New Year begins.

Everyone around you starts shouting numbers, couples already coming together to look at one another as the clock ticks down. Jaehyun pinches your side slightly, saying, “Y/N,” and turns you around to face him.

The look on his face makes your heart speed up too fast for your liking. He looks nervous, as if he’s not sure what to say or do, but he’s smiling so his dimples show and his cheeks are bunched up and make his eyes smaller. Despite the nervousness, there’s also a look of warmth and anticipation on his face. It’s endearing.

Just as the countdown reaches zero, Jaehyun moves his arms to wrap around your waist and he softly asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering you lean up, wrap your arms around his neck and place your lips onto his. Everyone starts cheering and even though you know everyone is cheering because it’s the New Year, you can’t help but feel like everyone is cheering for you and Jaehyun because you’ve been wanting this for so long (and Jaehyun has too).

You decide there and then that 2018 will be a year of firsts, 2018 will be different, and that’s solidified by the sparkle in Jaehyun’s eyes when he looks at you after you pull away.

#nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct u scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #jung jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun scenarios #kpop scenarios #times like these i realise i really.........have a long way to go as a writer #i hope everyones 2018 is beautiful

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giantbandgeeks · 8 years ago

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christmas, three years after the end of queen of peace

A team of people were working around Queen Florence, trying to get the camera angles set up so they were just shooting from her elbows up. She was stuck sitting in position, letting her mind wander far away from the Christmas speech she had to give to all of Europe in the coming minutes. There were a million other things that she had to do, God forbid she spend the entire day lounging around in her pajamas with her family.

Normally, she didn’t mind the speech. It was a small gift she could give to the continent who had given her so much. But, she was three days overdue with her baby boy, and was not comfortable sitting in any one position for too long. Especially if making a minor adjustment to the way she was sitting meant a PR field day over baby bump exposure. It was too much of a headache for moving to be worth the five seconds of relief.

She wished they would at least put her behind a desk or something, or let Harry sit with her, but there was no such luck. No one on the camera crew or on her PR team knew what it was like to be three days overdue with a billion pound baby. so the Queen got no sympathy.

“Sit up a bit more straight please, Your Majesty,” The man behind the largest camera directly in front of Florence spoke, pulling her out of her thoughts. Florence sighed, but schooled her features into indifference and straightened her spine.

“We’re live in five!” Someone shouted, and the room dissolved into panic. Florence could only catch pieces of ‘that’s not enough time,’ and ‘there’s a glare in the picture frame,’ and her personal favourite, ‘but we can still see the top of her stomach!’ She put a hand on the top of her belly out of spite, and then rubbed down to where she could feel his hand pressing.

“Show my bump,” Florence’s voice cut through the chaos, and immediately brought silence to the room. Everyone just paused to look at her in wonder. “It is not some big secret that I am pregnant,” She snapped, brow furrowing in her frustration. “The people know that I must be due soon. Just make your lives easier and show my stomach!”

No one gave her an answer, but the room seemed to relax even as activity flurried around her once again. She allowed her shoulders to slump just the slightest bit, and adjusted her dress.

“One minute!” A band began playing ‘God Save the Queen’ from the front courtyard, and Florence sat straight once again. Everyone had left the frame to crowd behind the cameras and watch the Queen’s Christmas speech. She found her smile when Harry walked in and stood in the doorway.

“Look, it’s Mummy,” She could see him whisper to their two year old on his hip, whose face was lit up in joy at seeing Florence. All Flo could do was smile and shoot them a quick wave before the countdown began and she was being broadcast live to homes across the European continent.

It was five excruciating minutes of talking to the camera, keeping a happy resting face, limiting movement, and making sure that she spoke every word with clear confidence. At one point she couldn’t resist placing her hand on the side of her belly to push at her son’s hand, and she was sure that the cameras were catching his movements as he went wild in her belly. She couldn’t find it in herself to care. He was supposed to be here three days before, anyway. Harry was supposed to be the one giving the speech and announcing his birth, with Florence watching on the TV in her hospital room and snuggled up with their son.

“And we’re out,” Florence let out a big sigh of relief and braced herself with a hand on her back to stand up.

“Didn’t Mummy do so well, Lia?” Harry murmured as he watched Florence slowly waddle over to him.

“Mumma,” Lia reached out to Florence, and despite Harry’s expression, Florence took her into her arms.

“She is two, Harry. She weighs 25 pounds,” Florence silenced his protest before it could even leave his lips, and then turned her attention to her first baby. “Hiiii Lia.”

“Mumma pretty,” Lia reached up for Florence’s crown, but her arms weren’t quite long enough.

“Mumma does have a pretty tiara,” Florence smiled, walking out of the room and down the hallway so she could get to their family room, where Lia’s toys from Santa were scattered about.

“Your Majesty, Missus Anne and Miss Gemma are in the lounge waiting with Her Majesty the Queen Mother.”

“Thank you, Diana. You are free to go now.”

“I’ll see you to the lounge,” Diana smiled and continued to follow the Royal Family down the hallway.

Harry opened the door for Florence, who was still refusing to give up Lia. She gave him a look that said ‘don’t start’ as she entered the room. Florence had been expecting to walk into a mostly empty room with just Anne, Gemma, and her mother. Instead, she found the three people she was expecting plus Diana’s twins and Liam.

Lia squealed with glee and squirmed until Florence set her on the ground so she could toddle over to little Florence and Alice. The Queen groaned as she stood up straight again; her back ached from having sat in the same place for so long. Harry was there immediately, and his hand found its home on the small of her back as he asked, “Are you okay, Flo?”

“More than okay,” She smiled at her husband, and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for this.”

“We all knew you could use a Christmas spent around the people who love you the most, but we were expecting the baby to be here to add to the excitement.”

“He could still come,” Florence laughed softly to herself. “There are thirteen hours left of Christmas.”

“Are you trying to tell me you were just broadcast to the entire continent while in labour?”

“No,” Now she laughed at Harry and his expression of disbelief. “But you never know with these things.”

“I love you,” Harry said, a grin lighting up his face.

“More than words can explain,” Florence answered, and took his hand to lead him over to the group so they could spend the holiday celebrating with their loved ones.

#merry christmas guys!!#this is short and sweet but i hope you enjoy!#nl #qop

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ursafilms · 6 years ago

Text

Comic-Con & Wonder Women!

About two years after the Sara Bareilles debacle, something that had been on my bucket list finally got checked off. Comic-Con. Always wanted to work it. Don’t know why, but I did. It looked like an absolutely stupid collection of video and animation nerds together in one space, and that is exactly what Comic-Con is.

And I would nothave lobbied to work on it, had it not been through one of my favorite clients, Jill Byron of CBS and CBS Interactive.

One of CBS properties was an on-line site called TV.com. It served as a place to curate interest in the prime time shows on the network. To further generate interest in the property, Jill put together an awards show called, oddly, “The TV.com Now Awards.”

And the venue? PetCo Park.

The schedule? During the biggest self-inflicted freak show on the planet.

Comic-Con.

With the possible exception of San Francisco, Comic-Con is the largest collection of reality escaping, self-indulging narcissists converging on one geographical area. And, in the pursuit of full disclosure, I was not lying. Attending this homage to arrested adolescence has been on my bucket list for years.

I have no interest in dressing up as Wonder Woman and putting myself through the serial embarrassment of faking a good time. What I do have is a curiosity as to why people would want to dress up as Wonder Woman and put themselves through the serial embarrassment of faking a good time.

I also have no interest in buying a pass to attend. It’s expensive and that doesn’t take any of hotel, meal, and transportation costs into account. CBS Interactive hiring me opened the door to attending and having someone else pick up the check. That’s not to appear smug or cavalier about the task entrusted to me. I expected to take in Comic-Con in my down time, of which I knew there would be little.

****

I opted to drive to San Diego. As with most of my jobs in southern California, I had to schelp so many things that boarding a flight with all I needed to nursemaid a batch of middle-aged pre-adolescents through a job presented a task of curbside luggage hassles I could no longer accept. Also, I’d need a rental car when I arrived anyway.

The day before my scheduled departure, I picked up the compressed show files at Elastic Creative, the post/animation company that provided all the videos. Even in this modern era I had to act like Laurence Olivier in Marathon Manto get a straight answer out of the show control people as to how they wanted to receive the media. They just don’t want to commit to anything. Drilling into their teeth, while an option, was time-consuming and didn’t always yield good results.

This is a pet peeve, to use a cliché, of mine. I harbor no thoughts of genocide except for one particular tribe. Event producers, and specifically the hermitic and unhygienic dweebs that populate every satellite truck, back of the house, and control booth of every venue into which I had the displeasure of having to enter.

The TV.com Now Awards proved to be no exception. I did get to hire my own on-site show producer, an incredibly gifted woman named Karen DeTemple. But even she couldn’t prevent the obligatory black site conversation I had to have with the person in charge of the control room for the event.

Me: “How would you like me to deliver the media?”

Social Pariah: “Digital files will be fine.”

Me: “That narrows it down to about 3,000 options. Would you like to tell me exactly which type of file? Can you give me a spec sheet?”

Social Pariah: “HD.”

Me: “We’re down to 2,000 types. Fair warning. If you don’t specify which type of file, compression, output, size, audio, and all the other necessary elements, I’m going to send you what I think is most appropriate.”

Social Pariah: “What if it doesn’t work?”

Me: “Then I will hunt you down, like the passive-aggressive loser that you are and beat you with an old 1” tape machine.”

Social Pariah: “Let me get you our spec sheet.”

****

Every job is like this with event people. I don’t get it. I am more knowledgeable about matters that involve show masters and delivery of appropriate digital files than most. But like everything else in the production industry, there is some sadistic pleasure taken by those who just want to see a producer look foolish, which I refused to do after the first few years of my career. If I didn’t take the time and trouble to actually request specifications on deliverables, this wouldn’t gall me as much as it does. But I was vigilant about pursuing that information. My colleagues, however, did not show as much enthusiasm as providing it. To this day, I cannot tell you why.

****

An ugly confrontation took place years before The TV.com Now Awards. Let me have some laughs at the expense of the company that tried to embarrass me.

In the fall of 2000 I flew out to Washington, DC for a medical device convention. Prior to traveling, which I only did because the representatives for the production company wanted to make sure a scapegoat would be on site, I had a meeting with the head of the company which supplied all the hardware to run the show, including video.

Me: “I have three videos that play at this event. How do you want to receive them?”

Passive-Aggressive Loser: “Standard format.”

Me: “Let me be clear. I will send you HDCam with a three second title card at 30 seconds. 17 seconds of black, and then a 10 second countdown. So speak now if you want something different. In other words, is that what you consider standard format?”

Passive-Aggressive Loser: “No.”

This devolved into a lot of bad language. The Passive-Aggressive Loser told me to “chill out,” a term reserved for doofuses who have nowhere to go. We put each other in a headlock and the president of the production company broke the stalemate by assuring me that a spec sheet would be coming my way.

Which I never received.

The incompetent creative director of the production company informed me that I had to go to DC and to hand carry a back-up of the media.

Me: “Sure. What format would you like the media?

Unskilled Drain on the Overhead: “Morty can tell you that.”

Me: “Did you miss the headlock I had him in during the pre-pro meeting? You saw that Morty wouldn’t have given Brezhnev any intel if they ripped his testicles out and showed them to him.”

Unskilled Drain on the Overhead fled the scene.

I arrived in DC with a back-up copy of the media, done to my specifications. Checked into my hotel and headed over to the convention center, where the usual pre-show hysteria had commenced. And as soon as The Producer (Me) came on the scene, the wailing pre-adolescents descended on me.

Petulant 12-Year-Old: “We need a different version of the media. Morty said to see you as soon as you arrived.”

Me: “Gee and I thought Morty would greet me himself and exchange headlocks.”

Petulant 12-Year-Old: “Huh? So can you remake the show masters?”

Me: “Of course! I carried an entire editorial system on the plane with me. Not only that, I brought every tape deck known to man to cover every possibility.”

Petulant 12-Year-Old: “That’s great. We’ll need the new tapes ASAP!”

Me: “Do you have the specs?”

Petulant 12-Year-Old: “Sure.”

The Petulant 12-Year-Old handed me a piece of paper with a very complete set of instructions for delivering media to the hardware vendor.

Me: “Does Morty know about this?”

Petulant 12-Year-Old: “Why wouldn’t he?”

Me: “No reason. Give me a second.”

I read the spec sheet. The only difference between what I provided and what they specified? As opposed to 17 seconds of black before they countdown, they wanted two.

Me: “Your tape ops can just bookmark the two seconds prior to the countdown. This can easily be done by show control.”

Petulant 12-Year-Old: “Sure, but that means they have to do that every time they come back from break to restart the show.”

Me: “Oh, horrors! That means they have to build an entire cue! Why that should take them three whole minutes. That will cut down on their grousing time, won’t it?”

The Petulant 12-Year-Old looked at me with the same sort of admiration and respect given to a pedophile or drug dealer that hangs around grade schools.

Petulant 12-Year-Old: “I take it you didn’t bring an edit system in your carry-on luggage.”

Me: “No, and if Morty has an issue with me not wanting to spend thousands of dollars redoing videotape just because he doesn’t want to hear a handful of social misfits complaining about having to do some actual work, he can come talk to me about it. Capisce?”

And that was that.

****

Back to Comic-Con, 2010 and the start of my drive to San Diego.

Elastic Creative, again the facility where the videos were executed, performed all the necessary compressions and delivered them to me, as requested, on a hard-drive and a back-up hard-drive. Additionally, they stored them on DropBox in case that would be an easier get for the truly unambitous excuse-making mooks that populate back of the house.

Just as I settled into the comfy leather of my SUV, the cellphone rang.

Scratchy Voiced Misfit: “George Young?”

Me: “Yes.”

Scratchy Voiced Misfit: “This is Dak from Lousy Show Productions.”

Me: “Dak? Were your parents trying to save room on the birth certificate?”

Scratchy Voiced Misfit: “That’s my nickname.”

Me: “Oh, what’s your real name?”

Scratchy Voiced Misfit: “Bo.”

As it turns out the compressed files, which cost me thousands in hard drive purchases, compressions, and production time, were no longer the preferred format. Oh no, the vendor in charge of running show control switched to a different command truck that used some format of mini-HDCam.

In other words, during the phone call with Dak, my SUV and I went back in time two years.

I had to drive away from the Bay Area in less than 16 hours. That would not be a problem, if I

didn’t need, at close of business, to find a relatively obscure tape deck, even more obscure blank tapes, and arrange for Elastic Creative to make show masters for me overnight.

Me: “So, Dak, level with me. Why the change in the truck?”

Scratchy Voiced Misfit: “Much cheaper.”

My head exploded. After I cleaned up the mess, and sent the iPhone footage off to David Cronenberg, I thanked Dak and walked back inside Elastic. After explaining the conundrum to Drew Fiero, the World’s Calmest Father of Three, I found a private room and shut the door. I phoned the Social Pariah in charge of the satellite truck.

Social Pariah#2: “George, how nice to hear from you. I guess—”

Me: “Shut up, you douchebag. You went and switched delivery formats on me less than 24 hours before rehearsal! Are you insane?”

Social Pariah #2: “Calm down, all you have to do is—”

Me: “Like I said. Shut up, you douchebag. Don’t tell me what I have to do. You switched delivery formats because you think producers are the equivalent of inviting David Copperfield to your tenth birthday party. I’d hang you out to dry on this if I didn’t like Jill Byron so much.”

Social Pariah #2: “Hey, chill—”

Me: “Don’t tell me to ‘chill out, dude.’ Just shut up and thank me for dragging a couple dozen mini-HD tapes down to San Diego because you wanted to save $1.98 on the satellite truck.”

Social Pariah #2: “I—”

Me: “And I’m charging your company for the tapes, the tape deck, which I understand has to be trucked to San Francisco from San Jose because there are only five in the state of California, and for my time. I hope you saved the gross national product of France by switching trucks.”

****

I arrived in San Diego at the end of July, 2010. Ten minutes after exiting my SUV, parked along the main drag that surrounded PetCo Park, I spotted four Wonder Women. And two of them might have been actual women!

Regarding Wonder Woman.

1. Unless you’re Linda Carter in the 70’s, or have a body like Linda Carter’s in the 70’s, do not wear a Wonder Woman costume.

2. Unless you’re Gil Gadot in 2016, or have a body like Gil Gadot’s in 2016, do not wear a Wonder Woman costume.

3. If you’re a man, and I don’t care if you identify as a woman, or are in the process of becoming a woman, do not wear a Wonder Woman costume.

4. In general, there are nine women in the entire world who should wear a Wonder Woman costume and none of them attend Comic-Con.

There are, however, plenty of svelte, spandex-wearing young women who attend Comic-Con. They squeeze themselves into costumes that probably that last worked in 50’s sci-fi films. And based on the amount of gravity-defying cleavage on display, there were more polymers at the event than just those of the costumes.

But more so than the appearance of artificial flesh, I am fascinated by the herds of cattle that attend the event and stampede into the place to get a glimpse of actors who will be on the national radar for the shelf-life of chocolate in an Easter basket. There also is a deluge of movies and videogames to investigate.

1. Batman 27: The Latest Ofay Actor in Black

2. Black Humanoid: POC Tossed Another Bone

3. Superman*

4. Surgery, the Bloodletting

5. Military Assault on a Middle East Looking Country Never Named for P.C. Reasons

6. Dragons, Dragons, Dragons and more Dragons

Of course any of these titles could be swapped out as movie, TV series, or videogame. If there is any clarity as to why Comic-Con exists, it’s lost on me as an objective observer from afar. Perhaps being on-site will change my mind.

To the job.

I had to produce all the video for the gig, the bulk of which broke down into the individual nominees and ultimate winner of each category, of which there were about 20. To separate The TV.com Now Awards from the Oscars or the Emmys, Jill and her creative team came up with some interesting and unique contests. Here are some of them.

- Actor you are happiest to see back on Television

- Best performance as a Vampire

- Best reboot of an old show

- Best Actor returning to the small screen

- Best performance by a Non-Human

*Yes, there is yet another Superman

Some of the categories made sense because there had been an explosion of TV shows and movies with Vampires. And that had not reached saturation with the average viewer. Best reboot of an old show proved easy too, since several Baby Boomer specialties had returned to both CBS and other channels, including cable and the initial streaming services.

But some were difficult. We had problems narrowing down which actor we were happy to see back on television, since there were over a hundred suggestions on the cbs.com website when the general population got a chance to be polled. Also, Best performance by a Non-Human? I suggested Bill Maher about 400 times. When one of the station executives finally asked me explain myself I replied that he must be quite an actor if he’s able to convince HBO to allow him to go on the air on two separate occasions with two different unwatchable shows based upon the same disingenuous drivel.

CBS refused my request to nominate Maher.

****

A huge upside to the job, other than Jill Byron’s involvement, had to be Rob Diehl, the creative director of the event production company, MKTG. I had found my own personal unicorn. I did not believe in the existence of a creative director who had actual creative skills, and yet I finally met one in Rob Diehl. Not only did he have training in the arts, but a wealth of experience as well.

Rob could draw. He understood art direction and set construction. He had worked his way up from a theatre background and could tell you the difference between a piece of Louis XIV furniture and its nearly identical version from the Renaissance period. That may seem insignificant, or petty, or at the atomic level, but after decades of dealing with the agency owner’s room temperature IQ brother-in-law as an art director and the usual cult of 26-year-old copywriters who hadn’t read anything more complicated than a comic book, his experience and skill level provided welcome relief.

When he gave feedback, it made sense. When he felt something worked, he stopped trying to improve it. When a video component felt incomplete he explained why. I don’t think I had more respect for anyone on the creative side since I finished my last video game for George Lucas.

Working with Rob Diehl made every previous memory of the collection of hungover and incompetent creative department hangers-on fade into obscurity, at least temporarily.

****

Every comic book aficionado, basement dwelling hacker, and weather girl wannabe clogged San Diego’s downtown and waterfront during the four day Comic-Con. Jill dispatched her underlings to distribute flyers on ‘The TV.com Now Awards.’ The CBS websites blasted rich media with hourly updates and the B-List celebs who would be in attendance. A couple of musical acts that I won’t mention because I can’t remember who they were, also graced email blasts and hastily created Facebook pages.

We had an actual Red Carpet walk. Limousines pulled up and discharged the likes of Rob Lowe, Pauley Perrette, and Cheryl Burke. They smiled; talked to the press; and waved at the, ahem, “crowd.”

I hustled back and forth between the dugouts, where we had established green rooms for category winners like Daniel Day-Kim and LL Cool J.

And it was all for naught.

Because if someone goes to Comic-Con it is to do a small number of things. The hormone-clanging males go to check out all the firm, young flesh (Or flesh, period. Not that much was firm.) squeezed into the previously mentioned 50’s Sci-Fi costumes. The females go to either shoehorn themselves into spandex, or play video games with the man of their dreams.

And both go to get into freebie screenings of the latest summer movies and videogames.

That’s it. They don’t go to stand in right field at PetCo Park and watch a bunch of actors accept a plexi statue for acting in a show that nobody who attends Comic-Con cares about.

As I watched the footage at the local post facility, located in the lovely porn district of San Diego, I wondered what CBS Interactive would do next year for “The TV.com Now Awards.”

I had a hunch it would not involve Comic-Con.

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afterperfect · 8 years ago

Text

Prompt: Still happens before they're together, preferably in season 4. From @castlefanficprompts. Sometime between 47 Seconds and Always, because of course it is.

It’s lucky that she hears the click, really. She’s been distracted the last little while, and annoyed with herself for it, which is a distraction in and of itself. She shouldn’t be pining for Castle like a teenager with her first crush. If he’s over her, well, she can get over him too. Plenty of fish in the sea.

(She doesn’t want another fish, though. She wants him. Loves him. And she can’t simply switch that off because he’s found himself a shiny new stewardess - flight attendant - whatever she is.)

Between stewing over Castle and telling herself not to stew over Castle, she’s been off her game, and now she’s kicking herself for it, wondering if there were signs she missed. Things she should have noticed that might’ve told her Fosse’s apartment wasn’t safe, or that the rug wasn’t there for decoration.

At least she has plenty of time to think it over. She can’t move. Can’t shift her weight, and her feet are starting to cramp. Apart from periodic updates from the guys and the bomb squad, she has nothing to do but second-guess herself. And think about Castle.

Her first instinct, when the first flurry of activity around her settled, was to call him, but it went to voicemail, and she didn’t leave a message. Hey, Castle, just wanted to let you know I’m standing on a bomb; give me a call when you can.

She wishes now that she’d said something. Something about what she heard, what she knows. Something about how she feels. How long can you circle before the fuel runs out? Lanie asked, not long ago. Just before the plane came crashing down, actually. They thought they had all the time in the world. But nobody does.

Castle got tired of circling, and now it seems Beckett’s just about out of time. She’ll stand here as long as her legs will hold her, but Captain Mahoney has sounded grimmer every time he’s called. She’s not confident she’ll make it out in one piece.

How close has she come to death, one way or another, since she first got her badge? The Trade Center, just months after she finished at the Academy. The Vice sting that went so badly wrong, when her cover was blown and backup almost didn’t get there in time. The stalker obsessed with Nikki Heat. The freezer, and then the truck bomb. The sniper in the cemetery. She thinks this time might really be it. At least, when it comes, it should be over quickly.

Is there anything she needs to do, anything she can do from here? Her will is up to date; her finances, such as they are, are in order. Her apartment is reasonably clean, and her files are organized. The upside of her old apartment being blown up a couple of years ago, she thinks wryly; she only kept what was most important and salvageable. Her father won’t have too big a job sorting through it -

Dad. For the first time today, she feels the sting of tears beginning to gather. She wishes she could hug him one more time. Hopes he’ll be all right, that he’ll stay sober. She might’ve asked Castle to look in on him from time to time; her dad likes Castle, but Castle, apparently, doesn’t like her all that much, and she’s not about to go making last requests of him.

Her father’s phone goes to voicemail too, and she’s almost relieved. She doesn’t know if she could’ve handled actually talking to him, knowing she was saying goodbye. It’s easier - not easy, but not as wrenching - to just leave a message saying she loves him.

And that’s it. She’s called her dad. Texted Lanie and Maddy and a couple of other friends. Ryan and Esposito know how much they mean to her, and cops don’t go for sappy goodbyes anyway. And Castle - Castle doesn’t really care anymore.

That’s all there is. Nothing to do but wait.

He considers answering Beckett’s call, then decides against it. He’s writing (that’s a lie; he’s staring moodily at a blinking cursor and a blank document) and he doesn’t work for the NYPD anyway. No reason to come running every time she snaps her fingers.

If she’d just been honest, just acknowledged that she remembered, and that, I’m sorry, Castle; you’re a good friend, but… that would’ve been fine. Well, not fine, but he’d have got over it, treasured their friendship, and been happy knowing that she cared for him, if not in the same way that he cares for her.

But she lied. Not simply kept quiet, but flat-out lied. They say that there’s some things that are better not being remembered. Her saying that, knowing what she does - that tells him all he needs, and so he lets her call go to voicemail. She doesn’t leave a message. Fine.

Esposito calls not long after, and then Ryan, and he ignores both of them. He doesn’t work for the NYPD. They got along fine, solved plenty of cases before he came along; they can handle it if he takes a day to write. Or brood. Whatever.

It’s a couple of hours later when he gets a call from Lanie, and figures he’d better take this one. Lanie, he’s learned, will track him down eventually, and she’ll be much less annoyed with him if he doesn’t make her do so.

“Where the hell are you?” she demands halfway through his greeting.

“Home,” he says pointedly. “Writing. I’m a writer; it’s what I do.”

Lanie sighs. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you and Beckett, but get that chip off your shoulder. She’s gonna die if they don’t get that bomb defused.”

He sits bolt upright. “She what?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know, Castle. It’s all over the news.”

Captain Mahoney hangs up, and Beckett sets the timer on her phone. Thirty minutes. She’s not sure why she wants to see the countdown, but not knowing would be worse, somehow. Now that she has a deadline - a literal deadline, beyond which she’ll be dead - her mind is racing, running through mental checklists. Will prepared, important documents accessible, message left for her father, Castle -

“Castle?” She’s losing it, she thinks. Seeing things. Starting to crack under the pressure of her own impending death.

“Lanie called,” he says. He’s breathing hard. “Had to fight my way through the BDU guys downstairs.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You -” he doesn’t seem to know how to answer. Why does a person come risk his neck to see someone he doesn’t care about standing on a bomb? “I called Espo on the way over; he filled me in.”

“You can’t be here.” Anger flickers across his face, and she sighs. She doesn’t have time - really doesn’t have time - for whatever weird mood he’s been in lately. “Castle, it’s not just a pressure sensor. BDU just called; there’s a timer.”

“How long?”

“Half an hour.”

He swallows. “Half an hour. That’s - that’s still time. They’re still working.”

She shakes her head. “Castle.”

“Oh, no. Beckett, you don’t get to give up.” He takes a step toward her, and without thinking, Beckett throws up a hand to fend him off. She freezes, holds her breath for a couple of seconds.

Nothing happens. Castle steps back, a brief look of hurt disappearing behind the cool mask he’s been wearing lately.

“Castle, you can’t touch me. No sudden moves; you’ll set it off.”

The coolness gives way to horror as he realizes what he’s almost done. “O-okay. No touching. Got it.”

She doesn’t think she’s ever wanted to touch him so badly. She’s wanted to touch him for some time, in ways she shouldn’t be thinking about right now, but she really just wants to take his hand, the way they do to reassure one another. She could do with reassuring.

“But you still don’t get to give up,” he tells her. “BDU will get the bomb defused; Ryan and Espo will come up with the code to disarm it.”

“Castle, I’m trying to be realistic. There’s no reason for you to be here.”

The shutters come down again. “No,” he says flatly, turning to leave. “I guess there isn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” It’s a reflex, and she could kick herself for it - if that wouldn’t kill both of them - but she’s had just about enough of him giving her the cold shoulder. “Castle, what the hell’s been going on with you?”

He turns back, angry, resigned. “You heard me, Kate. You heard, and you remembered, and you lied about it.”

“I -” She stares at him for a moment trying to figure out what he’s talking about. It hits her with a sudden tightness in her chest. Not unlike when she realized she was standing on a bomb.

“Were you ever going to say anything? Or were you just going to tell every lowlife murder suspect instead?”

He knows. He heard. She heard, and he knows it.

“You could’ve just said no.”

“Castle -”

“You could’ve just told me the truth.”

“No,” she whispers, hands pressed over her mouth. “No, I couldn’t tell you - I couldn’t lose you.”

“You -” He closes his eyes. “Lose me. We were friends, Kate. You really think I’d have walked away?”

“No, Castle.”

“If that’s what you think of me, then -” He breaks off, shakes his head, defeated.

“Castle, listen. Please.” If she could just go to him, touch him. How incredibly stupid, she thinks, that it’s finally come to this, to honesty, and she has less than half an hour to live. “I’d been shot, Castle. I’d died.”

“I know,” he says bitterly, “I was there. Watching.”

She bites her lip. “After - I couldn’t face it. Couldn’t think about it without flashing back. I was a mess. I’d have panic attacks, two or three a day at first; I still -” She swallows hard. At least she’ll never have another. Probably. “If we’d - if we’d started something then, when I was still - it would’ve fallen apart. I couldn’t do that to you.”

He’s staring at her, stunned.

“I love you too much to do that to you.” Tears blur her vision, and swallows hard. “I’m so sorry, Castle. It’s too late now, and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“No - no, not too late.” He reaches for her, and for a second time, she has to ward him off.

“Castle!”

“Sorry - sorry!” He jerks back. “I just - I wish I could -”

“I know.” She wants it too. So much it hurts. At least, she thinks, he won’t be angry with her, at the end. She realizes now how painful that thought has been for the last hours.

“Okay.” He gathers himself, looks around. “Okay, we - there’s still time. There must be something.”

“Castle -”

“Oh, no.” He looks around, scanning the apartment. “You don’t get to tell me that and then just die, Kate Beckett; you’re getting out of here alive.”

She almost believes him.

“She’s off. She’s off.”

Beckett barely hears him, or the muted cheers that come through the phone. Her knees are about to buckle, and pain is shooting through her feet, but she’s alive, and in Castle’s arms, and she loves him, and he still cares for her.

He ends the call, buries his face in her hair, and either she’s trembling, or he is, or maybe they both are. It was down to the last second - that seems to be a pattern with them - but they made it, together - another pattern - and now -

“I’m so sorry, Castle. I’m so sorry.” It hurt him badly, she knows, learning the truth the way he did.

“No - no,” he mumbles, walking her backwards to sit on one of Fosse’s bar stools. “Don’t. We’re okay, Kate.”

They’re not okay - not entirely - but they’re better, so much better, than they were, and they’ll keep getting better, she thinks. He kisses her, finally, and the last thing she thinks before all thought dissolves is that they have time. All the time they need.

#castle fanfiction #castle #castlefanficprompts #prompt #mine #mine:castle #people who've sent me prompts #i haven't forgotten #and i only have three more lectures to prepare #and an exam to write #and mark #and then i at least have some of my weekends back #thank you for being patient

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