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stressedoutcanary · 3 years

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Hold On - Jason Todd x Batgirl!Reader [PART 3]

What this includes: Violence, a combo of angst and fluff, and just to be on the safe side I’d say language.

Word count: 3.1k

A/N😋: I am so glad it’s finally finished, now it won’t be sitting in my drafts staring at me all day. Also forgive me for any mistakes, half of it is written at 3 AM

Part 1 , Part 2

•°•°•°•°

“This is it”, you breathed out, stopping your bike near a bush making sure that place was obscure enough. You placed the helmet on the handle and hopped off the bike. After taking a few steps forward and scouting the area, you clicked your comms back on.

“O care to give me the layout of what I am getting myself into, ‘cause we all know the last time didn’t go so well”

“Nightwing said you might call me for backup and now I owe him 20 uggh! Anyways onto the problem at hand, I’m picking up a few heat signatures from the basement area and the schematics of the building indicate a vent on the other side which might help you get in.”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

There was no reply on the other end and you assumed she was looking into it. To your bad luck, it was far from it. You heard an all too familiar grunt and mentally cursed yourself for forgetting that it was an open line.

“(Y/N), I thought I made myself clear”, Bruce’s modulated voice came through which low-key made you want to strangle him with your bare hands.

“Oh come on B! Didn’t Alfred teach you that listening in on other people’s conversations is bad manners”

“We are 10 minutes out you will not be going in till we get there”

‘Like Hell I won’t’

“Hello? B? Your voice is breaking up. I can’t hear you! there is some interference in the signal. Batman?”

“Don’t- ” you clicked the comms off before he could finish his sentence and breathed a sigh of relief. ”Note to self after what you just did, avoid showing your face to anyone in the fam for at least a week.”

Snooping around, you came across the vent Babs told you about and you smirked to yourself, “Bless those idiots who decided to make an excess amount of vents throughout Gotham, plus no dumbass to shoot open the lock on any door, huh I’d say it’s going pretty good for me.”

After going through a very, very dusty vent, you silently dropped down to floor behind a goon and cleared your throat to draw his attention. As soon as he turned around, his jaw was met with your right hook, making him plummet to the ground. Grabbing him by the collar you inched closer to his face, which was yet again fully covered by a white mask.

“Alright no-face, tell me where Pyg is right now”, you made use of your deep modulated voice, making the man dart his eyes towards the far right corner of the room. You knew what that meant and without wasting any more time, you knocked him out and scurried over, finding a heavy door at the end. Somehow managing to push open the door, you were faced with a circular stairwell leading down.

“Well Oracle did say she got heat signatures down in the basement.”, you sighed and started taking calculated steps, making sure to check for any traps. ‘Why keep only one person to guard your supersecret creep-house? Either Lazlo is way too overconfident or way too crazy... Probably both.’, you thought, wheels turning in your head, hoping to make sense of the situation. As you went down, you could catch a faint sound of music. ‘Is that Opera?! Well at least it fits his M.O.’

The end of the stairwell opened into a large room. You hid behind one of wooden crates as your mind swiftly accessed the grim ambience; Pyg was sharpening his knife swaying along with opera music playing in the background but Jason was nowhere to be found. Your breath hitched and your blood ran cold, it felt as if the world around you was spinning.

‘What if... what if it’s too late’ Crouching down on the ground with your back to the crate your took in several deep breaths to calm your racing heart. You couldn’t think like that, not when you’re so close. You wiped the stray tear which escaped the tightness of your cowl and had trailed down your cheek. You tried to focus instead of jumping to conclusions.

You frowned upon noticing something odd on the wall in front of you, placing your palms on it, you gave it a slight push. To your surprise it paved way for an attached corridor which clearly didn’t come up in the schematics Oracle told you about. You slipped into the corridor, making sure that nobody saw you. Your feet froze for a slight second on the sight you were met with; cages like prison cells lined up in a row with people inside of them.

“The people who went missing”, you whispered to yourself, still reeling in the shock of it all. Upon hearing a familiar groan you sprinted across the pathway to the source, eyes scanning every inch of the person you found, the person you were here to rescue. You fumbled with the lock for a while, muttering curses under your breath until it clicked open. You dashed to his side and took a batarang out to cut the binds he was in.

“Jay if you die on me again, I swear I will kill you.”

“Been there, done that princess and honestly not a fan of it”, Jason croaked out, his reply came out weaker and voice barely above a whisper. It made your heart clench in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time. You lifted your head up, you gave him a soft smile, gently brushing off the matted hair on his forehead,

“Jason I..”

‘Just tell him you love him you coward, It’s really not that hard’

“Jason I’m glad you’re okay”, you blurted out in way which was far from normal but he seemed way too tired to noticed.

‘COWARD’

“How did you get free?”, he inquired, thankfully interrupting your internal yelling.

“I didn’t? I literally just walked in here to get you out.”

“But I thought-”, Jason looked utterly confused as he rubbed his wrists to ease the pain caused by the rope.

“Well long story short. You got captured. I was saved by Harley and Ivy, had a nice chat with them, and then I might have been responsible for Batman’s high blood pressure, and then I emotionally blackmailed Nightwing into giving me your location and then here I am”

“Wha...Yeah I will just pretend I totally understand whatever the hell you just said.”, Jason sighed, he tried to stand up but his feet wobbled and if it wasn’t for you catching him on time h would’ve staggered to the ground.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Mmhmm”, he hummed lightly leaning his weight on you. “Just a little dizzy, probably from the dehydration, It could also be because of the blood loss from the stab wound I got”

“The WHAT?!”, you looked at him like he was crazy.

“Oh yeah I think I kinda forgot to tell you that the creepy dude tried to cut me open but my armor got in the way so he stabbed me instead and went away saying he had to sharpen his knife or something like that”, he started to slur and you knew you had to get him back to the cave as quickly as possible. You helped him get up on his feet, slinging one of his arms over your shoulders and wrapping one of your arms around his waist.

“Oh my God! Jay, you don’t just bring this sort of thing up in casual conversation!”, you shook your head and started taking small steps with him towards the way you came from. Suddenly a loud crash was heard followed by a couple of screams making the both of you share a nervous glance.

“What was that?”

“Only one way to find out”, you said as you walked through the door back into the large room.

It was pure chaos, more like a free-for-all. Nightwing jogged up to you.

“We did say we were 10 minutes out didn’t we?”, he gave you a bright smile and swung Jason’s free arm over his shoulder to help you support him better.

“Good, now since you are here, hold him”, you shifted Jason’s weight towards Dick.

“Hey-”

“Don’t even”, he glared daggers at his elder brother, “What are you even doing? I feel like a baby being passed around”

You ignored Jason’s whining in the background and fixed your gaze on the one person in the room who would soon face your wrath. The rest had already cleared up the goons and Pyg was the only one left. You narrowed your eyes and cracked your knuckles, making your way over to him.

By the time you reached Pyg he was already backing away from Batman and one murderous looking Robin, turning around he tried to make a run for it but was ultimately met with your fist, a sickening crack was heard and no one was quite sure whether it was from his mask, his jaw or both. Pyg was out cold and you shrugged at the duo in front of you while Dick and Jason made their way over.

“Remind me never to get on her bad side ever again.”, Jason whispered as both the boys looked completely terrified of you. You walked over to Bruce and held out your hand. He didn’t seem to catch the drift, for being the world’s greatest detective, he was quite dumb sometimes.

“The keys to the batmobile, unless you want Mr. surprise-I-got-stabbed over here to bleed out.”

After placing Jason into the passenger seat you hopped into the driving one.

“Also there are people in the back, you know, the missing ones, so good luck with the clean up I guess.”, you called out before before closing the hood of the batmobile.

You were on the road heading straight for the cave when you realized Jason wasn’t answering your questions anymore.

“Jason?”, you stole a glance at him and he was as pale as a ghost, “Shit!”, you yelled as you jammed your foot on the accelerator.

•°•°

Jason woke up to the dull beeping of multiple monitors and by the looks of the place, he concluded he was in fact in the batcave. As he regained some control over his senses, he saw you sitting on a chair beside his bed. You were sound asleep but he could see worry etched on your face even in your slumber. Looking at you, Jason wished he had the courage to say what his heart felt instead he just went ahead taking your hand in his, giving it a little squeeze. You stirred awake at that.

“Hey! You’re up!”, you stood up abruptly and hugged him tightly. To him it felt as if you were actually afraid of what might happen if you let go of him.

“I told you I don’t do dying anymore. It sucks.”

You finally pulled away from him, a smile tugging at your lips. Jason glanced at your hand, taking it in his once again, he ran his thumb over your bruised knuckles.

“I knew you had a mean right hook, guess I just forgot how mean”, Jason said smirking at you. You didn’t pull away from him as he had expected in his head instead you just scoffed at the statement.

“The next time you forget that, allow me to give you a reminder by demonstration Bird-Brain”, you called him by the name you often used back then. At first it was to annoy your very annoying best friend but then it stuck around but hadn’t used that nickname ever since he came back. You both realized that. A silence fell over the once playful conversation, his eyes found the celling and yours found your lap. After a while you cleared you throat to get his attention and he looked at you, his expressions were borderline unreadable.

“Jason I-I should go now, but don't worry I’ll get Alfred back here”, You got up and moved towards the door of the med-bay, scrunching your eyes shut you released a shaky breath.

‘It’s now or never (Y/N)’

“Jason when you get better, there is this place I have been meaning to take you to, with me of course.”

“Sure I’ll go”

“So tomorrow sounds good?”

“Tomorrow sounds good”, he repeated after you breaking into a grin. Your cheeks flushed and you had to take a sharp turn to hide the blush on your face. You mentally smacked yourself for behaving like a teen asking her crush out on a date for the first time.

•°•°

The next night Jason met you on the roof of the Wayne tower.

“Please tell me this isn’t the place you wanted to see with me”, he chuckled behind you and you turned around to give him a quick hug.

“It’s not that bad of a place, plus I can throw you off here too if you get on my nerves”, you laughed at his faux scandalised face.

“You wound me”

“In case you forgot you are already wounded, drama queen, plus its your lucky day, this is not where we will be spending our evening. Just follow me and don’t get lost on the way”, you winked and jumped off the edge, him following the suit.

When you both reached the place you had in mind, the place Jason cherished when he was Robin, the expression on his face was priceless. It was like a mixture of awe and surprise with a hint of sadness.

“How did you find out about this?”, Jason inquired after a while of reminiscing.

“Gee how indeed, ‘cause it cannot be the fact that I am detective who’s life is influenced by at least a dozen detectives and it’s most definitely not the fact that for me, you aren’t that difficult to figure out”

“Touché”

Jason chuckled at your usual playful sarcasm, his eyes were twinkling with something which felt more than just momental adoration and you couldn’t help but crack a small smile of your own. You made your way over to him, looking at the visible skyline for a brief moment, Jason watched as you sat down on the ledge with your legs dangling off, patting the space beside you gestured him to join you.

“I have a feeling we’re gonna be here for a while, so might as well sit down and get comfortable”, you shrugged as he nodded and sat down beside you, placing his elbow on his bent knee. You both enjoyed the few minutes of comfortable silence, watching cars pass by below and the moon lit starry sky above.

“I am starting to see why you liked it here”

“Yeah...”

“Alfred told me”

“Huh?”, Jason looked at you dumbfounded, trying to process your words.

“After you...were gone, Alfred told me, he told me that this was your happy place, though I still can’t believe you had a favorite gargoyle”, stifling a laugh you somehow managed to continue, “Anyway so as I saying, ever since I found out about it, I used to come here every night when I got free from patrol, come to think of it I still do, sometimes”

You could feel his heavy gaze boring into you making you immediately regret bringing up this conversation.

“Why?”, he finally inquired. You didn’t know whether to feel relived or be tense, but it was now or never, releasing a shallow breath you glanced at him, words flowing out on their own accord.

“Even back then I knew everyone dies at some point and all we can do is try and find some meaning in it, in the memories they leave behind and I guess me wanting to be here, it was a part of me trying to do that and it made me feel somewhat connected to you so I kept doing it; Coming here, spending any time I could spare and leaving before the crack of dawn and before I knew it, it had become a habit.”

“So you did miss me”, he gave you a sad smile and wrapped his hand around your shoulder, giving you a light squeeze.

“Of course I did you dumbass, I was best friend.”, you gave him a nudge and leaned your cheek on his chest, sighing deeply.

“The reason I avoided you after you came back was because I was scared”, you whispered, hoping it would sound less real that way. Jason pulled back a bit to take in your features and you could hear the strain in his voice, a hint of sadness in it.

“Scared of me?”

“Jason I wasn’t scared of you, I can never be, I was scared for you. I was afraid of losing you again. Every time you come back I lose you all over again and I am honestly tired of it and I thought that maybe if I kept my distance I--”

“Won’t get hurt again?”

“Yeah, something like that”

A moment passed where no one spoke anything, both of you running the scenarios of what might happen next in your brains. An idea clicked in your head and you abruptly got to your feet startling Jason in the process. Offering him your hand and a sheepish smile, you got him to his feet.

“I am tired of being scared Jason. I want this. I want us and for that I am willing to take a chance, are you?”, he stepped closer to you, his scent invading your senses.

“For you (Y/N), anything. You should know that by now, plus I feel the same way, I have for a while now”, Jason breathed out as he pulled you in for a deep kiss leaving you dizzy for a while after you pulled away for air. Placing your foreheads together, you found yourselves grinning like idiots yet again in the two successive nights. Jason’s stomach growled, sending you into a fit of laughter.

“Hungry?”

“You really gotta ask?”, raising an eyebrow, he tried to look offended but ultimately melted against you as you pressed your lips on his for a brief moment.

“I know a place”, you murmured, lips brushing against his and before he could register what was happening you already had a grapnel gun in your hands, smirking as you jumped off the ledge.

“Last one there is a rotten egg hoodie!!”

“Hey! But I don’t even know where it is!”

“Not my fault Bird-Brain!”

Jason jumped on after you, smiling to himself. Both of you were thinking the same thing ‘maybe this was finally the start of a new chapter; something new, something scary and something beautiful altogether’

°•°•°•°•

Tags: @ladyperceval

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fandom-imagines-stories · 3 years

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Black Umbrellas

Josh Lyman x Reader

Words: 2277

Part One

Summary: The funeral arrives and everything seems to fall apart. Josh tries to keep his temper in check with Celia, but soon the reason behind their ongoing feud is revealed.

Notes: Josh is definitely one of my favorite fictional characters and it seems like more of you are liking his imagines. As always, comments are always welcome!- Side note: I know that it’s been forever since I posted part one to this, and I’m very sorry. I hope to be writing for more West Wing, including more characters.

It was just like he would have wanted. The morning was bright and sunny and began with laughter. Josh was standing in the kitchen with your mother and something he had said made her laugh, making the rest of you feel a little lighter on a day that would leave a great deal of weight on your hearts. It’s how your dad would have wanted his funeral to start. Not with sorrow, but with the sense of being together.

Your mother made blueberry pancakes for breakfast using your dad’s famous recipe and the three of you had coffee on the porch. Celia and Thomas were still asleep, so there was no danger of an argument breaking out for now.

“It’s a beautiful day.” Marissa hummed, taking a sip of her coffee. Josh nodded in agreement, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, drinking in the morning sun as it rose over the trees.

“How are you feeling?” He whispered as you rested your head on his shoulder. You shrugged.

“Best that I can be, I guess.” He nodded in understanding and sweetly kissed the top of your head.

“I’ll be here the whole time.” You placed a hand on his leg, drawing circles on the denim. You loved it when he wore jeans. It made him feel like he was yours for the day and not rushing off to assist in a national crisis. But even now, he was still the Deputy Chief of Staff.

You probably noticed his pager buzzing before he did. He looked at you mournfully, his tone apologetic. “I’ve got a call from Leo.”

You gave him a small smile and a node. “You better take it.”

He moved out onto the lawn for some privacy and your mother gave your hand a gentle pat.

“You picked a good one.” She smiled. You both watched as he ran a hand down his face, his expression morphing from saddened to angered to calm in a matter of seconds.

“Is he seriously working right now?” Your sister’s shrill criticizing voice emerged from inside the house.

“He’s the Deputy Chief of Staff for the President,” You scoffed, “the world didn’t stop just because he’s here.”

“Sorry, I forgot. Not all of us are lowly small town journalists like me and dad.”

“Are you serious, right now?”

“No, you’re right, I’m sure it’s a matter of national security.” She spat and you stood up from the swing.

“It very well could be!” You shouted. You wanted to slap her. Who was she to criticize Josh?

“Girls!” Your mother finally interjected. You both turned your heads towards her and you immediately felt guilty, seeing the tears welling up in her eyes. “Don’t do this today. Please.”

“Sorry mom.” You both said, hanging your heads. While you could feel everything start to burn up in your chest, you pushed it down. You had to be strong today. Luckily, your own pager went off before any more arguing could occur.

“Hey Sam.” You sighed in greeting, grateful for a distraction.

“Hey, how are you doing?” His voice was sympathetic and sweet. Typical Sam.

“Okay, all things considered.” You laughed lightly, hoping to keep the conversation from getting too emotional. “How are things there?”

“Crazy as usual.” He chuckled. “I just wanted to call and check in.” There was something in his tone that told you there was more.

“Sam… something is wrong with the speech, isn’t there?”

“Well,” He blew out a breath, “Since you pushed it back, we’re speaking after Congress is handing us our asses which means that Toby needed to make some changes so we don’t sound like-”

“Kids trying to start a fight on the playground?” You finished. Josh had said the same thing.

“Yeah…”

You thought for a moment, but couldn’t focus on any one thing. “Just make sure that he sounds like we’re still coming out on top.” It was the only thing you could do.

“We’ll try.” He paused, but you already knew what he was going to say. “And Y/N-”

“I know.” You smiled slightly to yourself. “Thanks Sam.”

You strolled along the wrap-around porch, hoping to avoid Celia for at least a few more minutes, telling yourself it was the stress of the day. She would cool off eventually.

“I hope everything is doing okay.” Your mother’s comforting tone helped to calm you down. You shrugged.

“As okay as it ever is.” She nodded with understanding. She knew how messy the political world was. It didn’t stop because someone died.

Josh came back, the stress clear on his face. When he locked eyes with you, he tried to brighten up, but you could tell that there was something weighing down on his shoulders. You implored him with a look, but he shrugged it off.

“The usual.” He whispered, draping his arm around you again. “Don’t worry about it.” He turned to your mother with a sad smile. “Leo McGarry and The President send their deepest sympathies.”

“I appreciate that.” She nodded and looked out over the orchards. How was she so strong through all of this? You felt ready to fall apart at the seams, but your mother was the picture of grace. She always did everything for everyone else and now she wasn’t giving herself the chance to grieve.

Celia had gone inside to make calls to the funeral home and Thomas was in town picking up groceries. He wanted there to be one less thing for all of you to worry about.

With a few hours until the funeral, all you wanted was to make it through the day without any more arguments. Josh had a few more calls with Leo and did his best to hide it from your judgmental sister but there was still that tension between them. You took a few sympathy calls from Donna and C.J.- both of whom were very kind in expressing their regrets in not being able to make it to the funeral.

It was about noon when the President called. Your mother must have spent an hour talking to him in her office before she came back into the living room, passing off the phone to you.

“Good afternoon, Mr. President.” You started, forcing yourself to keep it together.

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch you the other day before you and Josh left.” He sighed. “I wanted to give my condolences in person.”

“My family and I appreciate it nonetheless, sir.”

“I am truly sorry for your loss, Y/N.” His fatherly tone made you want to cry. Truthfully, you’d always seen President Bartlet as your work-father more than your boss. “Bill was a good man and a good friend.”

“He would have been honored to hear you say that, sir.” There was a long moment of silence between the two of you as you both let those words sink in before he concluded.

“He was always very proud of you, Y/N. I hope you know that.”

Your breathing hitched as you held back a cry. “Thank you, Mr. President.” As you hung up, you tried to keep the tears from falling. Your quiet moment to yourself was interrupted by the sounds of whispers growing into shouts on the front porch. Celia and Josh.

As you approached, their words became more and more clear.

“When are you going to stop treating her like a child?”

“I’m sorry, but I figured I would let her go on thinking that her sister is a crazy lunatic!”

“Keep your voice down! She’ll hear you.”

“Let her hear, Celia.” Josh’s voice became a growl. “Let her hear that after all these years, you’ve just been jealous of everything that she’s been able to accomplish and you couldn’t.”

“I don’t know why we’re even having this conversation.” Celia scoffed. You opened the door a crack and watched her step closer to him. “I’m not jealous, Josh. I’m right. Y/N has had everything handed to her since the day she was born. She doesn’t deserve her job.. And she doesn’t deserve you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Josh ran a hand down his face and turned away, but she was persistent.

“We met first, Josh. We started seeing each other and then you fell for her little charms just like everybody else.”

“You two were seeing each other?” You gasped, finally stepping out from behind the door. Josh let out a frustrated groan.

“No, honey, we weren’t-”

“Is that why you two are at each other’s throats all the time? Because you were together?”

“We were never together!” He exclaimed. He reached to put his hands on your shoulders, but you stepped away, staring down your older sister.

“You really think I don’t deserve my job… my husband… my life?”

She said nothing. Her mouth formed a thin line as she gave you a silent, hard stare. You wanted to slap her. You wanted to scream. Instead, the sky let out a low, tumbling growl of thunder that served as the final straw. You looked up at the darkened clouds as the first raindrop landed on your cheek.

“No no no no no. This isn’t what he would have wanted.” You cried, holding out a hand as more water fell. “It’s supposed to be sunny and beautiful and… and…”

“Y/N,” Josh started, but you didn’t hear him.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Was all you said as you took off down the steps and towards the road. You didn’t know what to think, but the rain hitting your skin was enough to fuel your fury to hide your sadness.

“Where is she going?” Marissa asked, feeling the tension in every thunder roll. Josh slammed his hand against the porch railing.

“I don’t know. But I’ll take care of it.” He gave Celia a glare that could halt an army before running after you.

You ended up in an old tool shed somewhere in the orchard, your cries drowned out by the rain pounding against the wooden walls. Your clothes were soaked but you didn’t care. There was just an hour until the funeral and the storm didn’t show any sign of stopping. This was all wrong.

Your dad was the only one who could have fixed this mess. Whenever either you or your husband fought with Celia, he was the one that could settle everyone down and make you all laugh until your sides hurt. What if you never laughed like that again?

The rain turned into a soft- but consistent- drizzle and you were sure you heard the sound of a car approaching the shed. You heard your husband calling your name before you even opened the door.

“How did you know I’d be here?”

He gave you a long, sad look. “When you ran off, your mother said it’d be best if I took a car so we’d have someplace warm to sit and talk. She said you’d probably come here.” He opened the passenger door of his car and just waited.

Instead of running into the warm heat of the car, you ran into his arms. While you felt like you had no more tears to shed, your body just shook with silent sobs. After a while, he picked you up and put you in the car, quickly going over the driverseat so he could take you in his embrace again.

“I feel so stupid.” You sniffed. “We’re supposed to be mourning dad and I’m running off like a child.”

“Don’t beat yourself up.” He muttered into your hair. “Grief does something to our heads… everyone has to deal with it.” He pulled away to look at you. “I shouldn’t have argued with Celia.”

“No.” You shook your head. “No, I’m glad I know what she really thinks of me. Of us.”

He pushed a hair behind your ear and gave you a small smile. “You have to know that I would never hide something like that from you unless I thought it didn’t matter. Celia and I got drinks one time before I met you and now she likes to hold it over my head.” He sighed. “And don’t beat yourself up about what she said. You’re one of the hardest working, badass women that I know. You deserve everything that you’ve built.”

He kissed your forehead and you fell into silence again. Without any words, he knew that you believed him about Celia and that the whole thing was blown out of proportions by your sister’s need for attention. He just hoped that you and Celia could start over. As much as he despised her most of the time, he knew what it was like to lose a sister.

“Why don’t we head back to the house and try and dry off before the funeral?” He suggested softly. You just nodded, laying your head on his shoulder as he drove back to your childhood home.

It wasn’t the sunny day that you wanted it to be. Everyone stood with black umbrellas and somber faces and you did your best to keep it together. Josh held your hand the whole way through, his support not faltering for a single second. You knew this couldn’t be easy for him either and yet he was your rock through all of it.

The clouds blocked the sun for the rest of the day but you told yourself that it was okay. They were the cloud-kingdoms your father always talked about. The ones he wrote in those little books tucked away in the house. And you took comfort in the fact that you knew, now, that he was up there with them.

#josh lyman x reader #josh lyman #the west wing #west wing imagines #jed bartlet #bradley whitford #this is kinda a mess #oh well #joshua lemon lyman #angsty #sam seaborn

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itsmespicaa · 3 years

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Regrets

Summary: A deeper look into Cassandra Cain's life after the Anti-Life virus struck the whole Universe and her interactions with her family.

(Alternatively: Cass gets the hugs she deserves in DCeased)

Note: The art I drew for this fic is here.

Read this on AO3

There was no time to lose.

There was still so much...life in this building. So much to protect. Cassandra is beyond glad they‘ve all decided to stay—these children...are not like her. Or Jason. Or even Gordon-

"Jim," he sighed, wistful and...sad. Eyes briefly lost in what was no doubt a shrapnel of memory that cuts and pricks deep into your chest, pushed aside to focus on the present—to survive—no matter how painful it digs into your soul. She understood. He glanced at her and smiled. "Jim’s fine, Cass. We’re all family, right?”

These children needed them, and...perhaps a part of her needed them too. They all needed each other now, one way or another.

Nights are...the worst.

Sleep has never come naturally for her, even before...everything. Before their whole world fell apart. She was not unfamiliar with loss, but this- there was no time to mourn or- or even breathe. No time to look back and realize just how much was taken from them.

Survive. Move forward. Survive, kill, survive. Keep each other safe.

Her mantra—the only thing that mattered now.

She did not allow herself to think of Barbara‘s kind eyes, or the last time she heard Dick laughing in the manor. She did not think of the fistbump she shared with Tim on their last patrol together.

She did not allow herself to think about Bruce, of the comforting weight on her shoulder after another successful night a few days ago. An easy night—quick and simple. So...different from the nights now that her chest ached and ached-

Nor did she allow herself to think about Stephanie, who wasn't even supposed to be in Gotham now. Her mother too...surely...?

(But Batman was supposed to be invincible, and yet, and yet—)

No. No time to look back. No time for hope or questions with no answers.

Nights are the worst.

Beyond the stillness of the night, beyond the quiet of the sleeping children...the monsters lurk and scream. She could hear them, clear as day—sleep did not come to them...so nor would she.

Instead, she sat in a corner—not too close that she could be spotted instantly, but close enough to aide should anything happen—silent and watchful over the children now in her care. It soothed her, seeing them so peaceful. Their innocence not yet fully stolen from them.

A night without one of them waking up from a nightmare was all that she asked for.

"Cass."

She did not turn to the voice. As she waited, her brother finally came to sit beside her, knees drawn up to his chest as if to mimic her.

On a better day, she would‘ve smiled at this.

She didn't smile.

"You really should rest," murmured Jason after a while. "I‘ll watch over them tonight. We need to be in tip top condition if we plan on protecting them."

Facing him, face impassive, she signed: You? Sleep?

A huff, eyes dim. "Touché."

They sat there, side by side, watching the faces of those more vulnerable than them for a long time, the noise from beyond the walls momentarily cut out as her focus zeroed in on the children.

"I buried them," said Jason suddenly, breaking the fragile peace. Cass does not stop, doesn‘t have to ask who he meant.

"I should‘ve told you sooner, but with everything going on..."

Words were never her allies, and they weren't one now. Cass swallowed the lump growing in her throat, along with whatever words she was about to say.

I know, she touched her cheeks twice instead, trusting in her brother to see it.

Jason definitely noticed, because the next moment he was slowly wrapping an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. Like a puppet cut loose from its string, Cass melted into his side, finally allowing herself a small moment to just-

Mourn.

She and Jason were never as close as her and Tim, but they understood one another, possibly better than most in the family. They would spent rare moments reading together in the manor‘s library, comfortably co-existing. Now-

No more words were spent that night, the two of them silently supporting each other as they accept their new reality. She did not move to wipe the few drops of tears tracking down her cheeks, and Jason said nothing.

How cruel is it that the ones to survive are the people who had touched death before?

...Damian? Alfred? Her hand moved as she looked at him, mouth pressed in a thin line. The only ones left. And their youngest sibling. The expression that reflected back at her was just as grim, but the lines on his face were noticeably lighter, and Cass can tell from the loose grip on her shoulder—from the set of his jaw that it was not a bad news.

"Both are still alive in Metropolis last I checked yesterday," he said, fingers picking at a loose strand on his jacket—nervous, "and hopefully they’re with other heroes too. I...try not to check too often. Gotta save the energy of the car, y‘know?"

And I‘m scared to know, was unspoken, but she heard it. Saw the fear in his creases, the anxiety in his sunken eyes.

The regret.

Cassandra understood. There were regrets she would have to live with now too.

She nodded, looking back at the children again. A sense of tranquility finally settling in her chest, the anguish she felt not completely extinguished...but there was only so much she could bear at a time. These children are her priorities now, her new family, and...

Little brother, she tugged and signed at Jason before resting a hand on his back. "Keep you safe," she emphasized each words, tugging on his red hoodie—now splattered in different shades of red.

That...startled a laugh out of him. A small quirk of lips, but Cass saw it as what it is and beamed too, subdued as it was.

"I don‘t know about me being the younger brother," he chuckled softly, "but I'm glad I have a kick-ass sister like you. I have your back too, Cass. Always."

She would not lose any more of her family if she could help it. New or old.

Even if she had to sacrifice herself.

Her mother. She was-

Cassandra watched as the children exit the bus and can’t help the bittersweet smile tugging the edge of her lips.

She was a hero.

In the very end, she died a hero. Protecting the life of innocents and...her family.

Her heart felt too heavy to maintain it however, and after making sure all the surviving children are accounted for and comfortably settled in their new home, she wandered over to the newly chiseled statue the Green Guardian—Ivy had bestowed upon them as a token of respect. A gift.

She stood before the likeness of her mother, her last moments playing over her mind like a broken cassette.

Her eyes burned and she blinked, rapidly.

"Hey."

The white-haired lady. Moved with quiet grace almost as good as her. Almost.

She nodded back in lieu of a reply.

"Complicated parent issues?"

"...Yes."

A sigh. "Same."

They stood there, side by side, both lost in thought as they gazed upon the legacy their parents have left.

"Despite everything..." whispered Rose, "We still love and miss them, don‘t we?"

"She was...not a good mother," began Cass, trying to find the right words to describe the turmoil of emotions warring within her. "But she loved me. And I...loved her. In the end...that‘s all that matters."

A curt nod. "I get it. Really.

"I know loss is inevitable now," continued Rose, hand seemingly wanting to reach out before pulling back abruptly, "but...I‘m sorry you had to see that yourself. I‘m here if you want to uh- talk and all that. Or even just my company."

Cass was...touched. It was a sweet gesture, considering they haven‘t had much time to get to know each other before arriving here.

Smiling quietly at her, she pointed at herself and signed: Conversation. Not good. Rose‘ sign language skill isn‘t on par with hers or Jason, but it’s enough.

She smiled back, laughter in her voice: "So we won‘t have to speak. I can be a good listener when I need to be."

At that moment, Cass decided she liked this girl. Suddenly grateful to have her here—that her brother had her too.

It was probably that thought that prompted her to get her attention, her hands moving quickly: You. Jason. Happy?

Surprisingly, that brought on a small blush on Rose‘s already rosy cheeks, and Cass‘ smile widened.

"We- haven‘t made it official or anything but...yeah. Yeah, I think we are." Rubbing the back of her neck, bashful eyes cast downwards in a rare show of vulnerability, she reminded her so much of Stephanie that she had to bite down her lips to keep it from wobbling.

Instead she gave her the warmest grin she could muster, focusing on the person in front of her now. "Good," she said, before pulling her in for an earnest hug.

For a while Rose just stood there, letting Cass do all the work—but then she grasped her back just as tightly, finally realizing that the hug was for Cass herself as much as it is for her.

They both lost their parent, now truly orphans like everyone else, and Cassandra‘s...grateful she wasn‘t alone for this.

"I see you two are bonding already," came a familiar voice.

Lo and behold, Jason appeared from behind them with a smirk. He and Rose exchanged a look and before he even turned to her, Cass already knew what he was about to do.

She returned her brother‘s embrace, accepting it for what it was. I‘m sorry, his body screamed—sad, sad, sad. Sad for...her.

Standing toe to toe, he dwarfed her in comparison, and Cass was all of a sudden struck with the memory of the last time she hugged their father (Bruce, not Cain. Never Cain.) A sharp twinge of pain swiped at her chest, a simple wish that...she could‘ve hugged her mother too.

Physical affection did not come easy to Jason either, but Cass knew he was tired of regretting, tired of letting people go when everything you loved could be taken from you at any moment and...she felt the same.

Regrets seem to be the only constant in their life now.

After pulling away with a playful shove, she pointed at Jason then Rose, tapping her two 'K' hands together. Take care of her. She glared pointedly at Jason for a few seconds before her face broke into a smirk.

A cheer of laughter erupted from the three of them at Jason‘s indignant 'Of course!' sign.

It was definitely the highlight of her day.

---

Weeks later, when night fell and the world ran a little slower, Cassandra watched over them all as she always had.

Her small family is safe now—her brother and sister-in-law somewhere outside of prying eyes but still near enough for her to reach (Jason had reassured her himself). The marriage itself was nothing as fancy as the movies she watched with Tim and Steph had shown, but it was...festive. Magical. Beautiful. Ivy had gifted them with beautiful garlands and flower chains that grew from the earth, vibrant roses uncurling at every corner to celebrate their union—a symbol of hope that could flourish amidst the dreariness of their reality.

The sheer joy she felt and saw from the two newlyweds was enough to assuage her constant state of alertness. She kissed both of their cheeks and hugged them close, lips pulled wide on the happiest moment she had felt in a very long time, a comfortable warmth curling in her chest. Their happiness was infectious.

Yet now—

"You should rest, kid."

She wasn‘t the only one restless.

"...Jim. Rough...night?"

A puff of cigarette. "Something like that."

Silence reigned over the living garden, the stars above brighter than it had ever been.

"You were close with my daughter?" asked the Commissioner all of a sudden.

"...Yes." Her reply was careful—while time had done its magic, a balm to gaping wounds on the soul, their memories of Barbara were still fresh on both of their minds. It still...hurt, and no doubt even more so for him. "She was my...mentor. She was like...like a..." Mother, she did not say. Before Shiva, before Bruce truly stepped into his role as a father.

But Jim picked it up nonetheless, nodding to himself. "Good. That‘s- really good."

For once, she genuinely wondered what the aim of their conversation was.

"We might not be close, Cassandra," he watched the puff of smoke that formed around him, casual and honest, "but you‘re Batman‘s daughter, and my daughter...knowing her, she undoubtedly loved you too like one. So that's more than enough to make you family."

Nodding, already connecting those particular dots together, she tilted her head. And?

"And I would do anything to keep my family safe," he turned to her, pain in his eyes reflected in her own. "But you understand that more than anyone else, don‘t you?"

Cass looked away, his intention finally dawning upon her.

"I- don‘t want to lose them too," she whispered to no one, her fear carried over in the silence of the night, the huge vines and trees providing a shelter from the horrific wailing of the monsters lurking just outside the garden walls.

They‘re the only ones I have left, she did not say.

Instead of a reply, Jim squeezed her shoulder in solidarity.

Cass is eternally grateful he did not try to console her with empty words.

"SHAZAM!"

Electricity and raw, undiluted power surged through her, tingling in her veins with the telltale sign of ancient magic.

Fury. White, hot blistering fury.

She did not waste a blink at the corpse now lying beneath her, eyes already roaming to find Jason who- no.

No.

Rose knelt beside him, sobs rocking her frame, every inch of her body screaming pure sorrow and Cassandra reached out, denial on the tip of her tongue- before a hand stopped her.

Damian.

Now an adult, creases wrinkling his forehead so much like his father. He shook his head, still gripping her arm and unwilling to let go. Cass could push him away despite his strength, especially with her newfound powers, but—but she didn‘t.

Cassandra Cain, blood daughter of Lady Shiva and David Cain, adoptive daughter of the Batman, fell to her knees and hung her head in her palms, holding back the agony clawing at her inside out. Hollow, hollow, empty.

No.

She promised-

What good was all this power if she couldn‘t even save her own family?

No tears came forth despite the stabbing wound in her chest, an ugly rage building up in the back of her throat, threatening to lash out with the pulsing energy in her fingers.

"Cass," Damian‘s soft plea snapped her out of her haze of red and self-destruction, and she finally looked at him, truly looked at him—his locked jaws, the tremble masking his own shock and anger, and- she blinked, vision clearing. Stopped.

Nothing could bring him back. Not her anger, nor revenge.

She stood up to her full height, Damian on her elbow, and locked eyes with Constantine standing right across from them, hoping the daggers she sent him from her gaze alone is enough to convey the amount of hatred she felt at that moment and floated over to Rose, her cape billowing behind her.

Someone else needed her now—move now, mourn later. Rinse and repeat.

---

The last remnants of warmth lingered in Jason‘s crushed body as she gingerly carried him out of the pocket dimension, and Cass felt her resolve weakening for a brief second, her powers slipping and she- nearly dropped to the ground. No one noticed, everyone lost in their own thoughts at what had transpired in so little time.

Her grip tightened.

Flying over to an area she knew was designated for the ones who...passed, she laid him down as gently as she could, brushing away a strand of hair on his forehead with light fingers, despite how heavy it felt to lift them. Wiped away the blood on his face with care, her movements mechanical like the time she had to dress a corpse of a dead boy they had failed to save.

Then she waited.

And waited.

Jason wouldn‘t want to be by himself. All alone.

She sat there, waiting.

When Rose finally dropped noiselessly beside her, Cass stood up and walked away, giving them the privacy they deserved. Ignored the silent tears wrecking the younger woman, and the instinctive need to console and support her.

Let her grieve, she reminded herself.

Her youngest brother stood behind a large boulder just outside the area, gaze pointedly directed at the ground.

"Cassandra."

She stopped right by him, shoulder to shoulder, facing the opposite direction. Waited.

His fist clenched tightly, teeth scrapping harshly against each other- "If I had known this would happen, I would never have—"

Gloved fingers grasped his shoulder tightly, and his mouth clicked shut.

"Please. Do not blame yourself," she murmured, calm and quiet, so unlike the weight dragging her down to the earth, burying her under. The magic that coursed through the blood, singing and wild, untamed as the raging sea.

Her fingers trembled.

She did not cry.

"I wish...I wish I could have talked with him more before. Know this Jason better," spoke Damian again after a long pause. It was an admission, hushed, voice laced with a regret so potent, it was impossible to dismiss.

So much regrets. Always. Always, always.

Finally, he turned to her with his cowl taken off, the pain in his eyes open for the world to see, for her to see, and she-

"I‘m so sorry, Cass," he whispered, broken, "I‘m so sorry."

Maybe it was his understanding, the honesty a huge contrast from the young, haughty boy who would hide his emotions behind a wall of anger and righteousness all those years ago. Or maybe it was the way his hand hovered beside him, a language as natural to her as breathing itself. Whatever it was...it unraveled the last string keeping her together, and she—

Not again.

Somewhere between then and the ground, her mask had been pulled down, and Cassandra finally let the weight in her heart crush her soul to dust, Damian‘s arms somehow around her and holding her close. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her tears creating a wet patch on his shoulder.

It was so tempting to call upon thunderstorms and lightning to put an end to all their suffering, an end to the anti-life once and for all—but she didn‘t. That was not their mission. Instead she let her eyes run dry, heaving quiet sobs into her brother.

The last two siblings held each other, grief and sorrow amplifying the desperation Cass felt growing within her.

It was a necessary sacrifice, she would know later.

But all she felt then was the despair of losing another family. The only one she had since their whole world turned upside down.

Damian was a solid weight that kept her grounded, and she was...thankful. Rose deserved to be supported now, rather than have another mess of emotions thrown onto her lap after all.

She felt her not-so-little brother bury himself into her shoulder and knew he needed this too.

It wasn't fair. It wasn’t fair.

...but nothing was.

Later, they would give Jason a proper burial. Later, they would be there carve the loving words of the life their brother had led. They would pay their respects, just as he did for their late father and brothers in the cave.

Later, they would continue to fight for humanity.

But for now-

"Damian," her voice cracked, too soft, too strained even for her ears. "I‘ll keep you safe. I promise."

A finality. An oath.

Not just to herself, but to Jason—whom she had failed. To their father, who entrusted the Bat mantle to the both of them, in his own ways. If it meant him surviving...

Damian froze and she knew what he wanted to say: Please don‘t make promises you can‘t keep.

But he didn‘t. Instead, he breathed out just as solemnly, the timbre of his voice octaves lower than it was a lifetime ago:

"...Right back at you, Cass."

#batfamily #cassandra cain #jason todd #damian wayne #dceased #dc comics #rose wilson #fanfic #Spica writes #oh look! :D i finally posted my fic ahaha

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my-whumpy-little-heart · 3 years

Note

▶Hey there Floyd why don'tcha burn yourself and ruin that lovely brand Percival gave you. I'm *sure* he won't give you another one. Yeah :)

Ohh boy, thank you so much for this ask Nemi. The response got out of hand, as always, but it was a ton of fun to write. This is completely non-canon, but linking the masterlist for the rest of Persistence for context.

Content warnings: forced self-harm and general discussion of/brief loss of autonomy due to outside forces, burning/branding, creepy/intimate whumper, mild gore (some description of blood, cuts, burns), and the narrator is played as a character in the story.

Specific warning that you are in the point of view of the person who gave the command here. They are remorseless and actively help the whumper for a brief period. Proceed with caution if that could be upsetting to you. ————————————

Floyd’s eyes go wider with every word you say.

“Nhh- no. No. That’s- you’re…” He looks down at you in complete disbelief and denial. The mere thought of doing what you commanded sends his heart racing with immeasurable fear, intense hatred, and the tiniest shred of forbidden desire.

“You can’t possibly mean that. Please, you don’t-” You cut him off, knowing he’ll keep prattling on if you don’t, and insist that you do very much mean what you said. Every single word of it. Floyd doesn’t listen- can’t listen to you.

“You don’t know how he is. What he would do if I- if I- I can’t,” he throws his hands down resolutely, but his voice is shaking and his expression is uncertain. Floyd feels the immense power radiating from you. The air is thick with it, making it difficult to breathe with the command incessantly weighing on him. On some level, he understands the luxury of declining an order and knows he will not have it here.

He’s silent for a few seconds, held back as your words take root in him and control wiggles another inch out of his grasp. Floyd moves as the command urges him to, if only out of the desire to maintain some desperate authority over his own actions. He reaches up to the collar with his shackled hands first, feeling along the back of it in hopes that the locking mechanism has come undone and he’ll simply be able to slip it off. It’s... not.

A few tugs on the leather does nothing but chafe against constantly irritated sores: a sharp pain dulled by repetition. Floyd looks to you as if he’s going to make some half-hearted comment about how he can’t do this with the magic restrictor on, or ask what you think he should do, but his mind has already plotted out his options for him, is already gathering magic within him that makes the collar buzz in anticipation.

He’s staring at the metal shackles, now. The length of chain between them that stretches just far enough to reach both sides of his chest. He recognizes their untapped potential, as much as he wishes he didn’t. A bare hand of fire could surely do the trick, but a flame on its own is far too unwieldy. He’d have to hold it longer, reign in flickering tendrils, potentially move it across the brand…

As excruciating as the metal branding had been, replicating that scenario would be the easiest choice.

“What did I ever do to you?” Floyd’s voice cracks as he pushes against Percival’s seal, letting the heat of his magic spill and flow to his hands, clutching the chain between the shackles. “I- I’ve never even met you, you aren’t a member of his crew… why are you doing this to me? I can’t usually sense magic but I feel your power, it’s- it’s incredible, I’m sure you could choose to do anything with it. So why this? Why- aAAH-!” He doubles over, unable to speak as a scream forces its way out.

You stand silently, watching the magic restrictor finally kick in at full force. Floyd tenses up, muscles in his arms and shoulders twitching as he rides out waves of uncontrollable pain, still pouring magic into the shackles which are now glowing a faint red. It’s a vicious cycle, but eventually the pain stagnates and Floyd peels his eyes back open to glare at you. They’re crazed and glassy. They’re beautiful.

“Well?! Please, if you won’t let me stop, if you’re really going to let this happen to me, just tell me why!” Every word shakes, wet with tears in his throat. A sheen of sweat coats his skin. The metal is almost orange, and you can feel the heat from where you’re standing only a few feet away.

You shrug and grin, thoroughly enjoying yourself by this point. You may not be affiliated with Percival, you explain, but you admire his work. And it’s not your fault that Floyd happens to be such a perfect subject to display it on.

“You, you’re… hhhhnnh- you’re sick,” Floyd spits, crying out again when the pain ramps up.

Yeah, you nod, holding back a laugh. That just about sums it up.

Floyd is panting audibly now, his efforts exhausting him completely. You see his own magical power draining, only supported by the sheer willpower and necessity of your command. The metal was hot enough long ago, which both Floyd and you had recognized, but he hadn’t been able to press it against his own skin. With nowhere else to go, the magic heated it more and more.

Two feet separate Floyd’s brand and the bright orange shackles trying to singe his hands as he lets go of his magic, the restrictor finally settling as well. Any pain left is a penetrating soreness, but far more pleasant than what he’d endured for the better part of a few minutes.

You tease him, ask him what he’s waiting for now, and are seriously considering just burning him yourself when someone else bursts into the room. It’s sudden and loud, and Floyd startles, losing his focus on resistance for just long enough that the command takes a secure hold, shoving his hands against his chest, stretching the chain across the brand, and keeping it there.

Floyd wails, crashing down to his knees. Percival is standing by the door, disbelief quickly melting away in favor of rage. He stalks over, tears Floyd’s hands away from the brand as he only screams louder, and shoves him down on his front. Percival either can’t see you or didn’t care to take note of your presence, and you continue to watch as he berates his captive.

“What the hell was that?! Hm? Care to fucking explain yourself, Benedict?”

Floyd writhes under him, trying to get heavy pressure off of the fresh burn as Percival’s heel grinds him into the ground. He can’t even seem to form words yet, so soon after the burn. Hysterical laughter bubbles up in Percival’s throat, not quite quashed by the fury still radiating off of him.

“You had better have a damn good reason for this,” he says, flipping Floyd to lay on his back and straddling his waist instead. One arm pins Floyd’s wrists above his head, keeping the hot metal far away from the rest of his vulnerable body, and exposing the damage done.Torn skin is already beginning to welt up, and the original brand is almost completely ruined.

“Not only did you use your magic, but you used it to put yourself in danger and mutilate the mark I so lovingly bestowed upon you,” he sneers, tracing fingers over the pale, irritated skin. Floyd jerks away at every touch, shaking his head and sobbing.

“No, p-please- AAAAH! Please! I didn’t ha-ave a choice! I promise I didn’t- I didn’t want this, I would never want this!” Tears spill down his cheeks and he can’t bear to look Percival in the eye as he pleads, squeezing his shut instead.

“You can’t lie to me, Benedict. I see how you look at my mark. How you cover it, try to pretend it’s not even there... It was only a matter of time before you tried to get rid of it, wasn’t it?”

“Not like this…” Floyd pants, “It hu-urts, it hurts so much, I- I can’t, I couldn’t-”

“But you did. You’re just regretting it, as you should.” Percival shrugs and Floyd shakes his head again, sobbing harder. “No sense in crying over it now, darling; you’ll need to save a few tears for when I can fix this proper.”

Floyd’s eyes fly open wide. He’d expected it, of course. He should have been ready to hear those words and brace for that pain all over again. But he wasn’t.

“Nhh…” He can’t even force out a word before Percival presses especially hard on the burn and he shrieks.

“Yes. But I think you’ve done quite enough damage yourself for one day, don’t you agree?” Percival sits back as Floyd nods, reaching into his pocket.

“You there,” Percival says without turning his head, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to you. You swallow hard, greeting him when Percival finally looks you over. “Hold him down.”

You nod and do so gladly as he draws a small, sturdy knife from his boot. The wooden handle is beautifully engraved, and you can’t help but admire it as you settle your hands on Floyd’s shoulders, leaning your weight against his frantic struggles. He’s trembling and breathing hard as the tip of the knife approaches his skin.

“What- what are you- please don’t, please please please...” Floyd’s voice fades to a reedy whisper.

“This is just a temporary solution,” Percival says as he dips the knife into the middle of his marred insignia, carving out along the figure eight.

Floyd screams, voice breaking off in intervals, and he pulls against you in a weak effort to get away. Blood drips down from the wound, only serving to dirty his chest further. Percival is efficient, carving beautiful curves through ruined skin, and when he drags the finishing lines down Floyd’s chest, the man finally goes limp.

With the command finally fulfilled, you fade away, saluting Percival and smiling wide as you go.

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broccoliboix5peepeeman · 4 years

Note

I don’t know if you know the Ghibli movie Arrietty, but could I request a tddk fic with that AU (with Izuku as a borrower and Todoroki as a human)?

Gosh, this took so long to answer, I’m sorry! I went a bit off plot from the original film, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless!

I also wanted to shout out this tddk Arrietty AU fic on AO3! It’s on my to-reads and looks awesome! :)

Ever since he arrived at his mum's, Shoto spent almost all of his time outdoors.

When he had been staying with his father, going outside had been a rarity in itself. Shoto had rheumatic fever on top of several heart conditions after all, so most of the time he was busy with treatments. Travelling to and from the hospital had been the only time he ever got to experience the sun and even then, it was only ever fleeting. Other than that, whenever he would ask his old man, the response had always been the same.

"No, you need to get stronger before I allow you such luxuries."

Now that he was staying at his mum's though, things were different. His mum made sure he got all the care he needed, but she was far less controlling than his father had been.

That wasn't the only thing that was different though.

His mum's house was a special place.

Little people lived there!

The first time he had spotted one had been an accident. Shoto had been in bed trying and failing to fall asleep. Several hours had passed before he eventually gave up and opened his eyes to stare out into the room, which was illuminated by the moon outside. He didn’t like closed curtains. However, the moment his vision focused on his bedside table, he suddenly spotted him: a small person in the process of removing a tissue from its box.

He was incredibly small, no bigger than a few inches, and when he froze in place, his silhouette directly facing Shoto, the latter knew he wasn’t hallucinating.

'Don't be afraid.' Shoto’s voice was hoarse from lack of use. Despite his words though, he was met with silence. He stared at the figure, waiting, then all of a sudden the person jumped off the tissue box and out of sight, dropping a sugar cube in his rush to hide.

Shoto shot up in bed then, searching. 'Wait! Don't go… My mum used to see little people here too when she was little. Was it you she saw?'

He never got a response, but Shoto kept waiting anyway. The next day, he had left out a small note underneath the sugar cube that the small person had dropped, hoping he would return.

"You forgot this." The note had said, but nevertheless, the days went by and no one came to retrieve it. Shoto had been disappointed, but deep down he understood - no one ever wanted to talk to the sick child with the ugly birthmark on his face, why would this person be any different?

Instead of dropping it like he would usually though, Shoto remained persistent. After all, he didn't know how long he had left in the world and something about this new mystery in his life drove him to keep going.

Then one day, he finally came.

Admittedly, it had initially been to tell Shoto to leave his family alone, but he didn't like to focus on the semantics.

Shoto had been laying in his mum's garden, reading a book whilst their cat, Smudge, napped on his stomach. It had been a tiring day of pre-operative appointments in preparation for his operation next week, and he looked forward to spending the rest of the afternoon relishing in the smell of the flowers around him and the way the sun’s rays caressed his skin.

Shoto had just finished the twelfth chapter of his novel when he felt it. He didn't know what it was exactly, but something told Shoto that he wasn't alone anymore.

'You finally came back.' He stared up at the sky, watching the clouds shift across the blue hues.

'You need to leave my family alone.' A small voice answered. 'We're not supposed to be seen by human beans. It makes us vulnerable.'

'I won't hurt you.' Shoto told him, puzzled.

'You might not, but others might! Some human beans can be very cruel.'

Shoto thought about the little person's words and immediately thought of his father; the way he used to treat him and his siblings, even before his condition manifested.

'They can be cruel, yes.' Shoto closed his book and placed it on the grass so he could rub his palms against his eyes. ‘But I’m not.’ He paused. ‘Well, I don’t think I am anyway… I don’t want to be.’

The little person seemed to consider his words.

‘No, I don’t think you’re a cruel person.’ He agreed. ‘In fact, I think you’re actually a kind person. You discovered me, a Borrower in your home, and you didn’t immediately try to harm me. In fact, you tried to give my family gifts.’

A Borrower...

‘You saw those?’ Shoto asked, albeit his weakened heart fluttered at the compliment and he felt himself blush. ‘Why didn’t you take them then?’

‘My father told me not to in case it was a trap. He’s one of the greatest Borrowers out there and has never been caught ever! He once fought off a pack of rats and only came back with a scratch on his stomach!’

Shoto heard the way the Borrower spoke about his father, the pride in his voice and his deep admiration, and felt envious.

‘He sounds like quite the man.’ He breathed, lip wobbling.

‘He is.’ Came the response, albeit the little person seemed to sense the sadness in Shoto’s voice and didn’t elaborate further.

'Do you have a name?' Shoto finally asked after several moments of silence.

'What-' The Borrower spluttered. 'O- Of course I have a name!'

'Can you tell me?'

Shoto waited patiently as the seconds passed. He could understand the Borrower’s apprehension, even if it was unnecessary, so he didn’t want to press.

'Izuku.' He eventually replied. ‘My name is Izuku.’

Shoto couldn't help but smile.

'Izuku.' He repeated, testing the name on his lips. 'I'm Shoto.'

‘Shoto. What a lovely name.’ He could hear the genuity in Izuku’s voice and, for some reason, suddenly found that he also liked his name when the Borrower was the one saying it.

‘My mum chose it.’ Shoto felt he should add, eliciting a hum from Izuku. He then stared up at the sky, the clouds slowly clearing, and contemplated his next question. 'Can I… Can I look at you, Izuku?'

He heard a surprised gasp from behind him, followed by shuffling. Shoto almost thought the Borrower had fled, but before he could start to wallow in self-pity, he suddenly received an affirming hum.

'O- Okay.'

Excitement found it's way into Shoto's frail heart and he gently removed Smudge from on top of him so he could roll over onto his stomach and face the Borrower, who stood so close that Shoto could practically see every detail clearly.

His breath hitched.

Izuku was the most handsome being Shoto had ever laid eyes on. He had a face full of minuscule freckles that were almost invisible against his rosy cheeks. They were also scattered all over his body, some likely hidden under his dark green clothes that matched his verdant hair, which looked as fluffy as wool. His eyes were also green, albeit they shone like emeralds, immediately entrancing Shoto. Despite his small frame, Izuku was also well-built, his bulging muscles evident in the way his clothes clung to him tightly.

'Beautiful…' Shoto finally breathed, watching as Izuku blushed in response and pressed his mouth into a thin line.

‘Coming from you.’ The Borrower mumbled, crossing his arms and glancing away with a pout. Shoto’s eyebrows furrowed, confused.

‘Coming from me?’ He repeated. ‘I’m not beautiful. I’m barely even alive.’

‘What do you mean?’ Izuku turned back to look at him, head tilted to the side in question.

Shoto opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He considered the Borrower in front of him, his expression one of concern.

'I-' Shoto looked away and swallowed. 'It's my heart.'

'Your heart?'

'Yeah, it's not been working right for a while. They're operating on it next week, but it's hopeless.' Shoto crossed his arms in front of him and rested his chin on them, ignoring the way it dug into his forearms. 'We all die eventually anyway, so I don't see the point.'

'You have every reason to live!' Izuku exclaimed, his usually quiet voice echoing in Shoto's ears. 'Just because we all die doesn't mean we shouldn't live while we can!'

'I don't have many reasons to live anyway.' Shoto mumbled, moving his head to the side and resting his cheek on his arms. 'All I do is cause my family pain. My old man hates me for being weak, I hear my mum crying every night, I haven't seen my siblings in years. I agreed to the operation for my mum's sake but honestly? I just want it all to be over.'

He trailed off and silence dominated the atmosphere once more, interrupted only by the leaves of wildflowers rustling with the wind. Shoto sighed, eyes fluttering shut. Despite the weight of his words, it felt cathartic to finally confide in someone.

'You… Can't give up.' Izuku suddenly spoke. 'I know things may seem hopeless now, but you have to survive!'

Shoto suddenly felt something small touch the tip of his nose and opened his eyes to find Izuku staring at him, determined; a small albeit muscled arm outstretched in front of him, his palm flat against Shoto.

He crossed his eyes to focus on the Borrower, who met his gaze without hesitation. 'Things will never get better if you give up. Any reason to live is important and I know it’s hard, but you need to take it and let it drive you!'

When Shoto said nothing, Izuku sighed and removed his hand. Shoto felt a sense of loss at the action but didn't comment on it. Instead he watched as the Borrower sat down next to him, looking down at his crossed legs.

Izuku smiled sadly. 'Life is a precious thing for a Borrower. Each day brings more struggles, more predators. One minute, I'm talking to you, the next I could be snatched into the air by a bird or your cat could attack me. But despite all the dangers, we make do - we always have.'

'Why?' Shoto whispered. 'Why carry on?'

'Because every morning, I get to smell the flowers your mum keeps close to my home. Because every day, I get to see my mum and dad and tell them how much they mean to me. Because every small happiness is important and I don't want to miss a single thing!'

Izuku let out a genuine smile and looked up at Shoto. 'And also so I can meet kind people like you, Shoto-kun!'

'Me?' Shoto blushed.

'You.' The Borrower nodded. 'If I had given up, I wouldn't have been able to talk to you now, and if you had truly given up too, then you wouldn't have spoken to me in the first place.'

'I…' Shoto faltered. 'How do you know all this?'

'We're not so different, you and I.' Izuku leaned back on one arm and held the other up to his face. He flexed his trembling right hand and Shoto noticed just how crooked his fingers were. 'I have a degenerative condition. There's no cure. Borrowers don't have doctors and hospitals like human beans do. First, I started having random falls - hurt myself a lot, hence my hand, but then the tremors started.'

Izuku closed his fist and looked at Shoto, still smiling. 'Eventually, my body will stop working and it'll kill me, but until then I will live life to its fullest! I will survive for as long as I can.'

Shoto watched, mouth slightly agape, as the Borrower then jumped to his feet and placed his hands on his hips. 'And you will too, Shoto-kun!'

A wave of emotion suddenly overcame him and his throat felt tight. Izuku seemed to immediately notice his state and slackened his position slightly, his toothy smile dimming into a slight curve of his lips, but it wasn't a look of pity.

Shoto swallowed heavily as the Borrower stepped forwards and reached out to brush over the large birthmark covering Shoto's left eye. The touch was small but comforting and he felt warmth, from both Izuku's calloused palm and the look in his small, verdant eyes.

'Izuku…'

'We must not just simply die out.' He spoke softly. ‘Neither of us.’

'I'm not as strong as you.' Shoto’s vision blurred despite his efforts, clearing only when a single tear escaped him. It trailed down his face and completely drenched Izuku's hand, but the Borrower didn't even flinch.

'No, you're not.' He paused. 'You're stronger. You just don't know it yet.'

Shoto regarded Izuku, this person he barely knew, who was barely larger than his own finger. He regarded the way the Borrower held himself, his reassuring smile and his kind eyes that shone like stars. Shoto, stronger than him? Maybe not, but he wouldn’t mind learning to be.

'Will you help me?' Shoto whispered.

Izuku smiled brightly and nodded furiously.

'Of course!'

#tododeku #platonic tododeku #todoroki shoto #midoriya izuku #the secret world of arrietty #Arrietty AU #AgarJelly writes #tw: self deprecation #mentions of health conditions #rheumatic fever #tw: suicidal thoughts #Sho thinks life is hopeless #Izu is there to tell him otherwise #bittersweet

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darisu-chan · 4 years

Text

whatever our souls are made of (his and mine are the same), pt. 4

Hi everyone!

I’m back with another one-shot.

Sorry if I’m late.

Hope you guys like this one too!

You can also read it here.

promise

Prompt: crossing blades, crossing hearts

Summary: As their swords clash, their true feelings come to light.

Their swords clash in rapid succession.

The thunderous sound echoes throughout the room.

Rukia takes steady breaths before they collide once more.

Each time their swords meet, she feels a sudden surge of energy rushing through her very soul.

It is almost as if she and her opponent were connected.

But there is no time to wonder about such things.

Training is crucial, and, so, she has to take this session seriously.

When she had woken up in the Soul King Palace, completely healed from her previous injuries, she wouldn’t have ever imagined that she would get to train, knowing that time was ticking by and their enemy was fast approaching. Yet here she is. And although nii-sama had told her that she must acquire Bankai, she’s not sure how she’s even going to achieve such a feat in so little time. After all, it normally takes a Shinigami ten years of rigorous training to get their Bankai. The only Shinigami she knows that had done it in less time was Ichigo, and even then it had taken him three full days.

And speaking of which…

Ichigo is currently forcing her back with another round of attacks.

As always, his form is impeccable and his parries carry all of his strength.

He’s not holding back, and Rukia is thankful for that. It means he’s not underestimating her. Or worse, attempting to protect her. It shows he trusts her to meet each one of his attacks with one of her own.

It is not easy, though.

Her kenjutsu has never been the best, and though she excels at kidō, now it is not the time to use it. She really needs to focus on her zanpakutō. She needs to trust in her abilities, to trust Sode No Shirayuki, so that she will grant her this new ability she desperately needs if she wants to help defeat the Quincy King.

But try as she might, she can’t quite focus on her task.

Her opponent is being very distracting.

It is not his fault at all, though.

Yet Rukia can’t keep herself from overanalyzing the situation.

Because when Ichigo had come back to the training grounds, she had immediately noticed that something major had changed.

It is not only in his reiatsu or the fact he has two swords now. There is just something in his gaze and in the way he stands.

There is a surety in him that wasn’t there before.

And Rukia can’t help but wonder what had transpired in his trip to Karakura or in his inner world that had changed him so.

Ichigo’s less a boy and more like a man than ever before.

And the thought is a little scary, quite honestly.

It makes her feel restless.

“Is something the matter?” He suddenly asks, jumping back and relaxing his stance.

Damnit.

Of course he had noticed something was amiss with her.

“Nothing.” She replies, keeping her voice neutral. “Let’s keep going.”

Her opponent nods and attacks her again, but as their fight continues, Rukia cannot keep up with him, and Ichigo can perceive the way she hesitates during each attack.

It is not really her fault that her mind is everywhere but on the fight.

There is so much she wishes to say, to ask, but can’t.

And it starts showing in her attacks.

“Ok. Time out.” Ichigo says out loud as he stops fighting completely.

“What?!” She exclaims. “We can’t stop now! There’s much left to do!”

He shakes his head. “Rukia, whenever our swords meet, I can feel how unfocused you are. I know something’s bothering you. So we can either keep going without making much progress, or we can talk about it and then resume our training.”

Too bad for her that she can’t disagree with that.

But inside she curses the fact that her brother and Renji had gone off to train together, and had left her with Ichigo. Because he is so attuned to her reiatsu and her body language, he is instinctively aware when something’s not right. And right now Rukia doesn’t think it’s the time to talk about feelings and changes, much less because she doesn’t mean to pry into his life.

And yet…

She can’t say no to him.

So she lets him lead her to a secluded corner where they can sit down to talk.

She notes that Ichigo is unusually calm for someone who has been through so much in the last few hours.

It is kind of unnerving, how at ease he seems.

Just what in the world had happened to him?

“So what’s wrong?” Ichigo asks her, looking directly into her eyes.

She, instead, looks down and her eyes trace the double Zangetsu, as it rests next to Sode no Shirayuki.

“Ah. You’re probably wondering about that.” He says as he scratches his neck.

“Look, if you don’t want to tell me anything, it’s fine. You don’t need to go out of your way to tell me something if you don’t want me to.” She retorts, hoping he would drop the subject.

She has no such luck.

Ichigo sighs and then turns to her. “Rukia, when we first met, you told me you would wait until I was ready to tell you about my mom. Do you remember?”

She blinks in surprise twice before answering. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Well, I think I’m ready now.” He responds.

“You really don’t have to─”

“I think it’s time.”

“Ichigo, don’t─”

“Rukia.” The way he says her name silences her. “My father is a Shinigami… and my mother… my mother was a Quincy.” He reveals, but his voice doesn’t sound angry or disbelieving. It seems as if he has already come to terms with this fact.

The resolve that laces his words is enough to stop her from trying to keep him from sharing too much. Instead, Rukia listens.

She listens as Ichigo tells her a story about destiny.

But, most importantly, a story about love.

Rukia is rendered speechless by the way he unravels in front of her the image of Kurosaki Masaki. His beloved mother.

And now she understands with more clarity his pain in losing her. His guilt. The weight he has been carrying since he was a young boy. How everything he thought he knew about his parents wasn’t the actual truth. And what that means to him. To find out about his true heritage.

Yet there is no grief, no anger, no resentment.

Ichigo is not upset anymore.

He has finally found his peace.

And Rukia is so grateful for that, because if there’s someone in the Soul Society or the Human World who deserves a semblance of serenity, it is Ichigo and his restless soul.

“So… what do you think?” He asks at the end of his tale, clearly worried about her opinion.

He needn’t worry.

“Ichigo… I…”

There’s so much Rukia wants to say.

That his mother sounds like a wonderful person.

That Yhwach is even more evil than she had thought.

That his parents lived through a real love story.

That she’s sad that Ichigo had to experience such a loss at a tender age.

That she wishes she would have been able to meet Masaki.

But, instead, she takes his large hands in her tiny ones and entwines their fingers together, as she feels herself fill with resolve.

“I’m glad you know the truth now.” She tells him and Ichigo smiles in relief.

“Yeah… me too…”

“And now everything makes sense. No wonder you’re so weird.” She jests, gently poking his chest.

He rolls his eyes as he swats her hand away. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see if now you’ll be able to focus.”

“Ha! Of course I will! I’ll even beat your ass.”

“I wanna see that.” He retorts, and now there’s mirth in his voice.

He sounds younger now, and happier too.

It is as it should be.

Ichigo shouldn’t have to carry so much weight on his shoulders.

Sadly, there is not much time to sit and mull on this new information she has received.

The Quincy King will not wait for anybody, and Rukia has a duty to uphold.

To the Soul Society.

To her brother.

But most importantly, to Ichigo and two herself.

The two don’t take long to stand up and parry again.

As their swords meet once more, it feels more like a dance than a fight.

They are finally back in synch.

Each time they clash, Ichigo smiles at her so tenderly that Rukia can feel her breath leaving her.

But now’s not the time for that.

Later, when they have defeated Yhwach, she will have the time to sort through her thoughts.

In the meantime, she uses shunpō to step away, and attack Ichigo from behind.

He barely manages to duck.

She can’t help but laugh at how easy it feels to train with him.

It is reminiscent of how she had taught him how to be a Shinigami all those years ago.

Who would have thought the mentee would become the mentor?

Ichigo instructs her on what her mindset should be.

She closes her eyes and envisions her inner world.

Inside of her, Sode no Shirayuki buzzes in excitement.

“Are you ready?” Her zanpakutō asks her.

“I am.” Rukia answers with certainty.

“Then promise me─”

Promisemepromisemepromiseme

As ice and snow fall inside of her, and as she looks into Ichigo’s warm eyes, she makes a promise to him and to herself.

She’s now ready for Bankai.

#ichiruki #ichirukimonth #ichirukimonth2020 #pro ichiruki #ichiruki fanfiction #my fanfiction

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bbq-hawks-wings · 4 years

Text

BBQ gripes about fanon Hawks

Not even gonna put this in the character tags aside from the spoiler one I use just for the anime-onlies on my blog. I'm salty. I just wanna vent. I want to keep the general character tags fun because it was awful when I went looking for new content and found so much Not Fun material a while back; and I don’t want to become what I hate. Basic point - my blog, my vent, and unless it’s reblogged (which you are welcome to if you like) this post dies here.

Please know this isn't a callout post or me claiming that others are being fans of Hawks "wrong" because they disagree with me. I am a huge proponent that (with very few exceptions) fiction and fandom should be free to be enjoyed, reinterpreted, or otherwise indulged in however the individual fan prefers; and if I don't like it, I let them have their space and go do my thing elsewhere and leave them alone (hence why this not going in character tags). I just have been annoyed with the rampant mangling of Hawks' canon personality/characterization - that is, confusing common fanon interpretations of him with how he’s actually written/portrayed and then getting angry (like, actually-angry-spilling-into-publicly-dragging-real-people, not just disappointed) when he acts like canon Hawks in canon. Non-canon is open season and by and large has my blessing, it’s just frustrating when it gets dragged into discussions about the manga.

This has been going on a long time, but I just want to get it out of my system in my personal space. All this is, is my "Overthinking Tumblr blogger Shakes Fist at Cloud" moment.

#1 Hawks is a sociopath/unempathetic.

I just... I... You can't be reading the same manga I am if you genuinely come to this conclusion about who he is in canon. A man with nothing to gain by looking like this when considering the depths of the suffering inflicted on others that he bears some amount of responsibility in...

...cannot be called unempathetic.

"But he killed Twice and Best Jeanist!"

Twofold counterargument to this one, starting with BJ - we don't actually know he's dead. There's a body, there's a disappearance, and we have no idea wtf happened, but we also don't know wtf happened. It's drastically ooc for Hawks to murder someone in cold blood. For someone who places emphasis on speed specifically "because when two sides keep fighting and won’t give up, someone eventually has to die" it makes no sense for him to not have had a plan and simply ambush a man in his own home - this goes doubly since he was in contact with the HSPC and had time to "premeditate" anyway.

And as for Twice: Hawks ran out of options. He wanted to detain Twice and keep him from escaping and helping the MLA. He was able to do so when alone, but the moment Dabi cornered him Hawks had a choice to make - probably die in the fight and let Jin go or make absolute certain he can’t and still probably end up dying because he's in bad shape and still probably won't make it out of this, regardless. I don't need to harp on this - it's been said a couple different times now by several people. Even in 266 when Dabi initially ambushes Hawks, Hawks thinks to himself that he’ll carry Jin out of the building to keep himself and Jin safe before Twice retaliated and Dabi literally forces Hawks into a corner.

Jin's loss was a blow, but the chips on the table being wagered are human lives, not feelings. Up until that point, Hawks did everything he could despite the weight of his decision. Human life is human life, and Jin’s life isn’t more important than the may more who will be saved by quashing the MLA’s revolution. Simply equating “could kill someone” with “unempathetic” is fundamentally flawed, and mistaking someone who is pushed to kill despite every attempt to avoid it as unempathetic and even sociopathic has missed the point to the extreme - the mere fact he avoided lethal force for so long alone proves he possesses empathy.

#2 Hawks is a compulsive liar.

He is a good liar, but he does not like lying. He does twist the truth, but always when forced to keep a secret. Even then, his lies are predominantly spun from truth and omitted details instead of outright fabrications. He doesn’t gaslight, and he doesn’t make up stories/details if he can help it.

When Hawks told Endeavor his dreams for the future, that was the truth. When he told him he thought he was cool at the hero billboards, that was the truth. When he tells Tokoyami to focus on his strengths instead of merely covering his weaknesses to be a better hero, that was the truth. When Tokoyami asks Hawks for his weakness and even why he took him on as an intern in the beginning just to ignore him, he tells him the truth. When he tells Jin he "doesn't belong in a cage" and that he considers him a good person, that was the truth. When he recognizes he’s profoundly wounded Jin for deceiving him for months, he tells Jin the truth. When confronted by Dabi and he doesn’t need to lie anymore in this fight to the death, he tells him the truth despite not actually needing to in hopes to learn the truth behind Dabi and Shigaraki.

I don't have a better segue, so I'll just mention that a lot of folks who believe this also believe the next point.

#3 Hawks is unapologetically emotionally manipulative.

The context makes a huge difference and we need to look at when and why he manipulates others as well as the fact that he does.

At the hero billboards, Hawks plays the heroes on stage as well as the crowd. He's trying to shift the mindset of, "oh yeah, just another hero ranking" to "wake up, mf's, things are changing and you better be ready to change, too!" Rocking the boat is a huge no-no in Japan. Despite being part of his “persona” there is still real social risk involved with this move but one that he deems necessary to turn heads and get gears turning. This is not just an elaborate ploy to get under Endeavor’s skin, but an effort to reach a wider audience while he has them captive.

He does use the public crowd around him and Endeavor before the Hood fight as an excuse for its appearance, but the original intent was to mentally prepare Endeavor for what was potentially (and proved to be) the fight of his life without outright telling him so he could maintain his undercover status. When he realizes he’s part of the reason for Endeavor’s permanent scar and life-threatening injuries, he feels remorse.

He lies to Jin to get information out of him, but linking back to #2, when calls Jin a good person and offers him a way out, he’s telling the truth. He does feel guilt for having to manipulate an otherwise well-meaning person and betraying them, especially given his long-running history of being used and the ongoing issues he suffers from because of it.

When he meets up again with Endeavor to drop his clues about the League’s movements, he squirms when he realizes the interns don’t know him well enough to know he’s blowing smoke because he does NOT want these kids to actually buy what he’s selling. This espionage mission is hard to navigate, and he has to tread carefully lest he setup the dominoes in the wrong places.

This is all to make the point that Hawks is more than capable of emotionally manipulating people, but it’s not in his nature or something he does to any and every person he comes across just because. We haven’t had much opportunity to see him operate outside of the HSPC’s orders which is where the bulk of the instances of his manipulation comes from - those orders requiring him to operate covertly and thus, by nature, necessitate lying, manipulation, and strategically withholding information.

If anything, when he’s making an appeal to someone else as his own person - not as a hero on a mission- we actually see a level of vulnerability and transparency we don’t otherwise catch.

Though it’s technically canon-adjacent and not necessarily canon in and of itself, in My Hero Academia: Team Up Mission where he works with Bakugo and Midoriya he operates on a level of transparency with them we’re not used to seeing; and my theory is he took it as an opportunity to operate without ulterior motives and build report instead of bucking back against “training up the next generation of heroes” like he initially did with Tokoyami.

Which now actually segues better into the next point.

#4 Hawks never lets people get close to him.

There’s a surprising amount of evidence that Hawks wants the ability to be an open book. Back at Team Up Mission, the restaurant staff note he regularly takes people he likes to their establishment - so we’re basically told outright this is a special place to him reserved for enjoying himself and only people he likes get to share it with him - so we already know what that says about how he sees those two despite their sparse interactions. We already know he’s taken Endeavor there when Endeavor made no move to input as to where he wanted to have the lunch meeting.

Though he kept Tokoyami at arm’s length initially, we have at least three canon instances of him sharing personal interactions with him with other canon-adjacent indications he cares for and values his intern. We’ve readily established that while Endeavor may not consider himself close to Hawks, Hawks does hold Endeavor as near and dear to his heart. While his only mission regarding Twice was to get information out of him, he still made a genuine effort to help and save him because he wanted to and considered him a friend despite the circumstances.

We still don’t know very much of Hawk’s past, his personal relationships outside of work, etc.; but despite the HPSC’s extensive efforts to strip him of his identity he not only possesses a faceted, complicated personality but seems to want to share that with others readily when and in the ways he’s able. Getting into the truly squishy, vulnerable parts of him may take a while, but on a scale of closed to open, he seems to lean towards open.

#5 Hawks is hopelessly in love with Dabi and will abandon everything up to this point for him.

This isn't to throw general DabiHawks shippers under the bus. Most of them know VERY well at this point that canon has sunk that ship, and they're just having fun with it at this point - and you know what, power to you! They look great together! In another life, the character chemistry could have been incredible. There’s a lot of great DabiHawks shipping content I thoroughly enjoy despite not shipping it myself.

It just isn't canon. It never was and never came close. Even now, with the Endeavor reveal being very much imminent, Hawks' view of Dabi is one of a lying, malicious, callous, murderer. Though he’ll likely be crushed at the revelation of what Endeavor’s done, that doesn’t equate to him defecting (especially not immediately) and falling into Dabi’s arms.

And Dabi hates Hawks just as much.

Again, this is not anything against the ship or the shippers - just an annoyance I have with some who were so wrapped up in the ship they were genuinely mad when the ship sank and they dragged that frustration out into the real world against real people when canon didn’t align with fanon.

Ships are some of the most stupid things to rail against creators and fans over, and the amount of harassment they receive now over shipping has me ripping my hair out when I know it’s a mere fraction of the total pool of shippers who are frothing at the mouth while the rest are super cool and happy doing their own thing and keeping to themselves.

Ship what you want, regardless of “validating evidence” and have fun. Don’t make it others’ problem when it isn’t canonically validated.

#6 Hawks is a dirty cop.

Only half upset with this one because it comes down to the nuance and lack of precise definition of this phrase I have a problem with. Lots of people hate cops for very real, legitimate reasons. Police forces - being a voluntary, government-employed force enforcing government rule - are notoriously prone to corruption of every kind.

It's implied the HPSC is itself corrupt, though to what extent we don't know. (Granted, buying a young child from his family to raise as your personal puppet is pretty high up there.) By continuing to follow orders from the HPSC and not vehemently fighting back, many see him as reinforcing a corrupt institution and at least partially liable for their continued hold on society.

Fair enough, but... The issue I have with this is it reduces Hawks to his job.

I believe a huge chunk of this take comes from my experience as an armed service member spouse, but it's easy for me to empathize with a guy

Who was promised the moon for himself and his family in exchange for his service not realizing what was actually being asked of him

Is praised outside the organization for "being a hero" and "upholding this country's core values" while first-hand witnessing the corruption of it when inside

Is viewed as a cog valuable only in services rendered instead of being treated like a human by said organization and worked into the ground because of it

Is frustrated by the insistence to keep the status quo instead of improving procedure/infrastructure/environment because egos need to be padded over real, human problems being solved

Has his autonomy or otherwise ability to operate under his own judgement restricted in favor of maintaining organizational control at the cost of effective action

Has DEPENDENTS who rely on his continued work to provide for them and is thus unable to refuse an order, even when it's morally reprehensible and even outright illegal

Whose cries, both those calculated and desperate, to the organization (who have placed themselves as the sole resource he can turn to) for help (even for his own body/mind) fall on deaf ears until he breaks to the point of becoming unusable or dangerous - and even then minimal effort/responsibility is taken in favor of keeping him functioning in the organization as long as possible.

Hawks fights back against the HPSC constantly. He raised concerns over letting civilians suffer to get him in with the League of Villains and then still defied orders by reducing casualties to zero. Despite orders to keep his mission top secret, he's informed Endeavor of his motives/movements independently from the rest of the heroes. He had long refused to take an intern (read: fresh meat for the machine) to train until this year, and even then sought to minimize his encouragement of Tokoyami for as long as possible until he realized Tokoyami was made of the real mettle people needed in a hero and not just another youngster endangering himself on a pipe dream.

He even takes initiative to keep his personal to-do list from the HPSC to a minimum by squashing problems before they come knocking asking him to fix it for them. He knew of the League of Villains and anticipated the escalation of their movements immediately after the USJ incident as well as has a network of informants and connections with local police forces to stay in the know.

His methods for apprehension of criminals are, and continue to be, to react and detain them so quickly they can't retaliate or endanger others in the struggle, thus minimizing human loss and injury despite the insinuation the HPSC has told him that gloves are off in the current situation.

He might be "a cop" depending on the definition we go with, but he isn't a dirty cop. He doesn't plant evidence. He doesn't shoot first and ask questions later. He doesn't blindly take orders. He largely doesn't see "villains" as dirt under his shoe but as people pushed to extremes. He's a morally convicted individual trying to rebel within the system instead of tearing it down outright. He may be wrong in the assumption, but he genuinely believes he can do more on the inside of the system than outside.

#7 Hawks is a manwhore.

Ok, this one is not serious and actually just to end this all on a lighter note after ranting until I'm blue in the face.

I'm 100% guilty of this myself. Something about that chicken makes me and many others salivate - either for themselves or to watch him with someone else. We love dressing him up slutty, portray him as flirting unashamedly, and placing him in as many overtly sexual scenarios possible.

The best part about all of it, though, is that it’s almost the exact opposite of how he dresses/conducts himself in canon. His clothes are loose fitting and high-coverage. He’s personable, but never gives any indication he’s romantically/sexually involved or interested in anyone. The asscourse is real only because we cannot confirm either way due to his baggy clothes. His overall figure/body shape has been hinted at, but only recently confirmed; and his jacket had to be literally be burned off to get a good look at the pattern of his shirt under it!

~~~~~~~

And with that, I release the frustration and move on.

Enjoy fanon as much as you like - even I do! Just be aware of where canon and fanon diverge, and definitely don’t take the difference out on real people. Please also be aware of how others hold their favorite characters dear before flooding the general tags with negativity and creating a hostile environment for them. People latch onto their “comfort characters” for a plethora of reasons, and when they lose that character to the plot, the fandom, or otherwise, they should still be allowed to grieve and celebrate what they had in a safe environment.

Retaliation in response to others coming against your favorite is also not acceptable behavior. It sucks, but the most mature thing to do is step away from the general fandom, stick to blogs/spaces you know are safe, and let the storm blow over. Comfort characters do not justify mistreating real people no matter how much they may mean to you.

When “canon gets it wrong” is where fanfiction and pockets of the fandom community comes into play. Leave those people alone and let them be. For those who aligned themselves with canon, they are not free game to take personal frustrations out on. Leave those people alone and let them be. Unfollow the people/tags you need to for your own sake and others’, and the fandom will be a better place all around over time. Venting belongs in controlled spaces away from the rest of the fandom and with enough warning for those who not only don’t want to endure it but who for their own safety shouldn’t.

Fandom is a community, and healthy communities do not endorse members lashing out when they don’t get their way.

#spoiler!hawks #let's talk hawks

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srhlsx · 4 years

Text

CHAPTER 20

master | ch. 19 | ch. 21

That morning, you were nervous. You had made a point to go to school early to fit in some solo practice since you knew group practice would be grueling this afternoon. You tried to convince yourself that you weren’t going to school early to avoid interacting with Iwaizumi on the walk to school, in the hallways, or at your locker. That’d be silly. But...

You hadn’t gotten over what you had confessed to him. You had decided for once in your life you were not going to hold back your feelings and in a moment of post coital bliss you spoke them into the universe. You were sure of the building feelings, having thought you were in love before but realizing how different it could actually be when the person was good. You just wished… that you hadn’t done it.

You were sitting in your seat for the first class of the day when Iwaizumi sat down in his chair behind you harshly, making his desk hit the back of your chair. The jolt surprised you and made you jump since you had been so immersed in your textbook and checking your homework that you hadn’t even noticed him walking in.

“Where were you?” He asked. Iwaizumi didn’t lean in to talk to you, opting instead for a normal volume of voice as he unpacked his materials.

You paused but didn’t turn around to face him when you answered. “Wanted to get some practice in,” You said to your textbook. You heard him pause behind you, obviously noticing the way you wouldn’t look at him.

“You’re avoiding me.” He stated, voice having lowered to barely a whisper.

It made you tense and pause what you were doing, your eyes only focusing on one single word printed on the book in front of you - chloroplast, chloroplast, chloroplast - “I um, really need to finish this up before class starts.” You shook your head and mumbled the response to him, definitively ending the conversation.

Iwaizumi didn’t try to push it any more. He stared at the back of your head for a few moments longer until the teacher at the front of the room demanded everyone’s attention. Bristling slightly, Iwaizumi chewed at his cheek in thought until he tasted blood. With you sitting in front of him, there was no way he was going to focus on class anyways so he let his mind wander to thoughts about what could be going on with you.

You couldn’t breathe properly. You were so focused on making sure that your focus was on the teacher and not the boy sitting behind you that you had forgotten the most basic of human needs - air. You sucked in a deep breath, hoping the air filling up your lungs would help alleviate the pain in your heart, and let it out in a heavy sigh - catching the attention of your instructor and the rest of the class.

“Something the matter, Miss (Y/n)?” Your teacher turned around partially from where they had been writing on the board, looking at you over their glasses.

“Uh, no ma’am.” You stuttered, embarrassed and looking back down at your notes. “Sorry.”

The older woman turned back to her lecture and the attention turned away from you, but your breathing wasn’t back to normal. You began to transition to your next subject, clearing your desk of previous materials and making room for what was needed now. You felt a light tap on your arm and looked down to see a hand holding a hard candy out to you. You looked at the hand skeptically, knowing it belonged to Iwaizumi.

“Here,” He mumbled, nudging the candy at you again. “I know you like the distraction when you’re stressed, so just take it.”

You snatched the candy out of his hand without a word and unwrapped it, quickly popping it into your mouth. The artificial flavor you immediately recognized as your favorite and the fiddling with the hard candy in your mouth was a welcome distraction, you actually felt yourself relax just a tiny bit. You were still uncomfortable and your chest still ached very deep down inside, but you felt like you could breathe again and that was an improvement.

“Thank you,” You mumbled around the candy, still not turning around and focusing on the new lesson instead.

- - - - -

When the bell for lunch rang, Iwaizumi was hopeful that this weird slump you were in had passed and that you’d turn around and ask him what his lunch plans were, like you always did. That didn’t happen. Instead, you bolted up in your seat, grabbing your packed lunch that had been sitting at your feet, and swiftly exited the room before he even got a chance to say anything.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, a slightly befuddled look on his face, until Oikawa came looking for him. “Iwa~” He greeted, sitting down in your chair. “Where is-”

“Something’s up,” Iwaizumi interrupted. “With (y/n), she won’t even look at me.”

Oikawa narrowed his eyes at his friend in thought, having no idea what had happened between parting ways with Iwaizumi days earlier and this moment. “I’ll go look for her,” He said, getting up and leaving his friend to sit alone.

Something told Oikawa to go to the dance studio. He’d been a few times, meeting you there after practices to try and sneak a few glances into your club life. What he found this time was a little more of a sad sight than he was actually expecting. You sat in the middle of the studio floor with your lunch in front of you, lights off, alone. You saw him reflected in the many mirrors that were on the walls so it wasn’t a surprise when he spoke up.

“I thought I’d find you here,” He came strutting into the space and took a seat next to you, picking up a piece of your lunch and popping it in his mouth.

You smiled sadly at your food, not looking up at Oikawa as you spoke. “Yeah, I just kind of… needed a different setting.”

“Something bothering you?” He pushed.

“Well, I do have to break up with my boyfriend soon.” You attempted to joke, finally looking up at his concerned face.

“About that,” He started, trailing off and turning to mess with the food in your lunch. “What do you say we keep going?” He looked up at your confused face before continuing. “Well, it’d be a little suspicious and heartless if you dumped me right after such a devastating loss.”

“I am the ice queen though,” You mumbled with a sarcastic tone into your sandwich before taking a bite. “Wouldn’t be too off brand.”

“You know that nickname is bullshit,” He said, his tone strict when he saw the unconvinced look you shot at him. “But I was also hoping because I haven’t really decided what I’m going to do after graduation, and if we ‘break up’ now, they’re going to be all over me (y/n), more than before.”

You mulled over the proposition as you chewed on your food. You had gotten this far already, what were a few more weeks or months at this point in the whole ordeal. You looked at him, his chocolate eyes pleading you to agree, and you nodded your head. “Yeah,” You said after swallowing. “Yeah, let’s keep it going.”

He let out a sigh of relief and did his best to tackle you in a hug from where you were both sitting. It knocked you over and you let out what felt like your first genuine laugh in days. “Get off me you freak,” You laughed, shoving him off. He rolled over and laid down next to you.

“I really appreciate it, (y/n).” He said to the ceiling, resting his hands behind his head. “Especially with everything with Iwa, I’m grateful you guys are my friends.”

You completely froze. Your eyes were wide and unblinking as you too stared at the ceiling, not daring to move or even take a breath. He knew. He knew and he was okay with it?

“It’s fine, (y/n)~” He laughed, one of his genuine laughs. “I figured it out a little while back, Iwa kind of confirmed it the other night. I’m happy for you guys, for real. Two of my favorite people.”

The tension still hung in the air but it wasn’t as bad as it had been a moment before. You felt the blush fade away from your face and an unknown weight lift from your chest and shoulders. This heavy secret you’d been carrying around was now known to the one person you’d been most worried about finding out. It wasn’t ideal, you were sure that Oikawa would’ve felt betrayed but you felt confident that he was honest when he said it was fine and he was happy - Oikawa Tooru was many things, but he was not a liar.

“I told him I was in love with him.” You whispered, breaking up the silence that had built between you for a few minutes. You scrunched up your eyes tightly in hopes that the burning tears would just go away when you thought of what had happened between you and Iwaizumi. “He didn’t… say anything.”

“Iwa has never been good with feelings,” Oikawa said quietly. He turned his head to face you, the feeling of him playing with a loose piece of your hair made you turn to look at him as well. He studied the strands intently, a soft smile on his face before his eyes turned to yours. “Do you ever think it could’ve been us, (y/n)? For real?”

Your heart broke in that moment. He didn’t look sad but was genuinely asking the question and looking for an answer.

Maybe.

If you had stopped yourself that night after the party, things wouldn’t have gone where they did. If you hadn’t shared those lingering glances, searching for each other when you knew you shouldn’t be. If you hadn’t cried to him and had him hold you when you needed it most. Maybe things would’ve been different and instead of falling in love with his best friend, you might’ve fallen in love with the boy you were fake dating. But that’s not what happened, and you couldn’t change things now.

“I don’t know, Tooru.”

TAGS: @iihxneybunz75 @bambisfuneral @svtbitch @gayverlinq @bubbleteaa @keekee-732 @oikawannabeyourbabie

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi hajime #hq!! x reader #hq!!#hq #hq iwaizumi #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #x reader

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mandadoration · 4 years

Text

there is no other version of this story

summary: “someone has to leave first. this is a very old story. there is no other version of this story.” -r. siken

For most of his life, you’ve been near-constant presence around Din Djarin.

word count: 6, 331

pairing: mandalorian x platonic/force ghost!reader

warnings: mentions of death, canon-typical violence, swearing, non-canon typical exploration of Mando’s backstory.

Read this on AO3

a/n: Alright, so this is an exploration of Din Djarin’s backstory leading up to the events of the show. I’ve taken a lot of creative liberties concerning the force and what the culture is like for Mandalorians. There’s another a/n at the bottom, so please read that!

You first show up when he is in the middle of training with the Mandalorians.

Din is still grieving from the loss of his parents and his life before he started learning the Ways. It’s a cold kind of shock. His life was ripped from out under him, but the Death Watch had been so welcoming, so kind to him and the handful of other foundlings they’ve taken in from the Great Purge. He doesn’t want to say that they’ve replaced his family, but all the same, he felt like he belonged. There are those that fuss over him, in their own way, giving him a change of clothes and help bathe him as they steady his still-trembling hands. They coo and whisper to him in Mando’a and reassure him that he’s safe. He’s still in a state a shock the first few days, and it’s when he’s finally alone in his room that he breaks down sobbing, trying to stifle his cries into his blanket. A mandalore comes into his room, and although the helmet doesn’t betray any emotion, the hand that soothes him is warm and comforting, and does so, without fail, whenever Din starts crying again the other odd nights.

He’d been eager to start training. He’s not used to not doing anything, and wants to busy himself with something. Although the Mandalorians are hesitant to let one so young start training so early, Din insists he earn his keep after growing restless. Who can resist those pleading eyes?

And so now he’s learning how to shoot.

His grip is steady, but still falters after a minute from the weight. It fits too awkwardly in his small hands. His mentor, an aging but still spry Mandalore by the name of Savamar Rudrey, reminds him that he will grow stronger, and not to worry. Then in his periphery, he sees the shimmering figure of someone he might’ve known. Distracted, he turns his head to look at you directly, but his aim gets thrown off and goes far into the tree lines. Savamar shakes her head and realigns his aim, chiding him for his lack of attention. Din shifts his grip and shoots again. It hits, but it’s off-center. Still, Savamar praises him, ruffling his hair, and moves on to the girl next to him. As he keeps breathing in, out, then pulling the trigger, you move closer, leaning on a stack of crates, but even as you lean your full weight on them, they don’t shift. Din turns to look at you again, and you stare back. You give him a small smile, and motion with your head for him to pay attention to his lesson.

He does, but frowns. He doesn’t know who you are. But you must know him. You wear the red clothes of his village.

(You don’t know who he is, but you’re tethered to him for some reason.)

At that thought, his aim wavers and strays further from the center. He worries his bottom lip and tries not to look at you anymore. The wound is still too fresh, and he doesn’t want to start crying in front of everyone.

You glance at him curiously, wondering why he doesn’t seem interested in you anymore. You consider moving closer, but instead settle further where you are. He keeps peeking at you out of the corner of his eyes anyways, looking at his new clothes, how they are grey and brown and earthy and not the red that matches your own--

(Sur’ar, foundling, Savamar tells him. Focus.)

-- and he notices how mournful you look. Savamar catches everyone’s attention, telling the foundlings to go wash up before supper and return their blasters, but instead he swivels around to try and look at you properly.

But you’re gone, and there aren’t even footprints in the soft earth where you’ve stood.

Some nights later, Din goes to sleep troubled, and wakes up suddenly, troubled again. But the hand soothing him and the voice shushing him isn’t Savamar.

It’s you again, looking down at him kindly and pushing his hair back away from his sweat-soaked forehead. Din can see the roof of his room through you, and notices how the small rays of the morning dawn fails to make you cast a shadow. He gets up and grabs at you; how his hand goes straight through you confirms his suspicions, but his curiosity still gets the better of him.

“Are you a ghost?” he asks, breathless as you seem to emit a glow in the dark. “My name’s Din,” he adds as an afterthought. You smile at his manners, then furrow your brows. You don’t quite remember your name. Before you can dwell too hard on it and then start freaking out, you answer his first question.

“I suppose I am a ghost,” you answer slowly. “Does that… does that frighten you?” By the look of his childlike wonder--

(He is a child, you have to remind yourself. Despite the losses he had to go through and how each day the blaster seems to weigh less.)

-- you already know the answer before he says it.

“No.” And it’s true. Din has had no reason to really be afraid of anything since he was taken in by the Mandalorians. You relax. “I think it’s kinda cool.”

“Cool?” you amusedly ask. “How so?” Din shrugs as he sits up and wraps his blankets around his shoulders.

“I dunno. Just is,” he says.

“That’s not a good enough reason,” you prod. Din furrows his brows. “Why is it cool I’m a ghost?” He searches for a reason.

“Well…” he trails. You look at him expectantly. “Okay, I don’t know,” he admits. “What can you do?” His question catches you off guard. You think.

“Your guess is as good as mine, honestly,” you say. “I just now discovered I can touch things, but only for some period of time.” Din nods eagerly and you search for something else to say. “And, uh, only you can see me, I guess. I can go through walls and other objects, so that’s cool,” you add on.

“Any wall?”

You nod. “Any walls. Although it’s dangerous; you never know why a door is closed until you ask.” There’s been one too many instances of… well… Secrets being shared, you’re sure.

“Where are you from?” You purse your lips. The memories slip through your hands like water, but you get flashes. The smell of blaster fire. Screaming. Smoke. Warm blood and white hot pain. Red.

“Not sure.”

“Where do you go when you’re not here?” he asks. Oh boy. Din is nearly vibrating from excitement, and you guess he’s got more questions. At least that means he won’t press you for more questions.

“It’s like, uh, it’s not really a place,” you struggle to explain. “It’s, well, I guess it’s dark? It’s, um,” obviously this wasn’t working, and with how confused Din looks, he wasn’t going to get it any time soon. You look down at the blankets underneath you, and come up with an idea. “Okay, so you know how when you sleep, there are times you don’t have dreams?” you ask. Din nods his head. “It’s all dark and time doesn’t seem to really exist because you’re awake, then asleep, and then boom! Suddenly it’s morning? It’s like that. So for me, it was maybe a couple minutes ago when I last saw you.” Din nods, face dead serious.

“I understand,” he says, almost solemnly, and you crack a smile. He yawns, and you’re aware of how early it is, and how his awakening was because of fitful sleep.

“Alright, Din, go to sleep,” you urge gently. “‘This is the Way’,” you quietly mock, getting up so that he has room. He climbs back under the blankets and settles in, and you wish you were corporeal enough to tuck him in. The child has grown on you quickly. Maybe you had a connection with him before you died. His eyes droop sleepily as he lets out another large yawn. Before he finally falls asleep, he asks one more question.

“Why are you here?”

He falls asleep without waiting for an answer, and you’re glad because that’s another question you don’t have an answer to.

Din is practicing his aim again deep within the forest when you suddenly appear next to the target. His hair has gotten longer and he’s a little taller, but you haven’t changed at all.

“You’re learning fast,” you note. Although there are stray shots here and there, there are quite a few that have hit the center.

“Thanks,” he chirps, preening at your praise. You motion to the blaster in his hands.

“That yours?” you ask. He suddenly looks sheepish as his cheeks flush and tries to hide the blaster behind his back. You click your tongue. “Did you steal it?”

“I didn’t steal it!” Din says, pouting. “I just--”

“Let me guess, ‘borrowed it’?” you scoff. Din nods.

“Yeah! They only let us practice for an hour and a half every day,” he complains, excited that he thinks you’re on his side.

“Some would say that’s enough,” you reason. “You’re young- you have more chances to practice as you grow older.” He sighs dramatically and walks over to a stump to put his borrowed plaster down and then walk over to look at his shots on the target.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “but I wanna practice now.” You quirk an eyebrow.

“Why do you want to train so bad?” you ask. Din lets a flash of grief flash over his face before he slides on a mask of determination.

“So that I can get better!” he says.

“Why?”

“So I can be a Mandalorian!”

“Why?”

“So I can… So I can…” Din loses steam as he kicks at the dirt.

(He wonders what happened to the other kids in his village.)

You falter. Great, now you feel bad. You crouch down to his eye level.

“Hey,” you say gently. “It’s okay.” What is okay, you don’t know exactly. “It’s okay to not have a reason to do something.”

“It’s not that,” he sighs, with a weariness as if he were a hundred years old and not a young child. “I do, it’s just that…” You shush him.

“No matter your reason, are you ashamed of it?” you ask. He shrugs, but shakes his head. “Is it a bad reason?” No. “Are you lying about it?” Another no. “Then keep your chin up, foundling,” you say teasingly, lifting his chin with a finger as you grin at him.

“You can tell me some other day.”

You’ve become better at hanging around longer than before. You don’t know what it is exactly, but you spend less time in that dark space that feels like sleep. But now you’re wishing you weren’t because you’re crammed in the same foxhole he’s in.

Ah, that’s right. Din Djarin is training.

You’re not fully corporeal, so while there is room, there’s not a lot, and as a result, you’re half, well, half in him. It’s weird. You shudder and nearly gag. You can’t feel him, per se, but it makes your skin crawl.

“What are you doing?” Din hisses at you, trying to stay quiet as his eyes dart around to see if anyone heard him.

“Trying to get out,” you say, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which it is. Obviously. You still haven’t really figured out this ghost thing, and you have to grab at the ledge of his little hideout three times before it doesn’t go through, and you haul yourself up.

And then you promptly scurry back in, smothering a yelp even though you know in the back of your mind that only Din can see and hear you. He looks at you questioningly.

“Sarlaac,” you squeak out, and you know that if you were alive, you would’ve probably died from fear. Dirt falls through you as stomping gets closer and closer.

“Shit.”

You watch with pity as Din gingerly sits himself down on his bed, bandages wrapped around his torso and several bacta patches all over his body.

“Well this sucks,” he says. He tries to cross his arms, but stops short and winces when it pulls on his wounds. He opts to put his hands in his lap.

“I thought it was rather funny,” you note nonchalantly. “Getting your ass beat by Savamar, who’s what, 60? 70? was the highlight of my day.” Din scowls.

“You could’ve helped me,” he pouts. You raise an eyebrow.

“I think that if I did help, people would start thinking that you’re one of those jeti things,” you reason.

“You mean jedi? Aren’t they a myth?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Same thing. I don’t know.” You pull a stool out from his small desk and move it to sit in front of him. “You should rest,” you say. “Nothing that sleep and meds won’t fix, hm?” You push a stray curl out the way with a gentle touch. “Your training doesn’t stop just because you got pounded into the dirt by a grandma.” Din rolls his eyes, but slowly moves to get under the covers.

“Savamar isn’t that old,” he points out. “And careful, she might hear you.” You roll your eyes and pick up a stray pillow and hold it threateningly over his face.

“You know she can’t hear me,” you say, “and shut up and go to sleep before I smother you to death.” He rolls his eyes again. Ah, to be a teenager again and not care about authority.

“Yeah? Then maybe I’ll become a ghost like you, and I can finally kick your ass,” he says.

“I look forward to it,” you respond mildly, throwing the pillow at his face. “And watch your mouth.” He giggles.

(Savamar wonders why there’s always a singular voice coming from his room, and wonders why a chair is always pulled out for someone to sit in. But Din Djarin is an exceptional student, and everyone has their vices.)

“Who are you?” Din lashes out. He swipes at you, but you just watch him tiredly as his hand goes straight through you. It would’ve been easy to avoid him, even for you. He was still trying to figure out his long, gangly limbs from his recent growth spurt, bits of hair forming on his chin and upper lip, and you’ve still yet to age a day.

“Din--”

“Answer my question!” he interjects. He stalks up to you, and you find yourself looking up at him. Huh. Since when was he so tall? “What are you to me?” You step back and shake your head. His yelling is quite angry, but rather… desperate. He’s looking for something. Were you this bad when you were a teenager? “Who are you?”

“Din, please--”

“You’ve been with me since I got here,” he says, voice low. “And you know so much, but I don’t know who you are.” He turns around and sighs, holding his head in his hands. “I don’t remember much from my childhood,” he murmurs. “So much has changed since then. All I keep seeing are my parents’ faces, then the Mandalorians coming to get me, taking me out of that village.” Your heart twinges when you notice he doesn’t refer to it as his village. “But you. You’re here. You’ve been here from the first day I got here. And I recognize the clothes. From the village. Surely you must have some answers.”

“Din Djarin--”

“So please,” he whispers. “Tell me.” You stare at his back in silence, and Din starts to think you’ve gone away again when you let out the biggest sigh he’s ever heard from you, and finally turns around when a rock hits him in the back of his head. “What-- Hey!” You’ve got your hands on your hips and the sternest look you can muster on your face, and his voice falters and almost cowers away from you.

“Well, if you’ve been listening,” you stress, “you would’ve heard me trying to talk to you. But someone kept rudely interrupting me! I’ve had enough of your teenage tantrums and angst, Din Djarin,” you scold. He blanches and stands, hands up in surrender.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I didn’t think that you would, well, I don’t know--”

“Just because I’m dead does not mean I don’t have feelings!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation.

“No! That’s not-- I didn’t mean that!” he quickly backpedals. “Sorry!”

“Din Djarin, you are coming of age in nearly a month, and I’m starting to think you have the emotional maturity of a mudhorn!” you lecture, wagging your finger at him. “You keep hanging on to the past as if it were some great weight upon your shoulders, instead of using it to grow. I know you’ve been troubled by it! What would Savamar say about this?” He sags at the mention of his mentor, but his lips quirk up in a smile.

“Rangir?” he says. You rack your mind for what it means. Your Mando’a is certainly not up to standards considering Din was the only one you spoke to. You gasp when you realize.

(Cin vhetin, Savamar would say. It means ‘fresh start’. When you swear the creed, you will henceforth be judged by what you do. The past will not matter, foundling.)

“‘To hell with it’?” you almost screech. You go to slap him, but he dances out of your way, face filled with mirth. You chase after him, racking through your mind for some kind of insult that you can shoot him with. “The mouth on you-- You are--! You are ch-chaavla sa sheb-shebs be’strilli!” Rough as a strill’s backside. Din mocks your butchered Mando’a and ducks a swing. You fume as you throw another rock at him, but he catches it and tosses it back to you, laughing harder when it hits you and your spluttering face.

“What a time to be corporeal!” he chokes out.

“You hope you’re happy with yourself!” you huff. He nods as tears form in his eyes.

“Oh, I definitely am,” he says, making a face at you.

You put on a face of anger and embarrassment, but you can’t help but smile at his amusement. It’s been a while since he’s had so much fun, the stress of his coming-of-age pulling him down alongside his further training. He runs away from your glare and into the surrounding forest, and you chase after him with empty threats of violence.

His questions remain unanswered, but in your heart you know that you don’t know the answers to that.

You don’t know how long it’s been when you see him again.

“Looks good on you,” you comment idly. You feel exhausted for some reason, which is saying a lot since you haven’t felt the need to sleep, eat, or anything really since you’ve reappeared in the world. But somehow, you feel eons older. You wish you could sleep. Din jerks his body around to look around, the cold gaze of his beskar helmet landing on you. He’s much taller now, and broader than you remember. Maybe it’s how his new armor makes him more intimidating.

“Where have you been?” he demands. His voice is gruffer, deeper, maybe from his modulator, but you can’t know for sure. You push off the beam you were leaning on to take a seat next to where he’s standing. He’s looking in some kind of weapons wall on a ship. You raise a brow.

“Nice to see you, too,” you scoff. You look around. “New ride? Was it a gift or did you steal it?” Din ignores you. “Uh, okay. If you did steal it, not judging,” you say defensively. “Well, that’s a lie, I’m always judging you, but regardless--”

“Stop.” You freeze at the cold tone of his voice. He turns back around and fiddles with the blasters on the wall. Did he always have so many? And since when was he afraid to look at you?

“Look, Din, sorry I missed the ceremony--” you start, but Din raises a hand and you stop.

“Do you…” His voice his hoarse and you can only imagine what kind of expression he has under his helmet. “Do you know how long you’ve been gone?” he asks. He looks at you over his shoulder. “Do you?” he presses. You set your mouth in a hard line and shake your head. “It’s been… It’s been years,” he answers for you, and your heart drops. “Everyone is gone, and I thought you were, too.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, standing up. “‘Everyone is gone.’ Din, what does that mean?” He doesn’t answer you, and his silence is harrowing. You don’t need a verbal answer anyways. At a closer glance, many of the blasters have the names of the Death Watch carved on them. The one he holds has Savamar Rudrey etched neatly on the barrel. The same one that he used to practice in the forest all those years ago.

And Din Djarin stands as the lone survivor once more.

“I’m a part of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild now,” he declares, no pride in his voice. You glance over the frozen faces of quarried forever embedded in fear and then to the tower of pucks on the table behind you.

“That’s… good,” you note. You swallow. He’s cold and unwelcoming, and you wish you could see his face again. “Din--”

“Stop calling me that,” he bites, voice cracking. You frown, and collect yourself.

“And what would you like me to call you?” you ask cooly.

“... Mando will do.” He knows you won’t stick with that.

“Mando?” He nods. “It’s a bit… dehumanizing, don’t you think?” More silence. “I see.” You hope that this is just the continuation of his teenage angst. A wave of exhaustion washes over you, and you settle back down in the seat. Mando, as he is now called, polishes the blaster with fervor, over and over again in one spot even though it’s already shining.

He doesn’t know why he’s nervous. You’ve seen him, known him, since he was a child and even those awkward and cringy teenage years, scolding and praising him as he learned to stop tripping over his feet and haul heavy rifles. You’re the one to chase his nightmares away after the Mandalores gave him a stern, but well-meaning talk about working through his nightmares and telling him ‘it’s just a dream’. You’ve begrudgingly given him answers and tips on assignments and tests, pestered him to do his chores, all that and more to make sure he has earned his goal of becoming a Mandalorian. Through all that, it hurt to see that you weren’t there for the ceremony, but your timing has always been unorthodox. Had thought that maybe you would appear tomorrow. But tomorrow turned into the next, then the week after, then months. It had taken him almost five months until he had given up on you showing up again, given up on one of the last connections to his past life.

But in his life, you’ve been a steady presence that he’s grown to rely on. After the day he’s lost everyone again, he can’t lose you, too.

So he’s kept hoping that you would show up. Whether that be at a cantina to whisper to him about a new job or scold him about how unkempt his hair must be under the helmet, Mando found himself turning to see if you were behind him, hearing a phantom whisper Din Djarin in his ear. He wishes he hadn’t been so curt with you. He wants to start over again, but what has happened has happened.

By the time the Mandalorian stops fiddling with the blaster of his long-gone mentor and gathers the courage to face you, you’re gone as well, and he tries to tell himself that he doesn’t miss you and that his heart doesn’t ache.

Mando is just starting to make a name for himself in the Guild, but that doesn’t soothe the gnawing hunger that plagues his sleep. You appear in the dark, a soft glow just barely illuminating the room. While he tries to sleep, tossing and turning, you try something you’re surprised you haven’t attempted before.

You leave him to go look somewhere else.

You drift through the walls of his dingy little ship and head for the market, glancing about for any food that you could snatch. It’s not very busy, considering it was a weekday and late in the day, hours after everyone has tried selling and haggling their goods. Unfortunately, there’s mostly scrap here, so you give up wandering the stalls to head for the nearest cantina.

It’s much too crowded for your tastes, but it hurts you to know that Mando is starving. You note with some kind of sick pleasure that those who walk through you shudder as if there was a strong chill. You walk through the bar to the other side, scouring the shelves for--

There they are. Rations.

You bend down to peer at them. You honestly don’t know what he likes anymore. The few times you’ve managed to show up, he’s never eaten, nor mentioned anything about it. But beggars can’t be choosers, and if you don’t do something, he will literally be a beggar. Even if you know his pride won’t let him. You grab a random handful and haul ass out of there, cursing when you go through a wall and rations don’t follow. You head back inside, scoop them up, and squeeze through the door after another patron, ignoring the exclaims and screams of shock as they watch rations fly through what seems empty air. You forgot that while others couldn’t see you, they could see other things.

Like the ration of shredded mystery meat and dehydrated bread that you dropped as you swerve to avoid running through someone.

At least that provided a distraction. The haggle of people diving to claim the lost ration left you with a clear path to leave the market.

When you get back to the ship, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that you don’t feel tired or out of breath at all, and you drop the rations onto a nearby table, startling Mando awake. You smile proudly and motion to the pile.

“Eat up,” you say.

“What is this?”

“Uh oh, you’re worse than I thought you were,” you say with mock concern, and toss a ration over to him. “Rations. Spooked a fair bit of people, but don’t worry, no one was following.” He wants to ask, you know. He’s looking at the rations in his hand, to you, to the pile on the table, and he does the math in his head.

At least a week and a half’s worth. Two, if he makes them count.

“I thought you were very much against stealing,” he says, humor in his tone. You roll your eyes.

“It’s not stealing. I’m merely borrowing it,” you throw his words back at him.

“Sure.” But he gets up and tears open the packet and rehydrates the bread with a few splashes of water from his canteen as he rumages for utensils. “And I’m not a Mandalorian.” You groan and point a finger at him.

“Din Djarin, you are--”

And then you disappear, leaving Mando very confused, but leaving his stomach very happy.

Even if the mystery meat makes his stomach ache a few hours later.

You appear as soon as Mando stumbles onboard the Razor Crest a month later, holding his side as he digs through his things for a med pack. Blood trickles out of his helmet down his neck. There couldn’t have been a worse time for you to show up. Whatever words you were going to say die in your throat at the sight of him.

“Let me see,” you immediately order, putting your hands on your hips as you follow his path around the ship. Din shakes his head and looks away. Away from your motherly stance and scolding eyes.

“I’m fine,” he grunts, pulling off his cape and bits of armor as he gingerly presses the bruises on his torso. “Nothing sleep and meds can’t fix.” You roll your eyes as you stop to stand in front of him with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re bleeding,” you say bluntly.

“Really?” he replies sarcastically. “I didn’t notice. Thank you so much--”

“Your head is bleeding,” you correct yourself. “So hurry up. Take off your helmet so I can take a look.” He shakes his head.

“I can’t,” he rasps, almost automatically. “No living thing has seen--”

“--your face since you swore the Creed, yadda yadda yadda,” you interrupt. “‘This is the Way’,” you scowl to yourself under your breath. You sigh. “I’m not a living thing, and head wounds are dangerous.” You physically see Din, or Mando, as he preferred to be called now, tense, his shoulder drawing taut. He turns to look at you and your translucent form in what you hope is consideration. “I’ve been dead for years, so I think you can spare this one loophole.”

“Still, it…” The hesitance in his voice makes his voice sound young and afraid.

(You wonder if he forgets that you aren’t actually here, that you’re long dead and your body is somewhere else. Did you ever get buried?)

“It’s not right. This is not the Way.” There’s that awful phrase. Maker help you now. You change tactics.

“Din,” you plead softly. The way his head tilts at the mention of his name makes your heart ache as you repeat, voice breaking, “Let me help you.” You slowly walk over to him, and the fact that you can’t see your reflection in his helmet never fails to make your heart drop, a grim reminder of what you are. But you push the uneasiness aside in favor of a different kind of unease. Perhaps anxiety. About what?

You haven’t seen the face of Din Djarin since he was young.

You gently press your fingers to the sides of his helmet, feeling how the cold and unforgiving beskar under your hands, and slowly pull it up and off his head as more and more of his face is revealed. His facial hair has definitely grown in more since he was a teenager, and he looks older. Fine lines decorate his face, his eyes indescribably deep and etched with heartache and loss that’s been following him around forever.

It almost feels wrong, you think, that he’s grown so much and you still look the same since the first time he saw you, but you look into his eyes, so unguarded and afraid, and your heart aches for the child lost in the wake of nightmares and loss.

“Ever the drama queen,” you finally say after giving him a once over. His pupils are fine, and the bleeding is nothing more than a slow crawl now. Most of the blood was coming from his nose anyways, which you were certain was broken. You run a hand through his hair affectionately, carefully avoiding the cut on his forehead. “A simple bacta spray will do. Have you been eating your vegetables? Drinking your bantha milk?” Mando rolls his eyes and pushes you, and you laugh as you press his helmet back into his hands. “I’m just saying! Those rations you’ve been eating? Can not be good for you.” He smiles back at you, bloodstained and crooked, but it’s charming in its own way. He heads into the refresher to put on the bacta spray.

As always when you’re with him, something is left unsaid. Your time with him grows shorter, you know it. There’s been greater gaps in time in your visits, and they grow shorter and shorter. There’s a part of you that is glad of it. You don’t know if you could handle seeing Din Djarin grow older and older still, see the lines in his face deepen as more heartbreak and more loss tear him apart under that cold beskar. But your non-existent heartbeat stutters at the thought of leaving him alone. If being gone for a couple of years had made him distrusting of you, what would it be like if you were gone for good? Mando leaves the refresher, helmet back on.

“You’re the one that--”

He stops short, and sighs.

You’re gone again.

“Are you happy?” you ask him.

He doesn’t turn around to face you, and he doesn’t answer.

“How old are you?” Mando asks. Hyperspace is bright in the windows of the Razor Crest as he heads to Nevarror. Something in your heart aches and settles.

“Before I died or right now?” you ask dryly, slowly turning in the seat behind him in the cockpit. Your attempt at humor falls short.

A pause.

“Before.”

Silence and the thrum of engines and the humming of stars.

“Not sure. My memory has… gaps,” you answer. It’s true. You really don’t remember your life before your death. Even still. Even the flashes of what you think were real have long since stopped, especially since most of the time you’ve been in the space between sleep. “It’s something I can’t explain.”

“What’s your name?”

“At this point? Anything you want it to be,” you sigh. You hope that your tone lets Mando know you’re tired of his line of interrogation. He goes quiet for a moment as he addresses something on his navigation.

(Blaster fire and screaming with smoke filling your lungs as a searing pain goes through you. There’s something pulling at you, at your soul as it rips from your body, and there’s that empty expanse of sleep and death and dark that makes you shake.)

Then:

“Why are you still here?” The question is soft and unsure.

(I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know Idon’tknowIdon’tknow--)

“You ask too many questions.”

In that space between sleep and death, something stirs in the Force.

“This is the last time we’ll see each other,” you say after a moment of silence, staring down at the Child, which miraculously, looks back straight at you instead of through you and at the wall of the Razor Crest behind you. Might as well say it. You knew that the time would come when you could stop visiting this mortal realm; you just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. It had felt like mere seconds when you had come to your revelation. Mando looks at you.

“What?” he asks incredulously. You shrug.

“You were always full of questions,” you muse, purposefully cryptic, holding out a finger for the baby to take a hold of. It’s fingers wrap around yours. Curious. “Questions I could never answer.”

“Wait,” Mando says. He shifts so that he’s on the other side of the cradle, staring at you. “What do you mean-- How do you know--?”

“I’ve been suspecting it for a while,” you say, tilting your head up so that you can look at him. “I think you know it too. I don’t quite know how, but I think this child,” you say, looking back down at the impossibly wide eyes, “this child is where I leave you.” You hum and smile as it gurgles at you. “I suspect he will be like a son to you. You’re a softie at heart.”

“He looks nothing like me,” he deadpans. You snort.

“You sure about that? You may be ugly enough to be his father,” you tease, giving him a look of mock disgust, but your face softens. “Aliit ori’shya tal’din,” you say to him firmly. Family is more than blood. “You of all people should know that.”

You really don’t know what kind of reaction you’re expecting from Mando. Perhaps an attempt at a hug or him falling to his knees begging you to impart more of your wisdom, if you had it your way.

“Your Mando’a is still awful,” Mando says instead, but you know he’s listening with an open heart.

You use your free hand to place it gently on his helmet, focusing so that it makes solid contact as you feel yourself fading. “I’m proud of you,” you say. “Your journey has not been an easy one, and I’m sorry I cannot answer all your questions. But when I go--” you feel yourself choke up, and you’re faced with the answer to a question you didn’t even ask of Can you cry? “When I go, you must keep going.” You look at the child, and then you realize what his reasoning was as to why he wanted to be a Mandalorian. The reason he couldn’t say all those nights ago. They seem so far away now. Foundlings. Children who have no one to turn to. Children who are lost. Children who need guidance. But perhaps this child will be the one guiding the Mandalorian, whose heart has been so carefully guarded for all these years. “This is another chance. Cin vhetin.”

“I- I-” he stammers. He takes in a deep breath, and steels himself. “I understand,” he says after a moment, but he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. For a second, you’re back on that distant planet, rays of morning light seeping through you as a child asks you a million questions. As you pull your hand from your hold on his helmet, his head trails after it before he really lets you go.

“This is the Way,” you recite. You hate those words, but you know what it means now. What it means to Mando. You tilt your head, and pull your finger back to you, slipping out the child’s grip as you look at Din Djarin for the last time, but do so with the knowledge and reassurance that he wouldn’t be alone anymore.

“This is the Way,” he says, and you smile.

a/n: And that’s it! A little bit more of an emotional piece.

Some explanation, but of course this piece can be up to anyone’s interpretation:

Reader was someone that lived in the same village as him, and was also force-sensitive to a certain degree. I don’t know if this is confirmed or not, but I gather that Mando was the sole survivor of the attack. So the reader is watching him grow up, tethered to him for some reason to make sure nothing too bad happens to him. Because this piece is largely about Mando, reader is left very ambiguous to the point they don’t even know that much about themselves.

As for why reader is able to do this: I don’t have a clear answer. I know that becoming a force ghost and being corporeal is something that requires training, and that only other force users can see them. So I’m gonna call a force ex-machina and say that the force saw a chance and took it.

Also ngl, the last scene reminded me of that one scene in Kung Fu Panda where Master Oogway disappears and Master Shifu is like ‘what the fuck is happening’

#the mandalorian #mandalorian reader #mandalorian imagine #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #din djarin #my writing #mandalorian #mandalorian x you

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ericsonclan · 4 years

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Heading to Bed

Summary: Clementine and Louis get ready to sleep and talk about the adjustments they've made with the loss of Clem's leg and Louis' added responsibilities.

Notes: I love these two so much <3

Read on A03:

“Home at last,” Clementine exclaimed as she and Louis strolled into their room as night deepened outside the window. With a deep sigh, she collapsed spread eagled on the bed. Louis laughed as he looked down at her.

“Not wasting any time, I see,”

“You know it. Now, if I could just muster the strength to get this off…” Clem lazily shifted her stump, her prosthetic dangling precariously on the edge of the bed.

“Allow me the honor,” Louis lifted both her legs to place them in his lap as he took a seat on the bed. Bending over, he began the process of undoing the leather straps that kept it in place. As he eased the limb off, Clementine let out a soft hiss of pain. Louis shot her a concerned glance.

“Is it sore?”

“Very. It’s been a while since I kept it on that long,” Usually, Clementine split up her time between the crutches and the prosthetic as she tried to build up endurance. Today had been her first attempt at hunting though, so she had needed to keep the prosthetic on for most of the day while she was outside the walls. Overall it had been a successful outing, with four rabbits and a squirrel caught between archery and the traps.

She was glad she had chosen to go with Aasim. Though Louis had been instrumental in giving her the encouragement and support needed to get back on her feet, she was sure hunting with him would have been a complete nightmare, with him hovering behind her and cheering her on with every step when silence was needed to hunt prey. Aasim had kept a respectable, detached attitude throughout the trip, giving Clementine her space, but being close enough that on the few occasions when she stumbled he was there to break her fall.

Of course, AJ had wanted to tag along as well to protect her, but Clementine had stringently objected. She couldn’t have the stress of keeping an eye on AJ and figuring out how to hunt again for the first time, no matter how capable the 6 year old was. Neither Louis or A.J. was happy with the arrangement, but they respected her wishes. As soon as she and Aasim were in sight of the school, both boys had barreled out of the gates and literally carried her back into the front yard. She doubted they had gotten much of anything done while she was gone. They’d hovered over her incessantly throughout dinner, asking her questions on what she and Aasim had done and seen in excruciating detail.

Once dinner was over, Ruby had mercifully pulled A.J. away for a while, asking him to help her with something in the greenhouse. Clem had given her a grateful smile then headed toward the dorms with Louis, using all of her willpower to keep from limping as they made their way inside. Now that the day was done, Clementine could finally bask in the pride of a job well done. Things couldn’t have gone better. Now she was home in the comfort of her bed with her boyfriend gently massaging the blood flow back into her leg.

A sudden stabbing pain up her leg caused Clementine to gasp.

“Sorry, sorry!” Louis exclaimed, pulling his hands back. “Was that too hard? I can stop,”

“No, it’s OK. It’s just more tender than usual. It still feels good,”

Hesitantly, Louis reached for her leg again and began to gently massage around the base, thumbs rolling soft circles into her aching stump. Clem moaned appreciatively.

“Yeah, right there. That’s sooo much better,”

“Y’know, I’ve become quite good at this if I do say so myself,” Louis smirked playfully at Clementine. “It must be because I’m so talented with my fingers,” It took a second for his own words to sink in. “Oh shit, wait, not like that! I meant because of my piano playing…” He lowered his face in shame, hiding behind his dreadlocks.

Clem giggled. “Smooth, Louis. Very smooth,”

After the awkwardness had faded, they settled into a comfortable silence, Louis continuing to absentmindedly rub Clementine’s leg as she lay with eyes closed, savoring the moment. She felt like she could drift off to sleep at any second, but she didn’t want to quite yet. She wanted to spend more time with Louis. “So…” she began, “What did you do today?”

“Ah, nothing too interesting. A.J. and I did patrol together and checked the wall for any weak points. Then I spent some time with Violet tanning some of the rabbit hides. I know they’re great for keeping warm in the winter but man do those things stink!”

“Yeah, I don’t envy you that job,” Clementine had been stuck doing inside work for the last several months as her leg had healed. Though she and Violet had found ways to keep themselves entertained in spite of the mind-numbing tasks, Clementine had felt the boredom slowly eating away at her soul. Who knew that homemaking could feel worse that living on the road?

“Anyway, after that Ruby had me haul a ton of water from the creek since ever since we started doing laundry she’s convinced it must be a weekly task,”

“You have to admit, there haven’t been any more lice outbreaks since she started her cleaning regimen,”

Louis shuddered. “Don’t remind me,”

“So that was it then?”

“Well, once I finished with the water I tried to sneak off to get some music time in, but Omar cornered me by the tables and had me chopping veggies for dinner. A.J. helped out since he was waiting for you to come home. We finished prep shortly before you returned and you know the rest up until this very moment,”

“Sounds like quite the day,”

“That it was. Thank God I’m usually much better at shirking than today would suggest,” He lifted her right leg to remove her boot, then began to massage her foot, humming a little tune to himself as he continued.

Clementine watched him thoughtfully. Despite Louis’ well-known history of avoiding work, when she thought back on the last few days, he’d really been running himself ragged. Hell, she couldn’t think of a time in the past couple months when she’d seen him slacking off, except for stolen moments with her.

When she had arrived at Ericson, Louis would spend hours at the piano every day, practicing or composing to his heart’s content. But thinking over the last week, Clementine couldn’t remember if she’d even heard the piano being played. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she reached forward to brush Louis’ dreadlocks away from his face.

“Something wrong?”

She could see that the area under his eyes had darkened, and there were stress lines around the corners of his eyes as well. How long had those been there? “Are you eating OK? Sleeping?”

Louis chuckled. “Wow, are those maternal instincts turning on me since A.J. is out of the room? Relax, I’m fine,”

Clementine gave him her best unconvinced staredown. Louis squirmed under her eyes. “You know it’s not bad to take time for yourself. No one would fault you for setting aside some time to practice your music,”

“I know… but there’s just so much to be done around here, what with hunting for food and checking the walls and prepping for meals…”

“There is such a thing as asking for help,”

“Nah, that wouldn’t be right. Everyone’s pulling their weight around here. No reason I shouldn’t do the same,”

“Louis!” Clementine exclaimed, taking his face in her hands. “Look at you! You’re worn out! Clearly you’ve been going above and beyond lately. There’s no reason to feel guilty!”

Louis wouldn’t look at her. Instead his eyes were trained on the bed, as if afraid to meet her eyes.

“What is it?”

“I didn’t get hurt,”

“That night, when we attacked the raiders’ ship… I didn’t get hurt. Violet did. You did. And every time I think back to what happened that night…” He choked on his words, tears beginning to run down his face.

“Louis…” Clementine gently brushed the tears aside, but more came. “Louis, none of that is your fault. You couldn’t have prevented what happened. And Violet and I – we’re fine! I mean, sure, things are different, but that hasn’t stopped us from doing what needs to be done. I mean, I went hunting today. I can take outside shifts again. It doesn’t always have to be you and Aasim.

“No,” Louis shook his head firmly. “No, I don’t want you to take that on!”

“Louis, I like hunting,”

“No, I can’t take it! I couldn’t focus on anything today – not patrol or the rabbit hides or those stupid veggies! All I could think about was you outside the walls and how the last time I left you outside-”

He was breathing too hard, his breath coming out in short, tight gasps. Clementine wasn’t sure what to do. Desperately, she wrapped him in her arms, holding him tightly. Louis buried his face against her neck and Clem ran her hand up and down his back, trying to calm him down. She wasn’t sure how many minutes it took, but finally Louis’ breathing slowed and he went slack against her, body limp. Clementine ran her fingers gently through his hair.

“I won’t do anything stupid that’ll get me killed. You know me. I could never do that to A.J. or to you,”

“It doesn’t have to be stupid to get you killed,” Louis murmured. “Mitch died saving Tenn. Tenn died ‘cause he couldn’t turn his back on Minnie. Marlon died….” He sighed shakily. “Things are different than the days where I used to while away the hours in the music room. It was wrong of me to waste time back then. It’d be even worse doing it now,”

Clementine sighed in exasperation and pushed Louis back from her. She took his chin in one hand so he would look her in the eyes. “Louis, I love you, but you’re being a fool right now,”

Louis’ brow quirked in confusion.

“Listen to you! How can you talk about music this way, like it’s nothing? Music is your passion. I don’t want you to give that up for anything,” She reached down and took his hands in her own. “I hear what you’re saying. We lost so many people back then in those days and things did change. But we’re a family, Louis! We all look out for each other! Not a single one of us would want our happiness to come at the cost of yours. When Violet and I were hurt, you carried us through that time. Now it’s our turn, OK?”

Louis mutely nodded.

“OK?” “

OK, OK!” Louis looked up at her, his eyes still wet, but calm now. Warm.

“Clem…. You’re amazing,”

Clem smiled, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his lips. “You are too,” She wrapped her arms around him once more, pulling him toward her until they had both collapsed on the bed. She inched forward until her nose was brushing against his. “This is what we’re going to do. Tomorrow, you and I are going to the music room. And we’re going to spend the entire morning in there. We’ll lock the door so no one can bother us and then you can play me that song you wrote me. Or try to teach me how to play again – that is, if you have the patience,”

“I would love that,” Louis whispered.

Clementine reached out to grab Louis’ arm, draping it over her waist, pulling him closer. He was so warm and she was so tired. It wouldn’t be long till she was asleep. She looked into Louis’ eyes, so close to her own. “Promise me something?”

“Mm?”

“Promise me that you’ll tell me next time you’re feeling worn out. I count on you for so much. I want you to count on me too,”

Louis was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. “I promise,”

“Good. Love you,”

“Love you too,” Louis breathed, resting his forehead against hers.

After a few minutes in each others’ warm embrace, sleep overcame the couple and they both took their well-deserved rest.

#clouis #twdg #twdgs4 #twdg louis #twdg clementine #fanfic

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thisiswhatwereupagainst · 4 years

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TL;DR Went into Captain Britain and Excalibur just to read Meggan, expected to hate Brian, found out they both were bad to each other and are both very injured, traumatized characters grappling with gender norms in their own way, and I have a lot of sympathy and love for them BOTH now even if they definitely are not a good couple at this point. So, I am keenly interested in Meggan Puceanu as a character and a concept. Just learning some very basic things about her prompted THIS META POST three years ago. And that was before I really plunked down and decided to read all her stuff in order. And while I have yet to read ALL of it by a longshot. But I’ve gotten through about 20 issues now, from her first appearances in “The Mighty World of Marvel” in 1984, to meeting and joining up with Brian Braddock/Captain Britain in the second series of Captain Britain in 1985, to the first five issues of Excalibur in 1985. So yeah, keep in mind reading this, I am only up to Excalibur #5. And I know I probably should wait before writing all this stuff, read more, see if my interpretations hold true. But I have so many thoughts and I just can’t wait that long! So please read on with the understanding I may be proven completely wrong in these perceptions later. That said.... I had some basic knowledge of Brian and Meggan’s dynamic. I knew that she was completely emotionally dependent on him, that her every emotion hinged on his approval and attention, that a lot of her very identity was based around pleasing him as his girlfriend. I also knew he’d been a real dick to her, and that his descent into alcoholism had made him an even bigger dick. So, I was really prepared to dislike him. And while I do still dislike the power imbalance that their relationship was founded on, I ended up having very different feelings about Brian himself than I expected---I thought I was going to encounter a shitty macho man himbo asshole who treated Meggan like shit just because. Seriously, look at THIS and THIS and THIS! What a JERK! I was all prepped to despise this guy and yell about toxic masculinity and how Meggan deserved better. Instead, what I found was someone who was as broken and in pain as Meggan herself, but who got far less sympathy for it than she did, both from other characters and from fans. The first big shock that I got was that Brian had been raped twice by female villains in the second Captain Britain series, before Excalibur began. I had actually read about this a couple years ago on TV Tropes, but seeing it was something else. I wrote a longer post about it HERE As noted in the post, Brian never told anyone about either of these incidences as far as I know, nor getting any kind of therapy or treatment. He also started drinking after this happened. And as of Excalibur beginning, Betsy is dead (or so he believes) and he’s grappling a lot with that too. I think it was unethical of him not to rebuff Meggan when she first came on to him, for reasons I’ll discuss later in this post, but also makes sense for his character, not because he’s an unethical person but because he’s actually very passive and seems to just accept whatever is demanded by him of others; he talks about this with Courtney, how he has no choice in being Captain Britain, how it was imposed on him, asking if he’s a coward for just wanting a little of his own life and she unsympathetically says it’s “obscene” how he “can’t be bothered” to “take charge” of his own life (Excalibur #3). It’s a very unusual flaw for a male character. In his own way, he’s at the mercy of what others demand him to be as much as Meggan is with her powers, and I find that really interesting. I already knew that Meggan is very much a reflection of the demands placed on women by society, literally twisting her own emotions and physical forms to coincide with what is considered beautiful and what others desire, whereas Brian, it turns out, is himself a reflection of the demands placed on men---he has to be a warrior, whether he likes it or not (and he doesn’t, it’s part of his backstory that he doesn’t see himself that way at all), he has to be the hero and take care of the girl and he feels he has to just go with it when Meggan decides he’s her man and she needs him. And Meggan is more flawed than I expected. She’s oftentimes shockingly selfish in her obsession with Brian. For instance, when his ex Courtney is kidnapped by the sadistic murderous Arcade, Brian is understandably upset, and this troubles Meggan because she thinks that his being upset means he still cares for Courtney. The selfishness there is staggering; a woman’s life is in danger and Meggan’s first concern is her own love life, and she assumes that the only reason Brian could care about said woman’s life being in danger is if he’s in love with her. Or when Brian’s drinking is first brought up by the rest of the team, Meggan says it hurts her that he turns to those bottles instead of to her (Excalibur #3). So, her problem isn’t that Brian is obviously becoming addicted to alcohol, it’s that SHE isn’t the one that he turns to. She’s got a lot of moments like this. That said, I LIKE this about Meggan. It makes me like her MORE. It makes her WAY more realistic and flawed and human than the archetypical frail damsel who is just an accessory to her man that I was expecting. She’s clingy, she’s possessive, she’s downright nasty and hostile over him a lot! She may not think of herself as a real person, but the writers treat her as one, complete with flaws. Her dependency isn’t treated as a good or romantic thing either, it’s not held up as a female virtue like I was expecting; Brian is actually bothered by it, he confides in Kurt that he doesn’t think he can handle how she relies on him for everything, how he actually PREFERS Courtney because unlike Meggan, Courtney is her own woman-- “She doesn’t seem to NEED me as completely and desperately as Meggan seems to. Sometimes I feel I’m the total and absolute focus of Meggan’s life. It’s a responsibility I don’t think I’m capable of handling.” And Brian is right, this ISN’T a good thing to do in a relationship, Meggan is putting a lot of unfair emotional weight on his shoulders, and he’s already got a lot to bear from his own trauma and loss. In fact, one could even argue that her behavior would be seen as toxic if the genders were reversed. She’s still very sympathetic, of course, because this is coming from a place of real insecurity and need and probably her powers too, but it’s more three-dimensional and complicated than what I originally expected. But I like that. Because again, it’s more realistic, both in terms of Meggan’s behavior and in Brian’s reaction to it---he doesn’t WANT a woman being totally dependent on him and thinking the sun shines out his ass and needing him for everything, he wants another human being. That’s not what I expected a Bad Macho Man Stereotype to be saying! But in fact, Brian says another thing he prefers about Courtney is “she’s her own woman” and “I can talk to her, Kurt.” (Excalibur #5) Brian is a man who wants to be able to have someone he can be VULNERABLE with, to talk with as an equal about his fears and anxieties---which he does with Courtney, as mentioned---and he can’t do that with Meggan because of the pedestal she puts him on and her needing so much care herself. He says as much himself to Kurt. He also recognizes that he himself probably isn’t equipped to deal with Meggan’s issues, she needs much more help than he can give. This isn’t an idealized thing at all, this is a realistic depiction of two very emotionally injured people in a very messed up dynamic that is bad for BOTH of them, hurting them BOTH. Up til actually reading it, I was expecting it to be one-sided, with Meggan being the only one suffering, but it’s not! And Meggan being like this, of being obsessed with Captain Britain and behaving in a very “cliche” way over him, makes a TON of sense for her, she’s not just obsessed with him for no reason like a typical “just the hero’s girlfriend” character. Meggan grew up being kept secret in her family’s camper-trailer for her then-monstrous appearance, til during the Jasper’s Warp when reality shifted into a world that was putting superhumans, including herself, into concentration camps. While she was in the camps, Captain Britain was a legend as a liberator and freedom fighter who was fighting back against the regime for the sake of people like her. And when reality returned to normal, Meggan was one of the few people who remembered that it had ever changed; she remembered the camps, and she remembered Captain Britain. Even though she’d never even seen him at that point, she clung to him as her one hope. Then the real Captain Britain found her when she was homeless and living in an abandoned warehouse, and he lets her live with him in his mansion because she has nowhere else, which is probably more kindness than she’s ever been shown in her life, and from someone she idolized. Which, as I said way earlier in this essay, does make their relationship an inherently unethical one because of their power imbalance, as he’s got a lot of power over her in terms of being the one providing her with a home, food, clothing, etc., not to mention her emotional dependency that’s obvious well before she makes a move on him. So we’re already starting on really problematic territory. But it makes SENSE for her. Add to that Meggan was raised on television in a VERY literal sense. Again, she was locked up in her camper trailer all day every day her whole life, and so she spent most of her time just watching TV. It’s shown that this has given her SOME UNREALISTIC IDEAS ABOUT HOW TO BEHAVE so I think that absorbing the media’s depictions of how women are “supposed” to behave towards their men is actually pretty realistic. She’s not doing this because the writers think this is just how women are----NONE of the other female characters act at all like she does!---but because SHE thinks it’s what’s normal and expected, and she’s probably very much imprinted on the media’s fantasy fairytale depiction of relationships. Given how she grew up as an ugly monster and seeing herself as such, I can very much see her as latching on the idea of “beautiful sweet woman who is valued for her beauty and being with the lead man and has no identity apart from that” that’s prevalent in media, which she would take for a reflection of reality, a reality that she thought her whole life would be denied to her. So all her behavior has a good in-character reason; she could even be read as a criticism of trying to enact gendered media stereotypes in real life and how they can’t actually work in the complexity of the real world, and how damaging they are to those who absorb them. What’s also funny is that despite appearing to be the standard “strong man, pretty woman” couple, especially with Brian becoming emotionally distant and cruelly pushing her away whilst she’s very emotional and obsessed with pleasing him, is they actually subvert this paradigm as much as they play it straight. The Juggernaut WIPES THE FLOOR with Brian at one point, and then Meggan shows up, shapeshifts into a GIANT MUSCULAR VERSION OF HERSELF, and comes to his rescue with Rachel and Kitty! That’s right, a buff lady and two other ladies save the dude in distress! And then afterwards, she acts like SHE was the one in danger, resuming her default petite form and jumping into his big manly arms while he asks if she’s alright and she says “Always in your arms!” ---it’s hilarious! (Excalibur #3) And of course, speaking of subverting gender stereotypes, there’s Brian’s desire to have a partner he can be vulnerable with, which is really astounding to me----he’s very much grappling with the expectations of toxic masculinity in a way that’s harming him as much as Meggan. Not just in relation to Meggan, but also, as mentioned before, in relation to not having control of his own life as Captain Britain, and being responsible for others. In particular, he’s messed up over Betsy’s (seeming) death, and over not having protected her, as a man would be expected to protect his sister. In the panel right before the “changeling cow!” scene I linked earlier, THIS IS WHAT HE SAYS. He doesn’t see himself as any good if he doesn’t meet impossible standards. And while Meggan reacts to pain by getting teary, Brian consistently reacts to his pain (or trying to hide it) by getting ANGRY, which is consistent with how women vs men are socialized. Which is not to say it’s anything but VISCERALLY HORRIBLE when he lashes out at Meggan, especially given how dependent she is on him, and she absolutely SHOULD have dumped his ass then, but it’s also a lot more three-dimensional than the emotionally abusive drunken bad boyfriend stereotype I was expecting. I know I’m a broken record on this, but I am just so shocked at how sympathetic I ended up being to a guy I was so prepared to hate and was so cruel to a character (Meggan) that I was already very sympathetic to and invested in. Instead, I’m invested in them BOTH now and want to see them BOTH heal from this, and from each other. So, basically, I was really ready to be mad about Meggan’s lack of agency and her dependence on Brian. And these are things that happen. But the writers are clearly AWARE of it, and treat them as issues to be addressed and overcome. Meggan and Brian come off not as the cliche male and female stereotypes they first appeared, and that I expected, but very critical examinations and sometimes subversions of them, and both are shown as being hurt by the expectations of their gender, and being hurt by each other as they enact those expectations. It’s not totally perfect, not by a long shot, but it’s very interesting and a lot more nuanced than I expected some straight white guys in the 80s to be writing, it’s definitely a far cry from the typical idealized relationship between a hero and a leading lady, and I’m pretty impressed with it. And I’m looking forward to reading more.

#meggan #Meggan Puceanu #brian braddock #excalibur #captain britain #meta

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thewritingcaptain · 5 years

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Bloody Things and Broken Wings (Chapter 2)

"Well, I know it's hard to believe these days, but not everyone around you is a criminal or a psychopath. And I would greatly appreciate it if you would at least tell me what to call you for the duration of your stay." Any tension that had seeped out of him returns immediately. "Duration?" Peter starts trying to sit up again. "I can't-" A firm hand on his shoulder keeps him down. "Stay?" the man finishes. "Well, you certainly can't leave in your state.”

Peter and Tony talk. The conversation is... messy, to say the least.

Things are flashing. Banging. Raw wrists, wounds and pain from a struggle he doesn't remember. A spray of red, the sound of glass shattering into a billion tiny pieces. Something touches his arm-

Peter jerks awake in the bed and very nearly screams, both from the dream still in his head and the pain of the motion. Some kind of sound must escape him, even though he doesn't realize it because he's doubled over in pain, head spinning wildly, when he realizes the feeling of someone touching his arm is real, someone rubbing his back, and he feels the need to heave but there's nothing in his stomach to even come up.

"Easy, kid, calm down," a voice is saying. "It was just a dream."

The words do little to soothe him. Not only because he's in a strange place with strange people again, but because it wasn't just a dream. The pain throughout his whole body makes that much very clear.

And fuck, if he isn't in so much pain. It makes everything even more fuzzy and unreal than before. Did he actually escape? Is this a dream, or perhaps him waking up from whatever punishment had come his way from the attempt? That would certainly explain the pain, although he's never been messed up by them quite this bad before.

The voice is breaking into his head again. "Kid, calm down. I don't want to hurt you but if you don't stop I will have to restrain you."

It's then that Peter realizes he's started thrashing violently, and the hands are now on his wrists, cold and firm, pressing him down against whatever is underneath him and restraining his hands. The voice is gruff but not unkind, and it's not one he's ever heard before, at least not from the people who he'd been with before this. The words register only dimly, but it's enough for him to realize what he's doing and for him to make the conscious choice to force his muscles to relax, definitely not wanting to be restrained again.

So he stops, laying there and breathing hard for a long few minutes before finally working up the nerve to crack open his eyes.

The man who had spoken is still leaning over him, his hands around his wrists, using his body weight to keep him pinned to the bed and watching him with cautious dark brown eyes. Peter is sure he's never seen him before, and that actually makes him feel slightly better. At least if he's been kidnapped again, this is someone entirely new. He can work with that. Especially since they weren't smart enough to tie him up, although that was probably because they assumed he isn't going anywhere with as much pain as he's in. They're probably right, although he'll never admit that - but wait, didn't this guy say he's not going to hurt him? That must count for something, though he's definitely been lied to about it before.

"Jesus, kid," the man mutters, shaking his head. He doesn't seem to notice Peter's eyes are actually open now. "Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've had to break these out? My wife would kill me if she saw this right now."

Peter frowns, unsure what he's talking about, then his eyes alight on the hands wrapped around his wrists. They're red, glinting in the light from the bedside lamp, and cool against his skin. He knows that this means something, can feel the niggle in the back of his mind that tells him he should know what it is, but nothing is coming to him. His head hurts too badly, and he just can't think, can't focus on anything more than what's in front of him.

The man seems to see this and to sense that all the fight has drained out of him, and his eyes soften. "Oh, we're with it now, yeah? Good. If you promise not to swing at me anymore, I'll get off of you now."

"Swing-" His voice is low and crackily and his throat feels like sandpaper. He swallows thickly. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, unsure what else to say and feeling incapable of saying much more.

"Don't be. Nightmares, panic attacks, flashbacks - whatever it was, I've had them all too, so don't feel bad." He looks at him for another moment, then slowly sits up and releases his wrists. "I'll get you some water. It'd probably be less painful for both of us if you just stay there and don't try to move while I'm gone." He gets up and walks out before Peter can muster up a response.

Peter glances around, trying to get his bearings. He appears to be in a bedroom - an underused one, if the barren surroundings are any indication. A guest room, then. How did he get here? Everything is so blurry. He knows he put up a hell of a fight to escape the place he was being kept before they could move him out of the city like he'd heard them say they were planning to. He clearly made it out of the building, wherever the hell that had been, but everything after that is a blur. From there to here… he doesn't even know how far he'd made it. Far enough not to be held by the same people, but when you were the only reliable superhero in a city like New York, you were bound to be a target. And even if this man had rescued him, he could still want something.

Sighing a little, Peter cautiously moves the blanket and lifts his shirt, checking to see the extent of his current wounds. They're all covered by bandages so he can't see the full extent of the damage, but they definitely feel worse than he remembers. Not that he's not surprised they aren't getting better as quick as they should. He doesn't remember the last time he's had a real meal. Even before this latest capture… well, things since half of everyone disappeared have been rough, to say the least. So they look really bad, but he's sure he's had worse, and he can't stay in this position, so he puts his arms down and tries to push himself up into a sitting position-

-then cries out and doubles over, almost falling off the edge of the bed between the dizziness and the nausea that immediately take hold of him at even the slightest bit of movement.

He's holding on to the nightstand with a sweaty grip and both cursing and rejoicing at the fact that there's nothing in his stomach to hurl up when the man returns. He hears the door open as if from far away and then a low curse, then the man is rushing over, gently pushing him back into the bed. "This is exactly why I told you to stay still!" he tells him, sounding exasperated. Peter lets himself be pushed back down, in too much pain to fight back even if he wanted to, and is surprised when he looks up as his eyes refocus and sees the concern in the elder man's eyes for a brief second as the world swims in and out of focus. "Hey, kid, stay with me," he urges softly.

Peter blinks a few times and takes some breaths, not speaking for a moment. "I'm not a kid," he says at last. It's the only response he has to what just happened.

The mans sighs, rolling his eyes. They alight on the nightstand, and he seems to remember the reason he'd left the room for then and picks up the glass of water, helping him take a drink. "First of all, everyone less than half my age is a kid when you get to be as old as I am. Second of all, I doubt you're even old enough to drink. That's literally still a kid."

Peter swallows it greedily, drinking most of it in a few gulps before the cup is pulled away gently and he has to stop. He licks his lips, forcing himself to take a breath and answer. "I'm almost old enough," he mutters.

"Right. I'm sure you are." He looks down at him, those dark eyes contemplative and almost hesitant, as if unsure if he really wants to ask, but then he does. "So can I get you to tell me your name, or do I have to look it up?"

"Who wants to know?" Peter shoots back instantly. "Because I'm sick of being the victim and if you're working for someone-"

"The only person I work for is myself," the man interrupts. If Peter didn't know better he would say he looks almost amused, but he's hiding it behind his concern. "And I'm the only person who wants to know. Considering I saved your life…"

"I've had it saved only to be taken away before," Peter says quietly. "That means nothing to me."

Any tension that had seeped out of him returns immediately. "Duration?" Peter starts trying to sit up again. "I can't-"

A firm hand on his shoulder keeps him down. "Stay?" the man finishes. "Well, you certainly can't leave in your state. Besides, you've been missing from the street for weeks and the world has kept turning. I don't think taking a few to recover will kill anyone."

It actually might, Peter wants to argue, but he's caught on something else he's said instead. "Weeks?" he repeats weakly. "I've been gone for weeks? How… there's no way. How do you even know that?"

He just sighs again, giving him an indecipherable look. "Look, it's not important. Can I get your name or not?"

Peter stares at him for a long moment, then closes his eyes and mutters, "Peter. My name is Peter."

"Good to know. What's the last thing you remember, Peter?"

Some far off part of Peter notes that the man still hasn't told him his name even though he just gave him his, and while a small part of him thinks he should panic, another part keeps him from doing so, forcing him to focus on the question. "Clearly?" he asks, just to clarify, and the man nods. "Fighting. I think I took a nasty knock to the head at some point and between that and probably blood loss, everything after that is blurry."

"So you don't happen to remember, say, passing out and free falling through a glass wall?" he questions, looking at him with dark intensity.

Peter's eyes go wide. He remembers hearing glass shattering, but he had thought that was in his head. "I thought I'd heard glass, but… consciously, no."

"That's because you were unconscious when it happened, according to eyewitness accounts." He paused. "I just wondered how reliable that particular testimony is when there's only one eyewitness and she happens to be my six year old daughter who was up getting a snack at the time."

His eyes get even wider, if that's even possible. "I- I am so sorry, sir, I didn't know, obviously I didn't mean to-"

"Obviously not. And don't worry, she's more upset about the fact that she couldn't talk to her favorite superhero when it happened than the fact that he came crashing through the glass into her home at 3 am." The elder man offers him a small, wry smile. "You stuck to her arm for a little bit while you were unconscious. I know that can't be the suit, so you're just… natural sticky?"

"Uh, sometimes, when I want to be or when I'm not in a state to control it- what do you know about my suit?" Peter asks, feeling utterly confused. He feels like this whole conversation has done nothing but make him more confused. He's gaining nothing from it.

"Don't worry about it," the man tells him, then promptly keeps him from answering by holding the cup up to his lips. Peter wants to counter that he absolutely is worried about it, but he wants the water more, and so he focuses on draining the cup instead. He hasn't had pure water in- well, since before this most recent kidnapping, and that's been weeks, apparently.

He finishes all the water and lays his head back. He's exhausted, from the conversation and from his efforts earlier. He still feels like hell - perhaps even worse than before, now that he's not as dehydrated and he's more alert. The pain and his hunger even that fact that he's still extremely dehydrated can be felt as clear as day. He debates the merits of asking this man for anything more than he's already given him. Anything else he asks for is going to give some amount of information about him away that he is not prepared to give, and anyway, what he's done is already too much.

Even if he's actually a nice guy, Peter can't stay. He has other places to be and if it's been weeks then no doubt his absence has been noticed from various places by now. He just needs to find a new hidey hole to crawl into and stay there for a while. Still, as much as he doesn't like it, he's not going anywhere without pain meds. And it's either steal them or ask for them, and considering his current range of motion and the fact he'll probably be able to figure out how many he took either way, there's no point in not just asking.

Peter sighs. "I don't suppose you have anything for pain, do you?"

"Nothing that's going to do much with the injuries you're sporting," he says, looking remorseful. "I have some over the counter stuff on hand. Nothing you'll want to take on an empty stomach, though."

He bits his lip, thinking about it for a moment. He's been in captivity and on a drip for weeks. The likelihood he can keep much solid food of any kind down is going to be incredibly low. And that generic over the counter stuff isn't going to do shit for his metabolism. But he can't tell this guy either of those things, so he shakes his head. "No thanks then. I should probably be going anyway." He'll just have to make do. He starts struggling into an upright position, groaning a bit as it pulls on his broken ribs and all the wounds peppered across his torso and arms. "Thanks so much for your help, but-"

A hand is on his shoulder again, trying to pull him back down. "Now hold on just a minute. If you think I'm letting you walk right out of here-"

"Oh, great, here it comes," Peter mumbles, and he already sounds so weary, even to his own ears. He's so tired of being a target, of never being able to trust anyone. He knows fighting his way out of this is going to hurt like hell, but he'll give it his best shot, if he absolutely has to. "If you're seriously going to try to keep me here-"

"There's no try," the man scoffs, pushing him back flat against the bed. Peter would normally have the strength to push him right off, but he just can't leverage his upper body against the weight, not with the pain he's in. He's so tired and weak and hurt right now. "You're staying, kid. I don't care if I actually have to restrain you. I'm not going to let you go out there and hurt yourself more, or end up back in whatever hellhole you fought your way out of. You're staying until I deem you're well enough to go."

Peter closes his eyes, only half listening past the part where it became obvious he was going to keep him here one way or another, only half-able to focus through the pain and panic growing in his head as he tries to hide his growing feeling of desperation. "Please, sir. I'll be fine, and I don't know anything, I don't have anything- if you think you'll get something from helping me, I don't have anything, and if this is about the Avengers again, I swear I don't know anything about them or where any of them are and I promise you they don't give a shit about me, so if you're thinking you can use me, you're wrong. I've got nothing for you. Please just let me go."

He stops and takes a shuddering breath, not opening his eyes. The room has gone deathly quiet in the midst of his begging, so much so if it weren't for the sound of the man's thundering heart beside his head, Peter might think he left. He knows there's nothing else he can say that will help his case, no threats he can make when they both know he's in no state to follow through.

Finally the man swallows hard and lets out a small , shaky breath. "No can do, kiddo. Get some sleep, and we'll talk about this in the morning." He gets up, and Peter can hear his footsteps starting to retreat.

He doesn't want to move, and he's so drained he couldn't argue anymore if he wanted to. But he has one last question left to ask. "I told you my name. Don't I at least get something to call you, too? Or are you one of those captors who won't tell me anything? Because I can give you a name in my head, but it probably won't be flattering." His voice is failing him. Closing his eyes wasn't his best idea; he's barely holding on to consciousness now, but he forces himself to focus long enough to hear the answer.

There was a pause and a creak as the door cracks open, and for a second he thinks the man is just going to walk out without answering. Then he hears the sigh, and a quiet response that makes his gut twist in ways he can't begin to unravel right now because he's already fading fast.

"Call me Tony," comes the quiet answer. "Now go to bed, kid."

And Peter does, the darkness reclaiming his consciousness before the door even fully closes behind him.

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minijenn · 5 years

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Keys to the Kingdom Chapter 10

Oy so here we go with a fuckin angst fest. I gotta say though that writing this chapter was a TON of fun, call me a sadist or whatever, but its been a while since i’ve been able to flex my angst muscles like this and I LOVED it. So yeah, enjoy lol:

Previous: https://minijenn.tumblr.com/post/185166785244/keys-to-the-kingdom-chapter-9

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Chapter 10: Sinister Whispers

Let me face, let me face, let me face my fears

As what had often become the case as of late, the Gummi Ship floated adrift in what felt, at least to its passengers, like a sea of indecision. The trio had taken their leave from Twilight Town quite some time ago, leaving what little current efforts they had to show for Roxas’ hopeful, eventual return in Hayner, Pence, and Olette’s equally devout hands. Still, despite the first few, small, yet promising leads they had uncovered, there was still a fair share of disappointment among the group as they set off for their next destination. Sora in particular was steeped in that disappointment as he sat at the ship’s helm, thinking of little else but Roxas and the earnest promise he had made to him. A promise that, by all accounts, he didn’t know when or how he’d actually end up fulfilling.

By and large it seemed as though both Donald and Goofy had picked up on their young companion’s worried listlessness as they simply let him ruminate in dissatisfied silence for quite some time. However, both of them were still mindful of their larger mission, a mission that they both mutually decided to remind Sora of as gently as they could.

“Uh… Sora?” Goofy ventured, leaning forward in his seat a bit. “Don’tcha think we should get goin’?”

“You know, to find the thirteen Keys?” Donald added, a hint of further insistence in his tone. “We really should get on that. You don’t want the Organization to get their hands on them first, do you?”

“No, of course I don’t,” Sora frowned back at the pair. “It’s just… I don’t know, it feels like we didn’t really do much of anything to help Roxas like we wanted to…”

“Aw, but we did!” Goofy reassured. “We got Hayner, Pence, and Olette to help us out, not to mention Ienzo lookin’ into the other Twilight Town for us.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sora nodded halfheartedly. “And it’s not like I’m not grateful for their help, but… I was just hoping we’d be able to figure something out sooner. Roxas shouldn’t have to wait any longer than he already has. He shouldn’t have to wait on me.”

Donald and Goofy shared a concern look at this, both of them knowing just how important this matter was to Sora. It was no secret that the Keybearer often felt the need to take the weight of the worlds onto his shoulders, especially when it came to helping those in need. And given just how personal the connection between Sora and his Nobody was, it only made sense that he would take his self-imposed mission to bring Roxas back as seriously as he was.

For as much of a loss for comforting words as the captain and the magician were, fortunately the encouragement Sora clearly needed at the moment came from another source instead. “You know, Sora,” Jiminy began, hopping up onto the Keybearer’s shoulder. “Just because we didn’t find that much out in Twilight Town doesn’t mean we might not find any other clues somewhere else!”

“That’s right,” Goofy said as Donald nodded his agreement. “We still got a whole bunch of worlds we to explore while we look for the Keys.”

“And maybe we’ll find something that could help us help Roxas along the way too!” Donald added just as fervently.

“Yeah, maybe…” Sora sighed, knowing that this wasn’t as clear-cut of a solution as he would have liked. Still, he knew just as well as the others that their mission to find the thirteen Keys was a high priority, so much so that the fate of all the worlds practically depended on it. Which meant that as much as he hated to put it off any further than he already had, saving Roxas would just have to wait. “Well, I guess we’re not really getting any closer to those Keys by just sitting here, huh?” At this, he stood, summoning his Keyblade and aiming it forward, towards the vast expanse of open space ahead of them. “Look out worlds, here we come!”

Despite this bold proclamation, nothing really seemed to happen. The usual burst of light that converged around the Kingdom Key’s tip was nowhere to be found; no shimmering gateways leading to any sort of uncharted world materialized among the many surrounding stars. All the same, Sora maintained his focus on his weapon for just a moment longer, hoping this was some sort of odd fluke, only for the lack of any response to remain a disappointing constant. “Aw, come on, seriously?” he huffed in annoyance, drawing his Keyblade back in so he could properly inspect it. “What’s going on with this thing late…ly…?” Sora trailed off, raising a confused eyebrow as he stole a second glance down at his Keyblade. Etched into its otherwise pristine silver surface was what appeared to be a small, yet, dark crack, a marring mark of uneven damage he was sure he’d never seen before. As far as he knew, there were few things in any world that were strong and powerful enough to damage a Keyblade in such a way, much less anything he’d encountered in battle recently. So what, then, could have created a mark as clear and cutting as this?

“Er… what if you’re having a hard time opening up a gate since none of us really know where to look first?” Goofy guessed evenly, neither him nor Donald able to see the rather damming crack in Sora’s Keyblade.

“Figures you wouldn’t know where we’re supposed to be going, as usual…” the magician remarked, sending the Keybearer a critical glance as he crossed his arms.

“How am I supposed to in the first place?” Sora retorted, quickly letting his Keyblade disappear in a meager attempt to distract himself from the troubling damage it had apparently sustained. “It wasn’t like Master Yen Sid gave us a map and said ‘go here, here, and here, and you’ll find all of the Keys’! Honestly, I wish he had done that,” he sighed, flopping back down into his seat. “It would have made our job way easier here.”

“Well, if what I jotted down in the journal is right,” Jiminy noted, scrolling through his records on their new home: the Gummiphone. “Master Yen Sid said that each of the Keys is connected to “the feelings of the heart”. It is a clue, but then again, I suppose it’s not a very clear one, is it?”

“You can say that again…” Sora shook his head, thoroughly disgruntled. “These Keys could be anywhere and we don’t know where to even start looking for them! Heck, for all we know, the Organization could already have half of them by now, maybe more!” He paused for a moment, staring out at the seemingly endless array of stars before them, each of them a world that could have very well contained just one of the mere thirteen Keys that they wanted, needed to find before it was too late. “Everyone’s counting on us to get those Keys. So what are we going to do if we can’t even find one of them to begin with?”

As much as neither Donald, Goofy, nor Jiminy alike wanted to admit it, what Sora had just purposed was indeed a very real possibility, and a very alarming one at that. There was every chance that, with their greater numbers as exponential dark powers, the still relatively unknown members of Organization XIII could very well already be beating them to the punch when it came to finding the Keys they were all equally vying to find. And all the while, the four of them could just as well be leagues behind, with no leads, no hints, no hope of protecting the worlds and the very Keys to Kingdom Hearts itself as they had been tasked to do.

It was a grim reality, to be sure. A reality that the three of them refused to accept, especially this early on into their fledgling quest. “Aw, phooey!” Donald suddenly snapped in firm resilience. “Don’t tell us you’re giving up this soon, Sora!”

“W-what? I’m not giving up!” Sora protested, flustered by the very thought. “I’m just saying this whole thing is already turning out to be a lot harder than we thought it would be and-”

“And so what?” Goofy interupted just as insistently. “We’ve done a lot of hard things before: deafeatin’ the Heartless, savin’ the worlds, the list goes on! How’s finding a bunch of silly ol’ Keys any worse than that?”

“I’m not saying it is!” Sora argued back, openly frustrated by this point. “But how are we supposed to find those Keys in the first place if I can’t even do something as easy as summon a gate to another world?!”

“Well…” Jiminy interjected somewhat hesitantly. “What if the reason why you seem to be having so much trouble has to do with you losin’ your strength?”

“But if that’s true, then how was I able to get us to Herc’s world before?” Sora countered with a fretful frown. He was half tempted to summon his Keyblade once more, speculating that perhaps the unexplainable damage done to it factored into this problem more than anything else. However, before he could even reach his hand out to do so, Goofy spoke up to propose an alternate theory instead.

“It could always be somethin’ really simple,” the captain suggested. “Like, just for example, ya could just be worn out from everything that’s happened since we set out.”

“…What?” Sora asked flatly, confused.

“Oh yeah!” Donald sent the Keybearer a disapproving look. “Sora, when was the last time you actually rested up? You know, like you’re supposed to?”

“Uh… w-well… there was the end of my exam when I was-”

“After that!” the magician fussed hotly.

“Um… I think it was… hm….” Sora trailed off, unable to really recall the last time he had taken a genuine break since they’d set out for Olympus. And given all of the harrowing happenings they’d been through both there and in Twilight Town, he couldn’t deny that he did feel tired at least on some level, though nowhere near to the point that mere exhaustion alone could be hindering him this much. Or at least, that’s what he thought.

“That’s it!” Donald concluded sharply. “This ship isn’t going anywhere until you’ve gotten all the rest you need to get it moving again!”

“What?!” Sora exclaimed, baffled as he met the magician’s stern glare. “Oh come on, Donald! You can’t just tell me to go to bed like I’m some little kid!”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you’d stop acting like one!” Donald shot back. “You need to start taking better care of yourself!”

“Hey, I take care of myself just fine!” Sora argued just as crossly. “Don’t I, Goofy?”

“Uh… well, garwsh, Sora, you know I’d usually say yes, but…” Goofy frowned worriedly. “After everything that happened back in Twilight Town what with you seein’ Roxas’ memories ‘n all, it might not be such a bad idea for you to get a lil’ shut-eye before we really start lookin’ for the Keys.”

“Aw, really? You too?” Sora huffed, disappointed. “Well, you can both forget it. We need to find those Keys and we can’t afford to waste time just because you guys think I need to rest. Besides, I’m not even ti-” The Keybearer suddenly cut himself off with a long, blatant yawn, one that he couldn’t have tried to hide or suppress even if he wanted to. A long beat of silence followed, with Donald and Goofy sending him equal knowing, expectant looks that were finally, inevitably enough to get Sora to cave. “Ugh, fine…” he grumbled, standing up. “I guess I’ll go take a nap or something…”

“Aw, now, Sora, don’t be like that,” Goofy chastised patiently as the Keybearer began trudging towards the lower deck door.

“You’ll thank us later when you’re well-rested and actually ready to explore the words,” Donald concluded, crossing his arms with a satisfied smirk.

“Sure, I will…” Sora deadpanned, both embarrassed and defeated as he left the cockpit. The Gummi Ship was already small and compact to begin with, yet surprisingly enough its lower sleeping quarters were rather spacious, complete with three comfy hammocks that the trio readily took to after most of their more tiring escapades. The Keybearer flopped down into his usual spot with an annoyed huff, not really bothering to settle in or get comfortable since he had no real intentions of sleeping to begin with.

“I don’t know what they’re so worried about…” he muttered to himself discontentedly as he positioned his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “Just because I lost my strength doesn’t mean they have to act like I can’t do anything anymore.” Sora paused, his bitterness all too quickly fading into apprehension as he reached a hand up to summon his Keyblade. “Then again…” he trailed off, fixing his gaze on the solitary scar marring the Kingdom Key in such a foul, mysterious way. Slowly, carefully, he trailed a light finger along the deep, jagged crack, still wondering where it had come from in the first place, and if it could possibly get any worse from here.

Of course, those were wonderings Sora had no answer to himself, but he did know of someone who might. After all, as far as he’d heard, Riku’s old Keyblade had been all but destroyed in his and Mickey’s most recent visit to the Realm of Darkness. So certainly, if anyone would know about Keyblade damage, it’d be him.

So Sora quickly sat up, pulling the Gummiphone out of his pocket. While he was still getting used to how the device worked, fortunately Jiminy had already taken the liberty of showing him how to use it to make calls just about anywhere among the worlds. It was a feature he hadn’t really had much of a chance to use yet, but the Keybearer figured that there’d be no better candidate to try it out on than Riku.

A few awkward, somewhat uncertain taps later and Sora instantly perked up the moment he heard ringing on the other end of the line. The thought of simply talking to Riku, even from a distance like this, was more than enough to excite him, even despite the somewhat worrisome topic he wanted to ask him about. However, instead of receiving any such answer, or even a conversation in general, Sora was ultimately met with a simple, disappointing message from the Gummiphone instead: “Call failed.”

“Aw, come on…” Sora sighed, lying back down in clear disappointment, until the chimed in with another brief instruction.

“Leave a message?”

“Wait, you can leave messages on this thing too!?” Sora darted upright, amazed as he looked to the phone once more. It seemed to be recording him, likely for the sake of being delivered to Riku himself sometime later on, the Keybearer quickly, excitedly realized. “Oh! Hi, Riku! I… guess you missed me? Probably ‘cause you and the king are super busy trying to help Master Aqua, which—I know, I know, is really important and I shouldn’t be distracting you from it, but…” Sora hesitated, glancing down at his Keyblade and the disconcerting scratch torn across it briefly. Once again, that same sort of bizarre dread he had felt when him and Riku had parted ways panged upon his heart. Dread that, someway or another, directed him away from the very reason he had tried to make this call in the first place. “B-but… I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing, s-so… so yeah. Call me back whenever you can, ok? I… I’ll talk to you later.” He stopped short one final time, wanting to say so much more but simply not finding the words as he brought his message to its succinct, unsatisfying close. “B-bye!”

The very moment he finally hung the unsuccessful call up, Sora let out a loud, frustrated groan, shielding his eyes with his arm as he let the Gummiphone fall by the wayside and his Keyblade disappear. He knew, he knew he had promised Riku that he’d be the first to know if anything was wrong or awry, a promise that Sora wanted to honor, one that he knew he’d do well to keep. Clearly, something was wrong here, his Keyblade alone was proof enough of that, and while he had no real idea how to address that anomaly with either Donald or Goofy, a strong part of him believed that Riku, more than anyone else really, would understand, would be able to do something to help. And yet, for whatever reason, it was is if the very thought of admitting to his longtime best friend that he was dealing with something that was beyond both his comprehension and control was far more difficult than any Heartless or Nobody he had ever had to face.

At the same time, Sora found himself falling even deeper into his restless guilt upon realizing that, in his message he’d also failed to mention anything that had happened in Twilight Town. Between the onslaught of his Nobody’s memories being thrust upon him and the discouraging words from both Ansem and Xemnas, there would have been plenty to tell Riku about for sure. And yet, the more the Keybearer thought on it, the better off he probably was not speaking to that later encounter in particular. After all, Sora figured, certainly the last thing Riku needed with all of the other pressures he was facing, was to worry over the very low likelihood that all of his hard work in saving him from Xehanort’s schemes had been for nothing in the end.

A very low likelihood… but still a likelihood all the same.

Sora took in a sharp breath at this, quickly shaking the troubling thought out of his mind. As he had told Donald and Goofy, he was confident that all of Ansem and Xemans’ talk of him being their thirteenth vessel was nothing more than a part of the seemingly endless string of lies the Organization was known for. A crafty, perhaps even clever tactic to try and make him doubt both himself and his mission, but one that the Keybearer refused to let get the better of him. Certainly, there was no way in any of the worlds that such a thing could possibly be true. If it was, then he would know, he’d be able to feel it… wouldn’t he?

But then there was the voice, the vicious pull against his heart pairing with it to captivate and control him against his will. The pall of darkness framed by the deepest of rage that had fallen over him in Olympus, darkness he had only barely stumbled his way out of. The dark, almost sinister crack running through the surface of his once strong, sturdy, and steady Keyblade, a place where such a gnarling mark should have never even been. Was there a chance that all of those things were connected somehow? Or worse yet, was there a chance that they were all pointing towards the frightening possibility, however small, that it was all somehow true after all?

Sora let out a deep, somewhat uneven sigh as he closed his eyes, trying his hardest to block out such a dark, downright horrifying notion out of his mind, only to—of course—think of nothing else. Ansem’s ominous, almost threatening claim in particular practically seemed to ring through his thoughts in a constant, chilling loop:

“You can feel it, can’t you?”

The problem was, he could feel it at that moment: that gripping, almost unbearable agony slicing through his heart, his very being like a flame-seared knife.

“Already the darkness has started to take a hold upon your heart.”

Unfortunately, that was a fact he couldn’t really argue against, if the horrific incident in Olympus was anything to go off of.

“And through that darkness, soon you will find yourself helpless to resist the master’s call to join our ranks as the vessel you are destined to be.”

Destined. Pushed. Forced. Forced into something he wanted no parts of, into something he had always done everything in his power to oppose and fight against with every ounce of strength he had. If those claims were somehow correct, then that was the future that awaited him, the fate that he would be forcefully, mercilessly thrust into, whether he wanted it or not. Which was why every single fiber of his being hoped against the warning signs, resolved to look past whatever they might mean for the exact opposite: that his heart would remain his own and stay far out of the devastating, destructive reach of the twisted man who had already ruined so many lives and still stood to ruin so many more.

Including his own.

***

Perfect sunsets were practically a constant on the Destiny Islands, and this one was no exception. The sun-kissed sands and shimmering sea were sights that Sora, Riku, and Kairi were all too used to by now. Yet as spectacularly beautiful as they always were, more often than not, the trio had found themselves mutually longing to see what lay beyond their simple island home. To venture to other worlds, experience all they had to offer, to voyage anywhere and everywhere, together through it all. And with the near-completion of their humble raft, what had once only been a distant, daunting dream was soon about to at long last, become a reality.

“So, Kairi’s home is out there somewhere, right?” Sora asked, going back to their unfinished conversation from earlier.

“Could be,” Riku said, positioned against the paopu tree. “We’ll never know by staying here.”

“But how far could a raft take us?” Sora wondered, leaning forward slightly.

“Who knows? If we have to, we’ll think of something else.”

“So suppose you do get to another world,” Kairi cut in, curious. “What would you do there?”

“Well, I haven’t really thought about it.” Riku kept his sights on the endless sea stretching before them as he spoke. “It’s just… I’ve always wondered why we’re here on this island. If there are any other worlds out there, why did we end up on this one? And suppose there are other worlds… Then ours is just a little piece of something much greater. So we could have just as easily ended up somewhere else, right?”

“I don’t know,” Sora concluded, casually reclining back on his spot on the tree.

“Exactly,” Riku nodded, assured of his theory. “That’s why we need to go out there and find out. Just sitting here won’t change a thing. It’s the same old stuff. So let’s go.”

A bout of long silence filled in between the trio after this, permeated only by the predictably-timed, gently-crashing surf as it washed onto the nearby shore. Indeed, there seemed to be so much more outside of the boundaries of the world they had always known, so much to do, so much to see, and so little time for it all. Still, the door to it whatever might be out there stood large and looming before them. All they had to do was open it and find out what whatever might be waiting on the other side.

“This world…” Sore spoke up, moved by a sudden, compulsory thought. His tone was quiet, calm, yet laced with a strange sort of disdain as he sat up, the golden glow from the blazing sunset seeming to take over his eyes altogether. “It’s just… too small…”

He flinched in surprise the very moment the words left his mouth. Never, ever before, had such a strange, almost alarming thought crossed his mind before, even regardless of their upcoming journey to leave that world behind. The Destiny Islands were his home, the place where everything and everyone he cared about and ever had cared about all resided. But for the briefest of moments, some bitter, unwelcome part of him felt trapped within them, as if they were a prison, a cage. And yet, for as foreign and downright frightening as that feeling had been, what was even more disconcerting yet was that both Riku and Kairi seemed to agree with him.

“You’re right…” Kairi said, her voice oddly hollow, lacking the usual bright warmth Sora always knew it to carry. He quickly glanced over at her, her eyes concealed in shadows cast by the darkening sunset as a small, unreadable smile began to creep across her lips. “It is…”

“It always has been…” Riku added just as ominously, facing away from the pair beside him altogether just as the sun finally sank below the horizon altogether. “It’s about time you finally realized that, Sora…”

“W-what?” Sora asked tightly, though he received no response from either of his friends. Instead, their silence was quickly filled in as the gentle ocean breeze picked up into a gale force wind almost instantly. Sora half slipped, half fell off the paopu tree as the once warm and rosy sky was tossed into inexplicable darkness, the sea taking on the same inky shade as the play island began to split apart at the seems behind them. Against the sudden tumult of the world itself violently coming undone all around them, Sora naturally panicked, something that neither Riku nor Kairi seemed to share as they remained as still and strangely calm as ever.

“R-Riku!” he gasped, barely able to even hear himself amidst the whipping winds. “Something’s wrong! We need to-” Sora stopped short, shocked as he only barely skimmed Riku’s arm in an attempt to grab it, only for his best friend to vanish away into the nothingness overtaking the islands as a whole, as if he had never even been there at all.

Sora barely even had a chance to respond to this outside of a huge rush of unspoken grief as he quickly turned to Kairi, reaching to grab her hand to try and save her from the same horrific fate. “Kairi, I-I don’t know what’s-” He froze, the first hints of tears starting to well up in his eyes the moment he felt Kairi’s unmoving hand fade out of his. And sure enough, in seconds, just like Riku, just like everything else he knew and loved, she was gone.

He didn’t even notice as what little was left of the island followed suit. In fact, he barely even noticed as the ground gave way underneath him, sending him into a free fall into the endless darkness that remained in its wake. Overwhelmed with anguish over his lost home, his lost friends as he was, the incredible pain that jarred through every single part of his body barely even seemed to register as he finally struck the unknown glass surface down below. And for what seemed like ages, that’s exactly where he lay, completely unmoving, his chest heaving with sobs that would come over all everything that had been torn away from him in one single, devastating sweep.

“Giving up already? Come on, Sora, I thought you were stronger than that.”

“R-Riku?!” Sora bolted upright, the brightest burst of hope breaking through the pounding pain as he searched the darkness surrounding him for any signs of life. The colorful glass beneath him had been broken by his heavy impact, to the point that whatever design had been etched into its surface all but unrecognizable thanks to the heavy cracks marring it. Still, none of that mattered to Sora the moment he spotted a single figure, clad in a familiar black cloak, standing out upon the scattered shards afar in the distance. “Riku!”

In an instant, Sora was back on his feet, running to bridge the gap between himself and who he assumed, who he desperately hoped was his seemingly lost friend. If it really was Riku, then there was no doubt that between the two of them, they’d be able to find Kairi and restore the islands. Together, they’d be able to restore the ruined, broken pieces of their peaceful lives once and for all.

It almost sounded too good to be true. And of course, that’s exactly what it was.

“Riku!” Sora couldn’t suppress a relieved smile as he finally reached the cloaked figure, not hesitating to reach a hand up towards him. “I can’t believe I found-”

As soon as the cloak figure even slightly turned to face him, the Keybearer instantly drew his hand away from him, as if he had touched the hottest of fires instead. And by all accounts, he might as well have, considering who really was standing before him now: Young Xehanort.

“Well? Go on,” he said calmly, knowingly as Sora stumbled back with a frightened gasp. “I’d be very interested to know what exactly is it that you think you’ve found.”

The Keybearer’s breath hitched at this, eclipsed by the same sort of fear that he had known in the final moments of his last encounter with this sinister foe, right before he had been lost to a cold, dark slumber that had been meant to condemn him to an equally cold, dark fate. Even so, the thought of someone like Young Xehanort especially seeing that sort of deep, unshakable fear was one that Sora refused to accept. Which was why he forced himself to snap into a state of determined resistance, a Keyblade appearing in his hands as he took up a warning defensive stance against his enemy.

“That’s none of your business,” Sora retorted sharply, tightening his grip on his Keyblade. “Now, leave me alone already! I already told Ansem and Xemnas that whatever plans you have about me becoming your vessel aren’t going to work, so get lost!”

The younger master smirked at this, as if amused by the Keybearer’s brazen, earnest show of defiance. “I have a better idea,” he said, extending a hand out as darkness began to converge around it. “Why don’t you?”

As the burst of darkness escaped from Young Xehanort’s reach, Sora couldn’t help but instinctively flinch away from it, believing himself to be its target. However, that didn’t seem to be the case, for when he opened his eyes, he found that the shattered stain glass and the inky blackness surrounding it gone, but instead, replaced by a vast, white, opulent chamber instead. He was somehow positioned in the center of this hall, Young Xehanort still standing apace from him, both of them surrounded by an unbroken circle of thirteen towering thrones of varying heights. The disconcerting setting rung familiar with Sora in a way he couldn’t quite place, but even so, he kept his guard up against his foe all the same, wary of any other odd tricks he might have up his sleeve.

“I see that there’s still so little you actually understand,” Young Xehanort began, his tone as even and icy as ever. “But worry not. As soon as you come to take your rightful place among our ranks, everything will at last become perfectly clear.”

“Like that’s ever gonna happen,” Sora countered with a relentless glare. “How many times do I have to you? I’ll never be one of your vessels, no matter how much you think you can force me into it!”

Of all things, Young Xehanort let out a small, almost mocking chuckle at this as he shook his head. “Oh, Sora, I’m not forcing you into anything,” he said quite condescendingly. “The hidden darkness residing in the depths of your own heart has always been there. All we’re doing is tapping into that darkness to claim it, and you, as our own. And if any sort of foolish doubts remain in your mind, then simply take a look at your Keyblade for a glimpse of the truth.”

“My Keyblade?” Sora raised a confused eyebrow, having not paid his weapon any attention in this encounter until now. However, when he actually did spare a cursory glance down at it, he quickly wished he hadn’t. For instead of the Kingdom Key he was always used to seeing, the Keyblade in his hands now was of dark, almost demonic design, sharp and twisted in just about every way, from its knife-like edges, to its bold, sinister etchings, to the chilling, singular blue eye resting near its tip. Alarmed by its very appearance alone, Sora was quick to dismiss the weapon in the hopes of actually summoning his own this time, only for the very same black blade to show up in his grasp once again. “W-what is this?!”

“Proof,” Young Xehanort answered, disappearing only to reappear in one of the several surrounding high thrones. “Proof that you cannot escape your fate, regardless of how you might aspire to try. Slow and steady as your fall may be, you will still fall all the same. And when you do, we’ll all be waiting.”

At this, the every single one of the other thrones in the room filled up as well, each by a different member of Organization XIII, all of their faces were concealed by the shadows of the dark hoods they were wearing. All of them, save for Young Xehanort and the figure who had just arrived from the shadows at his spot on the tallest throne of them all: Master Xehanort himself.

The Keybearer only had the briefest of chances to glance up at the elderly master before the ominous Keyblade was more or less forced out of his hands by the overwhelming agony that shot through his heart like a flame-tipped arrow. He instantly collapsed to his hands and knees, unable to do much else, even let out the pressing cry of pain that was practically begging to be released from his throat. From his lofty throne, Xehanort simply smirked down at the display of suffering before him, sadistically satisfied that it was happening to begin with. Sora, however, wasn’t about to let him have that satisfaction at his expense for too long, even despite the anguish still pervading just about every single one of his senses.

“N-no…” the Keybearer gasped, pressing a hand against his aching heart as he forced his weak voice to be as loud as he could manage. “No, I… y-you won’t… I… I can’t be-”

“You are,” the elderly master finally spoke up. “Deep down, certainly, you already know that you are, despite your pathetic attempts at convincing yourself of the contrary. There is no point in trying to delude yourself any further; accept what awaits you and rid yourself of your unending sorrow once and for all.”

Though he knew he was already treading on incredibly dangerous ground, Sora let out a scoff at this, finally working up the energy and the nerve to glare up at the distant master. “I-I… I can handle a little pain just fine, b-believe me.”

“The ‘pain’ your own foolish resistance is bringing you wasn’t what I meant,” Xehanort shook his head, still wearing that sinister smirk all the while. “What I speak of is the great burden you’ve been forced to bear through no choice of your own. The weight of the worlds on your shoulders, the fates of so many lost souls all depending on your success alone…. All such momentous, cumbersome responsibilities for a boy as young and innocent as yourself, responsibilities that, by all accounts, shouldn’t solely fall to you in the first place. Out of anything else, that’s certainly something you can’t deny, can you, Sora?”

The Keybearer finally stilled at this, his harsh expression dissolving away into several other emotions at once: confusion, worry, fear, and sadness, all as he realized that no, he really couldn’t deny any of what the elderly master had just said. From the very moment he had first been torn from his island and his friends, his once-normal life had become a rapid, aggressive whirlwind, one that never seemed to stop and let him revel in his victories, however small they might sometimes be, along the way. And stuck in the middle of that whirlwind, there he was, tasked with—no, expected to dive headfirst into constant danger in the hopes of completing a mission so momentous and so important that the worlds themselves would fall into sure destruction and devastation if he failed it. These were odds that he had faced before, but the stakes always seemed to grow higher and heavier, to the point that he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to struggle under the weight of it all before it crushed him completely.

“Fortunately for you, however,” Xehanort interjected, not giving Sora much of a chance to answer at all. “Very soon those immense burdens will no longer be yours to carry. For once you submit to your proper role as my thirteenth vessel… then shall your heart finally, truly be set free.”

Whatever small seeds of doubt the elderly master might have sowed were quickly ripped away when Sora heard this. Instead, his former resilience returned tenfold as he forced himself beyond the crippling agony, staggering to stand and stare Xehanort down with every ounce of defiance he had left to give. “Y-you really think that’s what freedom is?” the Keybearer challenged boldly. “Taking people’s hearts away from them and using them as your own? Because if you ask me, that sounds like the exact opposite of freedom, and just in case you still haven’t gotten the picture already, its something I don’t want any part of!”

Xehanort’s near-constant smile finally fell somewhat into a disapproving scowl at this outburst, though even so, he hardly seemed moved by it as he simply shook his head. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t make this easy for us, Sora,” he began, closing his eyes thoughtfully. “Then again, I suppose that’s what will make this all the more… interesting. For as difficult as this lengthy process might be for us, it will be infinitely more agonizing for you.”

The once-dulled pain came rushing right back into the Keybearer’s heart at full force as the elderly master clenched his gloved hand tightly, immense darkness swirling around it all the while. This time, however, he wasn’t granted the luxury of being able to fall, but instead was stuck standing, as if he had been frozen in place so he could be forced to listen to whatever Xehanort had to say next.

“You may say that you do not want to become a vessel for my heart,” the elderly master suddenly vanished from his towering throne, only to reappear on the platform below, directly in front of his unmoving victim. “But I’m afraid you have no choice. For you see, Sora… your heart already belongs to me.”

Xehanort’s almost mocking sneer returned in full force at this, especially as he pointed a finger out towards Sora, or more specifically, his heart. As frozen and stiff as he was, the Keybearer couldn’t see that the result of this was practically instantaneous. A dark sort of glow bloomed over his heart, which spread to cover his hands and a good portion of his arms, painting them a sinister shadowy shade. The usual chestnut brown color his hair was known to have was quickly overtaken by a spotless snowy white, and his eyes, normally as blue as the depths of the oceans themselves, took on the same sort of haunting, hollow gold that filled Xehanort’s own. But even if Sora wasn’t completely cognizant of these horrific transformations, what he was aware of was the relentless, blinding, absolutely unbearable anguish essentially strangling his heart, splitting out from there to every other part of his body so intensely that he was genuinely shocked that he was still even conscious amidst it at all.

“Feel free to try and run and hide all you’d like,” Xehanort continued, walking towards the Keybearer with an intentionally slow pace as he took in the look of absolute agony and terror clearly showing on his face with cool, calm confidence. “Continue to lie to your companions, your friends, even yourself that you’re safe and sound and not slipping into the darkness you’re already standing knee-deep in. But know that there is no world you can go to where you can escape from me. There is nothing, nothing you can do to free yourself from your final fate.”

By now, tears had finally started to well up in Sora’s now-yellow eyes, his heart and mind both begging for any sort of release, a plea that he wasn’t even permitted to voice aloud thanks to the unyielding hold the elderly master had over him. Try as he had to not show any sort of fear in front of his foe, he was largely unable to do anything else now. The mere thought of this wicked, merciless man ripping away all sense of autonomy away from him, forcing him to follow his treacherous, ruinous commands, tearing him and his heart away from everything he knew and loved and wanted to protect, was so horrific and devastating that he couldn’t even begin to bear it. In fact, the very notion, a notion that seemed all too real here and now, was so awful and horrifying that he felt as though the weight of everything he stood to lose was quickly starting to crush him. And the worst part of it all, was that Xehanort was absolutely right; there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“What a great irony it is that the so-called ‘hero’ of the Keyblade who restored light to countless worlds time and time again will ultimately become the key that will send them all into everlasting darkness once and for all,” Xehanort mused evenly as he continued to approach the agonized Keybearer. “For when the time comes that you have fully submitted to my power, then not only shall you be the one to deliver to me the thirteen Keys to the Kingdom, but through you, I shall lay claim to the very heart of all worlds itself: Kingdom Hearts!”

Upon hearing the absolutely horrendous plans the elderly master had in store for him, Sora wanted to scream, struggle, fight, do anything at all to save himself and literally everyone and everything else from such a gruesome fate. And yet, just as before, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t resist, he couldn’t do a single thing to keep Xehanort from getting exactly what he wanted. He was trapped, in so many different, terrible ways he couldn’t even begin to list them all if he tried.

“And since you’re already here, I see no point in delaying the inevitable any further,” The elderly master had finally reached the Keybearer, and had slowly begun extending a hand towards him to finally claim his heart once and for all. The most Sora could do was let out a small, strained, pleading sob, one that Xehanort clearly heard, but hardly cared for as he continued to make his sadistic approach. “Surrender your heart now to me, my thirteenth and final vessel, and open the door to the source of all light, darkness, and life itself!”

As the elderly master came within mere inches of skimming his heart, Sora was overcome by so much sheer, raw, pain that he almost thought it might end up killing him then and there. Which, all things considered, very well might have been a better fate for him than what Xehanort had in mind. And he was just about ready to submit himself to just as despicable of an end before something that was nothing short of a miracle happened.

Just as it seemed as though Xehanort had completely reached the Keybearer’s agonized heart, the entire white room was engulfed in the brightest of light. So intense was its radiance that it seemed to banish every speck of darkness in its path, from the observing, unknown members of Organization XIII sitting high upon their surrounding thrones, to even Master Xehanort himself. Sora felt control of his movements return to him in a full force wave, finally allowing him to fall to his knees and try to recover from the still-panging pain pulling on his heart, though thankfully it was finally starting to fade somewhat. He hadn’t the faintest idea as to what was going on, though he was aptly amazed upon taking a glance up to see that the light that had rescued him had condensed itself down into three vaguely human silhouettes. They stood between the Keybearer and a large, writing mass of immense, unimaginable darkness, though even so, they seemed to be guarding him from it, never letting its vicious tendrils touch him, despite its most aggressive efforts.

Amidst his own exhaustion and confusion, Sora didn’t know what to make of any of this, though his dumbfounded shock only grew tenfold as the practically blinding glow surrounding one of the three figures finally dulled a bit, making their identity instantly clear.

“R-Roxas?!” Sora gasped, recognizing his Nobody even from behind without a moment’s doubt.

Roxas smiled as he glanced back at his other, his manner strong and sturdy and confident in every place where Sora’s currently wasn’t. “Look sharp!” he encouraged, intentionally calling back to one of their few, all too brief encounters in the past.

“I-I… I don’t understand,” Sora shook his head, aptly baffled to the point that he didn’t even notice that his hair, eyes, and hands had all returned to normal. “How… how are you… w-what are you doi-”

“Its ok,” Roxas interjected, still calm even despite the swirling shadows behind him. “You don’t have to understand. All you need to know is that you’re safe. We’re not about to let him take over, are we?”

By now, the other two figures alongside Roxas had cleared somewhat, though Sora couldn’t make out much of their features outside of the fact that one of them seemed to be a girl around their age, while the other looked conspicuously like his Nobody. They both smiled and nodded warmly in response to the question Roxas posed, and though he turned towards the Keybearer for a similar answer, he was largely hard pressed to give one at a moment like this.

“Roxas, I-I… I’m sorry,” Sora began, going off on another tangent entirely. “I don’t know what’s going on, b-but I want you to—no, I need you to know that I’m gonna find a way to get you out of my heart. I-I don’t care what I have to do, I will do it. I promise.”

Roxas’ smile finally faded at this, concern and surprise washing over his features instead, almost as if he hadn’t expected such an earnest, resolved vow from his other. He paused, glancing back at the darkness he was helping to hold back, then to the two unknown figures flanking him, before finally looking back to Sora himself with a solemn, serious sort of expression. “Sora…” Roxas said with what almost sounded like a sad sigh. “I… t-thank you, but… you don’t have to do that.”

“What are you talking about?” Sora asked, compelled by the recollection of all of the memories his Nobody had shared with him, directly or not. “Of course I do! Y-you deserve to be free and with your friends and-”

“And so do you,” Roxas countered, glancing away. “Which is why, at least for now, I need to stay here. All three of us do.”

“W-what…?” was all the Keybearer could manage as tears started to well up in his eyes.

“You kept us safe, Sora,” the dark-haired girl said with a smile, her eyes still largely concealed as she turned to him slightly.

“You gave us a second chance when we needed it most,” the other boy added, his voice sounding almost identical to Roxas’ though they weren’t quite the same.

“You protected our hearts inside of your own,” Roxas finished, his soft, thankful smile returning. He extended a hand out to Sora, clearly with the intent of helping him up, though the gesture seemed to imply so much more. “Now let us return the favor. I know you’ll find a way to save us someday, but right now, we’re going to do everything we can to save you.”

The distant darkness finally seemed to wither and fade away at this proclamation, as if repulsed by such a powerful promise. Yet even despite this, Sora was far from satisfied by what it really meant. “B-but Roxas, I-I-”

“It’s like I told you before, Sora,” Roxas continued, his tone bittersweet as he once again implored his other to take his hand. “It has to be you. Which is why it’s time for you to wake up. Are you ready?”

Instantly, Sora understood the many layers behind this question, knowing exactly what Roxas was asking if he was ready for: to begin his search for the thirteen Keys, to find a way to bring the guardians of light together, to face the darkness that had somehow found a way to pervade even his own heart. These were all great feats that, before, the Keybearer hadn’t felt entirely prepared for. But with his Nobody in his heart and his friends standing by his side, for perhaps the first time, he felt as though he really could pull it all off after all.

“Y-yes,” Sora said as firmly as he could, finally taking Roxas’ hand. “I’m ready.”

“Good,” Roxas’ smile grew at this and the two figures standing at his sides took on the same supportive look as light converged around all three of them once again. “Then I’ll see you soon,” The immense glow began to overtake Sora as well, blinding him from everything but the warm, pure, healing warmth welling up inside his chest as both other and Nobody reaffirmed their separate vows one final time.

“I promise.”

***

Sora awoke with a start, darting up on his hammock so quickly that he almost fell out of it entirely. His heart was racing, his breathing short and his brow covered in a cold sweat as he tried to regather his lost bearings. As frantic as his initial waking seconds were, he hadn’t even noticed that both Donald and Goofy were in the sleeping quarters as well. Both of them more or less toppled over on top of each other thanks to the scare their young companion’s sudden awakening had given them. And as caught up in recovering from everything he’d just been through as he was, Sora didn’t pay either of them much mind until they finally spoke up to garnish his attention.

“S-Sora?” Donald began first, his former frustration replaced with deep, genuine concern. “Are… are you ok?”

“Huh?” Sora drew in a sharp breath as he turned towards the pair. Briefly, he took a look around, finally realizing that he was back in the Gummi Ship, no signs of Xehanort and the Organization, or Roxas and his two unknown companions in sight. “W-was…. Was all of that just… just a dream…?”

“Must’ve been a nightmare from the looks of it,” Goofy noted with a fretful frown. “And a pretty bad one too. We came down here to check on you ‘cause we heard ya yelling and kickin’ around, even from all the way upstairs.”

“And then when we made it down here, we couldn’t get you to wake up!” Donald added just as intently. He paused for a beat, sighing before looking to the Keybearer with a rare sense of gentle earnestly. “Listen, Sora. We know you’ve had plenty of nightmares during our adventures before….”

“And you know we’ve never hounded ya to tell us about ‘em unless you were good and ready to,” Goofy added patiently.

“But this time, we need to know,” the magician continued, his tone calm yet stern all the same. “What kind of nightmare did you just have that was so bad you woke up from it crying?”

“Crying?” Sora repeated, confused. “I’m not-” He stopped short as he skimmed his fingers right below his eye, feeling the warm wetness of undeniably fresh fallen tears there. “Oh,” was all he said, surprised by just how heavy his supposed nightmare had hit him emotionally.

“So… w-what happened?” Goofy asked cautiously. “Is it anything we can help with?”

At first, Sora said nothing, still worn and overwhelmed by about a thousand different thoughts and feelings at once. His heart was free of the pain that had oppressed it in his dream, but even so, Xehanort’s horrific threats rung in his mind as loud and clear as ever. Before now, he had been secure in his doubts that he would end up becoming the Organization’s last missing vessel; but now, after everything he’d heard and seen and experienced, his doubts were starting to fall towards the exact opposite end of the spectrum instead. Was there indeed a chance that it was all true, that he really was starting the long fall into inescapable darkness, right into Xehanort’s hands after all? The evidence pointing towards it—the incident in Olympus, the events unfolded in Twilight Town, the mysterious damage sustained to his Keyblade, even the ominous, alarming dream he had just been pulled out of—certainly seemed to be stacking up against his favor. But even if it was true—which he was starting to realize, it very well could be—that was a defeat he wasn’t quite ready to admit yet, nor would he ever be. Doing so would only let Xehanort gain an easy win, and after his brief, harrowing encounter with the elderly master—real or not—that was something Sora refused to let happen.

“I… I don’t think so,” Sora finally responded to Goofy’s question, honest with this first point, though he quickly resorted to another convenient lie as he continued. After all, if this was a battle he really had to fight after all, the last thing he wanted was to drag his friends along into it with him. After all, Roxas had already decided to take this immense struggle up for him, a fact that the Keybearer reminded himself of all too painfully well. “I-it was just… I-I guess I was still worried about what might happen if we don’t find all of the Keys in time, so my dream—nightmare—was about… that.”

Both the captain and the magician’s expressions went stark with fear upon hearing this, both of them sharing the same sort of unspoken dread of that terrifying possibility as well. “Do… do you wanna… talk about it anymore?” Goofy asked apprehensively.

“Not really,” Sora responded truthfully, letting out a long sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. “It was kind of… a lot, if you know what I mean.”

Thankfully, both Donald and Goofy seemed to understand this implication, for neither of them pressed him any further on the matter. It was with a small pang of guilt that Sora realized he might have fooled both of them too well, but it was a necessary deception all the same. Even if he wanted to tell them about what he feared was starting to befall him, he had no idea where to even start, or how they might react. And besides, it wasn’t really like they had too much time to focus on what could still very well have been an unfounded fear altogether. They still had a supremely mission that they’d yet to even set out on, after all.

“So are you finally rested up and ready to go?” Donald asked, eyeing the Keybearer skeptically as he finally got up out of his hammock.

“Yep,” Sora affirmed with a genuine smile as he recalled the much-needed encouragement that had capped off what had otherwise been a miserable nightmare. Encouragement from Roxas himself, and the question that once again, now prompted him to action: “Are you ready?” “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” the magician huffed impatiently while the captain let out a small chuckle, both of them following their young companion back upstairs to the cockpit. “Then let’s actually start this mission for real this time!”

“I’m way ahead of you,” Sora nodded with a wide grin. Reaching a hand towards the stars outside, he summoned his Keyblade, choosing to ignore the dark crack somewhere on its surface. Regardless of whatever sort of hold or power Xehanort and the Organization believed they had over him, Sora was determined to not go down without the most intense fight he could muster against them. With so much at stake—the Keys, the worlds, his friends most of all—he had plenty worth fighting for. And he was sure that, with all of those things he cared so much about combined to inspire him, to push him forward and keep his heart strong and secure, then there was no way he would let himself fall.

“I’ll see you soon,” Roxas had said, a promise that Sora chose to believe with all his heart. A promise brimming with hope and comfort that someday, everything would finally be as it should, that all of the wrongs caused by Xehanort and his followers would at long last, be set right. And as far as the Keybearer was concerned, there was no better time to start righting those wrongs, then right here and now.

“Yeah,” he whispered to himself, pointing his Keyblade forward. A bright, familiar light surrounded its tip this time, bursting out beyond the ship’s cockpit and out into the vast expanse of space. There, it expanded, growing and glowing as it created exactly what the trio needed to move forward: a gate. Donald and Goofy cheered over this long-awaited progress, but Sora simply smiled as he took the reigns of the Gummi Ship’s controls, boldly, confidently steering towards whatever world awaited them in the first step of the daunting, daring adventure before them. “See you soon.”

#kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts 3 #kh fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfic #keys to the kingdom #jen writes #sora #donald #goofy #xehanort #young xehanort #roxas #xion #ventus #riku #kairi #square enix

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agcntvasqucz · 5 years

Text

Drabble 2/??

Well…this got a little dark. You’ve been warned.

Breathing raggedly through the pain, Susan dragged herself carefully along the floor, blood streaking along after her. She was clawing her way, ever so slowly, over to one of the few apparently running computer consoles. While trying not to draw Daxamite attention lest she fail in her attempt to fully lock the system down for any internal access, save Director override. And considering J’onn was gone, and Alex appeared to have escaped, well, the amount of people in this building that could do so, even under duress, was precisely nil.

Lifting her hand, the brunette pulled herself up with a muffled whimper, forehead pressing into the back of her arm as she struggled to get herself upright enough to read the screen. Her abdomen was on fire, each breath a fight in itself, let alone pulling herself across the room. The pain alone had her sweating heavily.

Blinking through the swimming field of her vision, she jabbed at each key quickly, racing against the blackness that has been hovering at the edges of her vision for her whole journey. Closing her eyes for a moment, the agent lowered her head with a pained noise, struggling to do anything but just lie down and die. Because she knew that was what was happening. She’d been in a similar position almost a decade ago. But that feeling…it doesn’t go away. It lingers.

Drip. Drip. Drip drip.

Forcing her eyes open once more, she watched as another tear slid from the end of her nose to strike the desktop.

Drip.

She was crying; it was mostly in pain, but fear left no small presence in her mind. She didn’t want to die, but she also refused to face the reaper with a failure under her belt.

Teeth gritting together, she forced her eyes to focus on the keys again, carefully keying in the proper codes to lock it all down tight. Unknowingly mouthing a soft prayer with each keystroke, stubbornly refusing to give up until the monitor flashed red, signifying her success and allowing her to give a soft laugh as she slowly slumped down to the floor, settling on her back as she stares at the ceiling.

Her eyes focused on some middle distance as she just let herself float away. Mind wandering through her memories, blissfully remembering. But always returning to one thing.

Pain.

So much pain.

“–san? Susan?”

Susan gave a start, looking across at the bespectacled blonde woman sitting in an armchair across from her in surprise.

“Oh. Uh. Sorry, Doctor, I was distracted,” the brunette said, lifting her hand to rub her eyes with the heel of her palm, “You were saying?”

“I wasn’t. You were, remember? You were telling me about the incident.”

Susan looked down, then, pain playing across younger looking features as she tried to order her thoughts. But she couldn’t help but let her eyes focus on the abrupt end of her left thigh, the stark white bandages winding around the stump a shock to her system.

Which was probably why the Corps mandated therapy.

“It was a prisoner transfer. The FOB caught a few key faces of the insurgent detachment in the area. I filled in for Captain Grummel…he kicked my ass in poker the night before,” she said softly, not once pulling her eyes from the bandages, “We were ambushed on the outskirts of Kandahar. RPG took out the lead humvee. I can still smell the fire burning them.”

She fell silent again, being swept up in those very memories again. The echoes of gunfire ringing in her ears; the stench of burning fuel, flesh, and steel; screaming and shouting, her own voice amongst it all.

“Captain?”

“I apologize, Mary,” Susan said, “I don’t think I’m all here today.”

“That’s alright, Susan. You don’t have to be one hundred percent all the time, you know. No one can do that. But back to what you were saying.”

“Yeah. It was a pretty standard ambush, all things considered. We just weren’t expecting it. There hadn’t been any chatter. Nothing. It was supposed to be a quiet run. It wasn’t. That’s all there is to it. I don’t know what you expect to hear. It was hell, Doc. And I don’t think I’ll ever forget the pain, as long as I live.”

Gasping sharply, the agent forced her eyes back into focus, blinking as she stared at the ceiling of the city headquarters. Not back in the doctor’s office getting psychoanalyzed. That was a lifetime ago, and this was now.

But she was already slipping off again, getting drawn into another memory.

Wham!

Susan groaned from her place on the floor, taking a moment to just breathe in and center herself in spite of the fact that the young soldier was wiping the floor with her ass. She guessed that’s what her payment was for jumping right back in after getting a prosthetic instead of taking it slow.

So she was soon pushing herself back up, groaning at the protesting all of her joints were doing as she fixed him with a stony stare.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

His response was to grin and step toward her, his padded fists raised to protect his face. But not close enough together to manage, as she was more than happy to demonstrate with a jab that passed right through his defenses to land square on his nose, sending his eyes watering and his defenses closing right back up.

“Captain Vasquez,” a voice said behind her, distracting her just enough to catch a padded fist right on her cheekbone, driving her down to her knees again with a pained grunt. Blinking quickly, she watched as a speck of crimson landed on the floor. Hand lifting, she touched her bare fingertips to the skin around her eye, feeling gingerly where he’d gotten a good shot in only for them to come back stained with her blood.

“Oh, shit. Sorry ma’am, let me go get a medic,” the soldier said, his eyes widening slightly.

“No, don’t bother. Just grab me that towel, Sergeant,” Susan immediately said, waving his concern off and taking the proffered towel to press it to the new wound on her face as she struggled up to her unsteady feet. Her eyes were drawn to her superior officer, Major Lansbury, as well as a black man wearing all tactical blacks.

Approaching the pair, Susan furrowed her brow, giving the Major a nod as she did.

“Sir?”

“Captain Vasquez. I’d like you to meet Hank Henshaw. I believe I’ve found the solution to your situation.”

The man–Hank–extended his hand out to her, giving her a small nod as she took it. “I’ve heard great things about you, Captain. The Major here seems to do nothing but sing your praises. I’m inclined to take him at his word. Tell me…have you heard of the DEO…?”

Tears streamed from her eyes as she struggled to breathe through the pain, her breathing sounding loud in her own ears. She felt so cold now. Except her abdomen. That felt like it was on fire, burning through her and leaving molten liquid soaking into clothes. But the logical part of her brain told her it was the shock. The blood soaking into her clothes felt scorching against her skin–which was cold from the blood loss.

It didn’t take a genius long to note she wasn’t long for this world. Another few minutes or so before she was super critical. And a few more after that was the point of no return.

And she’d be in pain until the end, she guessed.

A loud roar caused Susan to give a slight start, eyes widening as her eyes landed on the form of what appeared to be a rhino-shaped pile of rocks. No sooner had the comparison entered her mind, than the rocks turned to look at her and snort.

Loudly.

Releasing another roar, it immediately started charging in her direction.

“Fuck! Shit!”

The agent spun quickly, booted feet pounding as she tried to get herself somewhere out of reach of the angry pile of rocks. Eyes fixed on a piping system that could definitely hold her weight, she allowed hope to fill her chest and a smile to cross over her features.

Just in time for pain to explode across her lower back as it caught up with her, ramming into her and tossing her body back over it’s own like a discarded Raggedy Ann Doll, sending her tumbling over and over in the air to end in a heap with a loud yelp.

“I’m gonna feel that in the morning.”

A strange noise caught her attention, as much as she had left anyway. Blinking her eyes open slowly–when had she closed them–the agent slowly turned her head to investigate the noise. Not that it did any good, considering the movement had been a glorified twitch.

She was done, she knew. This was likely the end of the line. She just never expected to feel quite this alone.

“We’ve got someone over here!”

A scorching hand was on her face then, gently cupping her cheek and coaxing her eyes open. Someone was speaking softly to her, but Susan couldn’t get herself to focus on them for the life of her.

“–an…with…Hey…close…eyes…stay with…hold…”

Then the darkness took her, and with it’s arrival, the pain was finally gone.

#◤drabble◢#◤blood tw◢#◤angst tw◢#◤gore tw◢

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rainbow-sides · 6 years

Text

Anomalies: Chapter Seventeen

Summary: Anomalies is about different reactions to grief and how four brothers each respond to the death of their mother. The oldest brother, Roman, gets custody of the twins, Patton and Virgil, and the youngest brother, Logan, after their mother’s death. Virgil is also trying to navigate through a multitude of anxiety disorders, including OCD and trichotillomania, with the help of his brothers and his therapist, Dr. Picani. But meanwhile, Roman isn’t sure he can handle the responsibility of taking care of his brothers, Logan doesn’t process loss in a way most people can understand, and Patton isn’t nearly as okay as he seems…

Warnings: Death of a parent, grief, cancer mention, mention of attempted suicide, mention of severe depression and self harm, gift-giving, food, Christmas.

For a list of the content warnings for the whole story as well as more information, please see this post. Please heed the warnings and stay safe.

Word Count: 3,236

Notes: This is mostly just the Christmas chapter, with bonus Remy! <3 ~Martin

Masterpost to All Chapters

“Don we now our gay apparel, eh?” Roman called, bounding into the living room wearing a slightly ugly rainbow Christmas sweater. He laughed at Logan and Virgil’s groans, and at Patton’s delighted squeal.

“Can't we just open presents?” Logan complained. “A fashion show is not necessary.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Roman tossed a package to each of his brothers. “Actually, a fashion show is absolutely necessary. Go on, I want to see you all wearing them!”

The tearing of wrapping paper filled the room. There were sounds of delight as everyone saw their sweaters. “Are these hand-knitted?!” Patton exclaimed.

“I didn't know you could knit,” Logan said, stroking the soft material and smiling.

“My friend Kelly from work taught me and helped me,” Roman explained. “I've been working on them for months.”

“They're beautiful,” Virgil said softly. “Thank you.”

Patton had already put his sweater on and ran over to hug Roman. “Thank you, I love it!”

Roman squeezed him tightly. “Love you, Pat.”

“My turn!” Logan scrambled to hand Patton a large, heavy package.

Patton opened it and looked at it confusedly for a second before his eyes widened. He pulled out a large, blue and grey plaid quilt. “Is it a weighted blanket?” he asked.

“Yeah, it's heavier than mine because they're supposed to be twenty percent of your body weight,” Logan said. “I thought...you might like one. They're grounding.”

Patton had sat down on the ground and was wrapping the blanket around him, an expression of pure contentment on his face. “It's so cozy and warm and soft,” he sighed happily. “Virgil, come share!”

Virgil slid under the corner of the blanket. “Oh, this is a nice one,” he said. “It is really soft, you're right.” He nestled down in the blanket next to Patton, closing his eyes.

“We're not getting them out of that anytime soon,” Roman laughed. The twins looked very comfortable. “Maybe you should've saved that one for last, Lo.”

“Perhaps you're right,” Logan said. “I do have a gift for you, too, but I think it would be better if I showed you later.”

Roman tilted his head. “Some big secret?”

“Yes, exactly. Can we give Virgil our present to him instead?” Logan suggested.

“If we can distract him from the blanket for long enough,” giggled Roman. He picked up the box under the tree that had Virgil’s present that he and Logan had gotten together.

Virgil reluctantly pulled his arms out of the blanket to take the box into his lap. “It's heavier than it looks,” he observed. He carefully sliced through the tape on the package with his fingernail and took the wrapping paper off in one piece. There was a long pause where he just stared at it. “Whoa,” he breathed.

Logan and Roman exchanged a glance. “Do you think he likes it?” Roman asked.

“Hm, I'm not sure,” Logan replied.

“I think he needs to tell us what he thinks,” Roman said, reaching out to poke Virgil. “Hello? Anybody home?”

“I...I wasn't expecting…”

“If you don't want it, give it back,” Roman teased.

“No, it's mine!” Virgil retorted, hugging the box to his chest. “Oh, my god, guys!” He looked close to tears.

“You better take lots of pictures with that,” Roman instructed. “That is a good camera.”

“Yeah, I know! I haven't...I haven't been taking many pictures lately,” Virgil confessed.

“I know.” Roman reached over and put his hand over Virgil’s. “This is so you start again. Okay?”

Virgil nodded. “I will, I promise. Oh, Roman, Logan, thank you!” He blinked his tears away and smiled. “I love it.”

“It was Logan's idea,” Roman made sure he knew. “I just provided some of the funds.”

Already opening up the box, Virgil said, “Its battery needs to be charged...but I should be able to start taking pictures tonight. Oh, it's beautiful!”

“I'm glad you like it!” Logan said.

“Here, this one is for you,” Virgil told him, handing him a thin, flat box. “I...um, it's from a while ago, but I gave it some new life.”

Logan opened the side of the box to slide the picture frame out. His face didn't give much away, but his eyes sparkled as he turned the frame around so everyone could see it. Roman recognized the picture as being from a photoshoot that Virgil had made them do at the beginning of his photography class last year. He had taken them all out to a field in the middle of the night, all of the brothers and their mom, and taken pictures of them sitting together with their backs to the the camera, holding hands and gazing up at the sky. They had to sit very still, Roman remembered, because Virgil had set the shutter speed slow enough to capture the light of the stars. They shone clearly in this photo, probably having been enhanced, and thin white lines had been added between some of the stars to form the constellations.

“It's alright,” Logan said in a small voice, but it meant so much more, and Virgil understood.

“Good, I'm glad.” Virgil looked at Roman and Patton. “I hope you like it, too, ‘cause you all get photos.”

“Well, hand them over!” Roman took the package that Virgil held out and opened it. “Ahh,” he breathed as he opened it. It was a very simple photo of himself sitting on the edge of the stage at the community theater, deep in thought and not aware of the camera. The golden lighting and red curtains behind him made the picture seem more dramatic than it probably had been at the time. Roman’s shape was slightly out of focus, more the background than the subject. The silhouette of three people sitting in the audience was the foreground of the photo, and Roman recognized their shapes as being Logan, Patton, and their mother. The rest of the audience was empty. Roman didn't even remember sitting there like that. He had no idea that Virgil had taken his picture. “It's really nice, Virge. Thank you.”

Virgil gave him a thumbs up and a smile, and then passed Patton the third package. It was a smaller frame, and Patton stared at it for a long time before he showed the others. Virgil watched him carefully, pulling the blanket tighter so he could snuggle closer to his twin.

Roman didn't say anything when he saw the photo, just nodded. There was a sudden lump in his throat.

“Your first homecoming,” Logan stated.

In the photo, Patton was standing with a bright smile, holding their mother's hands as she laughed about something. He was wearing the dress he had fought the administration to be able to wear to the dance in support of their trans and nonbinary friends at school, and she was just in a t-shirt and jeans, but she looked beautiful. She had always been beautiful, even when the cancer had made her thin and weary, her hair fallen out from the chemotherapy. But this was before the cancer has touched her--or perhaps it was already there, and they just weren't aware of it yet. Her diagnosis had come just a couple months after this picture had been taken. It captured a moment of pure joy, and Patton stroked the glass of the frame lovingly and longingly. He didn't seem to have any words. After a few more seconds, he turned to bury his face in Virgil's shoulder, hugging him so tightly that Virgil coughed.

“Patty, I'm glad you like it, but I can't breathe!” he yelped.

“I love you so much,” Patton whispered, barely audible. He loosened his grip. Virgil got his arms out to hug him back.

Roman waited a minute, then said gently, “Patty, are you gonna give us your gifts or should I grab them from under the tree myself?”

“You do it,” Patton responded, muffled. He was crying a little bit, and Virgil rocked him back and forth.

“It's okay, Patty, we can wait,” Roman said, sliding closer to the twins and touching Patton’s shoulder. “Take as long as you need.”

“N-no, you get the p-presents,” Patton stumbled. “Yours is from both of us.”

Roman took the gift bag addressed to him and opened it, gasping at the beautiful notebook and pen set inside. “Oh, it's gorgeous! Oh, thank you, I'm gonna write such good words in there, you have no idea.”

Patton was smiling and wiping his eyes, sniffling a little. “Glad you like it.”

“Someday when you're rich and famous, you better not auction those away,” Virgil teased. “Unless it's for charity, I guess. ‘This is the pen that the great Roman Sanders wrote the first lines of his award-winning script with!’”

Roman laughed. “I wouldn't auction it away, don't worry.” He handed Logan the other gift bag. “What's in here, hm?”

There was an actual squeal of delight that came from Logan's mouth as he pulled the book out of the bag. “Patton, this is wonderful, it's exactly what I wanted!”

“May it bring you hours of joy from reading it,” Patton told him.

Logan was already flipping through the pages of the collection of Sherlock Holmes stories, making ecstatic remarks about each one he came to. They all listened fondly as he talked. Virgil opened his gift from Patton, putting the sweatshirt on and smelling the purple candles with a content expression.

Roman eventually managed to drag them all to the kitchen to make pancakes, which was almost a disaster because one of them burnt so badly it started smoking, and they narrowly avoided setting off the fire alarm. It turned out fine, however, and the pancakes were delicious. Christmas movies followed, starting with The Nightmare before Christmas by Virgil’s request.

Halfway through It's A Wonderful Life, the house phone rang. Roman flinched. Hardly anyone called them there.

“Are you gonna answer it?” Patton whispered. “We can pause the movie.”

“It's fine, you don't have to pause it.” Roman wriggled out from underneath the excessive amount of blankets they were cuddled under and ran to get the phone before it stopped ringing. “Sanders residence.”

“Hey, girl, merry Christmas.”

Roman bit his lip. “Rem, this isn't the best time.”

“Please?” Remy begged. “Please, you haven't answered my calls in months and I just wanna talk for a few minutes.”

“Okay, okay! Fine. Hold on.” Roman came back over to the couch. “It's Remy,” he whispered. “Don't pause the movie, I'll be back in a few minutes.” They all gave him a sympathetic look. Roman fled to his bedroom and closed the door behind him, sitting on the bed. “Yeah, Remy. I'm here.”

“Girl, oh my goodness, it's nice to hear your voice,” Remy sighed. “You okay?”

“I'm…” Roman hesitated. “Yeah, I'm okay.”

“Okay, I know you've...had a lot going on,” Remy said. “And I know you've needed to spend your time taking care of your baby bros. But...I've been kinda worried about you. All of you. Can I have any sort of an update?”

Roman clutched the phone tightly and said nothing. This was hard. Really hard. It was hard to talk to Remy after everything that had happened between them.

“Ro, honey, listen. I'm good with giving you as much space and as much time as you need, I promise. I told you that before, and I'm telling you again now. I'm waiting, for as long as it takes.”

“I know,” Roman managed. “And I love you for it. You deserve better, someone who can actually be there for you--"

“Don't you start that again,” Remy warned him.

“Sorry.”

“It's okay, girl, it's okay.” Remy paused. “How's Patton? Poor baby.”

“He's doing better,” Roman answered.

“Yeah? Oh, that's good, that's good, I've been so worried about the kid. Miss him. I see Virge sometimes when I'm helping out in the school theater, but he doesn't talk much. And how's the baby genius?” asked Remy.

“Logan's doing pretty good.”

“And how are you?” Remy said seriously. “Roman. Be honest, ‘kay?”

“Rem...if I'm honest, I'm gonna start breaking down on the phone with you,” confessed Roman, his voice shaking. “I can't talk, not really. Not yet.”

“Come see me soon,” Remy said softly. “Come see me when you can talk, really talk. I'll be here."

“I know. I know.” Roman swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Merry Christmas, Rem.”

“Yeah, girl. Merry Christmas. Love you.”

“I love you.” Roman hung up quickly before he could start crying. He closed his eyes. After a minute, he stood up and went back to the living room. He slid underneath the blankets next to Patton and grabbed his hand, fixing his eyes on the movie.

“You okay?” Patton whispered softly.

“Hardly,” replied Roman.

“Is Remy okay?”

Roman squeezed his hand. “He's fine. Shhh, talk later.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise. It's okay.” Roman smiled reassuringly at him and kept watching the movie.

Late that night, after Roman had talked to Patton a little bit about the phone call and everyone was supposed to have gone to bed, Logan came into his room.

“Hey, nerd, what's up?” Roman yawned.

“Did you forget? I have a present for you,” Logan said.

Roman eyed him suspiciously. Logan didn't seem to be carrying anything. “Okay, where is it?”

“It's not an object.”

“Okay...what is it, then? You've sufficiently piqued my curiosity.”

“Promise you won't be angry?”

“Uhhh...tell me what it is, first.” Now Roman was slightly worried.

“It's just, I did it without your permission--but if it's not something you want, it's easy to back out, I promise, I did a lot of legal research, and nothing is actually signed, of course.”

“Logan,” Roman said calmly. “What did you do?”

“I got you a book deal.”

“A...book deal.”

“With a publisher. A small publisher, but a legitimate one. Like I said, I did a lot of research. And you can back out of the contract at any time.”

“Okay, first of all, how?” Roman demanded. “You're fourteen!”

“I registered myself as a literary agent with a company that didn't have an age restriction, and I communicated with the publishers only via email,” Logan answered. “I, well, I got the idea from School Story, by Andrew Clements.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” Roman scoffed. “Is this legal?”

“Morally dubious, but technically legal. And the publisher wants your book, Roman. They aren't supposed to sound eager, but the way she was talking about how much promise your novel has and how much she liked your writing, and the deal she offered you...of course you should look at the contract before you sign it. I just…” Logan shifted where he stood. “Perhaps this was a bad idea.”

“Logan,” Roman said softly. “How long have you been working on this?”

“Since I finished editing the first draft three weeks ago. Well, longer than that, actually.”

“And there's a publisher who wants to publish...my novel.”

“Yes. It's a very good deal for a first novel, too, and above average royalties, and…” Logan was fiddling with his thumbs, looking rather nervous as he swayed from side to side. “But as I told you, you don't have to take it. I just got the opportunity for you.”

Roman was trying to wrap his head around this. Part of him wanted to chastise Logan for doing something like this behind his back. Another part of him just wanted to pull Logan into a big hug. “You think it's good enough to publish?” he asked.

“Not only do I think it's good enough to publish, the publisher agrees with me,” Logan said.

“My silly little novel?” Roman checked. “Are you sure you didn't accidentally send them something else?”

“I'm positive. Your novel. A publisher wants it.”

“And you did this for me.” Now Roman was getting a bit choked up, which made Logan seem even more nervous.

“Roman?”

“Come here,” Roman demanded, and he wrapped Logan in the tightest hug he could muster. “Come here.”

“So you'll take the deal?” Logan squeaked, clearly having a hard time breathing.

Roman let him go. “I'll have to look at it first, and actually talk to this publisher myself.”

“Of course!”

“And under no circumstances should you ever do something like this again. I thought we were done keeping secrets?”

Logan crossed his arms. “I thought it didn't count if it was a present?”

“Finding loopholes now, huh? You'd make a good lawyer if you weren't so set on being a medical researcher and college professor, buddy.” Roman nudged him playfully. “Okay. You're gonna show me everything tomorrow morning. But right now, we're going to bed. Night, Lo.”

“Then...you're okay with the present?” Logan checked.

Roman’s face split into a grin. “It's the most thoughtful present I've ever gotten.”

“I didn't do much,” muttered Logan. “You're the one who wrote the book, I simply made someone else see the potential.”

“And you edited it and encouraged me and had faith in me even when I didn't.” Roman poked his little brother's nose. “We make a really good team, huh?”

Logan gave him a tiny smile and backed out of the room. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Lo. Sleep well.” Roman laid down on his bed in the darkness. He reached for his cell phone and hovered his finger over Remy’s contact for a minute before putting it aside again.

He and Remy had been together for almost two years before they had parted ways. Remy was Roman’s first kiss, first love, first everything. They had a friendship based on trust, which had been hard for Remy to form at first. It had broken Roman's heart to tell him that he needed space, that he didn't have the time or the energy to maintain their relationship when it became clear that his mother wasn't going to make it, and that he was going to be responsible for his brothers.

Remy, wonderful Remy, had understood. He had told Roman he would wait for as long as it took until Roman could be with him again. They were both in the production of Singin’ in the Rain even after they had broken up, with Remy absolutely nailing the role of Cosmo even when Roman was struggling to balance rehearsals and family, and Remy had been the one to tell the cast that Roman had to quit after Roman had officially told the director. Roman was so grateful to him for that.

He had fallen apart in Remy’s arms only once, a week after the funeral. Roman had left work and found himself driving to Remy’s house. The door had opened before Roman had even knocked, and Roman let out everything that he had been holding in because he couldn't let his brothers see how much he was struggling. They had to believe he was strong, or they would have been so scared.

“I can do it, I can take care of them,” he had insisted, sobbing and barely able to stand. “I just need to...I just…”

Remy had pulled him inside and held him as he collapsed to the floor. He didn't say much, but he didn't have to. Roman only needed someone he could break down around, someone with whom it was safe to show his weakness. Remy drove him home a few hours later, long after sunset when the other three boys were all asleep. Roman didn't know exactly how long Remy had sat with him. He remembered falling asleep to Remy rubbing his back, and the next morning, there was a text saying that Remy’s ma had picked him up and brought him back home.

Roman hadn't replied. Virgil was the only one who talked to Remy much after that, since he occasionally drove him home from school. Resolving to at least text Remy tomorrow, Roman closed his eyes.

Hope you enjoyed! It’s been a while since I posted, I was just having a hard time finding the time to post over the past couple weeks because I’ve been so busy doing adult stuff. <3 ~Martin

My general taglist

@a-lexicon-of-words @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @sassy-in-glasses @iamsilentwolf @theshipqueenarrives @alurea-actually @haikyuupaladin @my-happy-little-bean @faithfulcat111 @iris-sanders-athena @riverblujay @faacethefacts @sushipug43 @decaffeinatedpersonnel @finger-gunsss @wicked-universe @escapingslowly @greeneggsandham1998 @blue-fluffy-dragon @fuzzypurplecloud @anuninspiredpoet @justanotherpurplebutterfly @insultme-notmyfandoms @your-username-is-unavailable @candiukas-deactivated20180808 @spectacled-renegade @ocotopushugs @runawaysketch97 @unikornavenger @generously-sweet-asexual @icecoldparadise @nerdygeekyscience @starjames-pma @jamiecambrera @lunareclipse-13 @shesavampirequeen @theboywhodaredtofangirl @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @k9cat @wilford-woofstache @generalfandomfabulousness @echomist13 @a-whole-lot-of-screaming @ninjago2020 @danielscupoftea @the-fandoms-are-takin-over @melorabarton @alextheodd @the-better-bard @aidenneedstogetalife @vulnerablevirgil @trust-me-i-just-get-weirder @romanssippycup @journalanxiety @shadowsoul357 @dr-gloom @heck-im-lost @otaku-marijane @starryfirefliesbloggo @lienlovesshadowhunters @dontaskmyfandomidontknoweither @everyday-emo-stuff @bi-shy-and-ready-to-die @interesyvrany @bestestwaffle @today-only-happens-once @5-second-cookies @vigilantvirgil @evilmuffin @ajdraws0430 @youreverydayinternethobo

Anomalies taglist

@i-will-physically-fight-you @alextheodd @a-lexicon-of-words @cinderlunarcyborg @justamassivenerd @quietdeerfan @haikyuupaladin @anonymous-at-midnight @toriwithacamera @k9cat @anuninspiredpoet @afilhadehades-blog @logicallyanxious-morallyromantic @akiraaria @drunken-ghost @hanramz-the-fander @callboxkat @blubblubfish @spectacled-renegade @fillyourteacup @im-a-bin-child @keys117 @brikcsandbones @jadekitten1 @too-queer-for-the-binary @arandomkoalainaustralia @cinnnamonrollpatton @infinityonthot @romanssippycup @kirsten-the-freak @ab-artist @super-magical-wizard @illiani @angels-are-beautiful @dailylogandoodle @merlybird500 @imherefortheheckofit @moonfang03

#anomalies #ts sides fic #remy sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #my writing

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