#Two halves one dead one alive both waiting to be whole again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoeplessl0nging · 4 months

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Moonglow and Sunspots

The moon and sun are two halves of a whole, forever intertwined in the dance of love and light. What is dead may never die and the music waits for no one, so why bother waiting for a "right" when the perfect harmony was there all along? This is the song of Julie and Luka. [5.6k words]

essentially this is a Julie/female!Luke fic, since im a sucker for jatp || cross-posted on ao3

A gentle tune resonated through the garage, the gentle strumming of the acoustic guitar weaving a melodic web of notes. Julie sighed and leant back against the couch. Plush pillows and old blankets pressed against her skin like a hug. She closed her eyes and soaked in the energy of the room. Her hands folded across her belly, fidgeting with her rings and tracing over the edges of her nails.

Reggie was quietly going through the bags of stuff in the loft, sorting piles of clothes and other stuff occasionally marvelling at one of the finds with an “Oh, I remember that!” or sharing an anecdote of the item. Alex was out, gone somewhere Julie knew not.

Luca was the one playing the guitar, humming along to herself before momentarily pausing to scribble something down in her notebook-songbook, like her dream journal. Julie watched her move from the corner of her eye, the slight crinkle to her brow, the way she’d worry her lip and fumble with the pen from time to time, slipping through her phantom fingers. Fingers that always moved so naturally, with such a practised ease across the frets and strings of the guitar.

The world beyond their studio, her mom’s studio, Sunset Curve’s studio, was dark, crickets chirped away in the garden. Warm golden lights, from both fairy lights and scattered floor lamps, dim and friendly gleamed against the windows, off the glossy white finish of the freshly painted-still drying grand piano. Julie blinked again, staring up at the floating furniture.

It was nice to have music back in her life again, even if she’d had to be dragged back to it, kicking and screaming by three ghosts ever so passionate about the topic. She smiled slightly, something sweet and sad and bitter all at once – if her mom had met them, the charming ghost band Julie had begun to think of as hers, adorable Reggy, sweet Alex, and passionate Luka, Julie was certain she’d love them too.

Luka cleared her throat. “Jules, are you napping or can I run this by you?”

The curly haired girl blinked blearily, though she sat up against the couch and nodded her head. “Go for it, Lu.”

Luka’s lips rose, bearing her pearly teeth in the beginnings of a grin. She was pretty all of the time, but it was her smile that made her face come alive. - When she smiled that the world stopped. When she smiled, Julie suddenly found herself out of breath.

“Okay, so, working on a new song. Maybe for our next gig or whenever?” She screwed her nose up slightly, and shook her head, Julie furrowed her brow, she huffed out a breath and sat up only to lean forward, resting an elbow on her knee. “So what I’m thinking is..”

“You guys haven’t heard of Paramore?” Julie’s heart dropped from her chest to her feet. Flynn’s sudden startled-shocked-hurt shout carried across the garage, their studio, at the words of her best friend.

Reggie’s brow furrowed, “Who are they?”

“What about MCR?” Flynn cut in sharply. The ghosts all shook their heads, Julie mimicked the motion.

She put her hand over her heart and asked the empty space around the garage, “Panic! at the Disco? I mean before they split and Brendan Urie made it all suck.”

“No.” Julie relayed again, though she asked her own. “Good Charlotte?”

They all shook their heads.

“What do you mean no? I thought they formed in 1995?”

Luka raised her shoulders and threw herself onto her couch. “Yeah, we formed in 1991, but we only released our debut album the same year we died, Julie.”

“Oh, yeah.” The words tasted like ash on her tongue. How could she keep forgetting the whole being dead thing?

“Sorry, sometimes it just feels like I’ve known you all forever, I forget you’ve missed out on the last 25 years of music.”

“Twenty five years!” Flynn shouted in shock. “They haven’t started catching up on music yet?! Julie, I thought you’d’ve got them all caught up by now.”

“No, I haven’t yet.” Julie replied, a bashful look on her face. She ran a hand through her curls, pastel nails scratching her scalp.

Luka poofed behind her, the sudden appearance a cold explosion of supernatural force. She smiled at Julie as she leaned over her shoulder. “Still, it’s sweet.”

Alex nodded, as did Reggie, though it was the blonde ghost that spoke. “Feels like we’ve known you forever too.”

Her chest filled with a fuzzy feeling. They were saying she felt like one of them. Like a real part of the band, not a new member or a means to an end, they were saying she was family.

Flynn waved her hand, pacing back and forth, parallel to the studio doors. “Julie, you know what this means?”

Julie had the audacity to shake her head.

Her best friend made a hurt expression, exclaiming. “They don’t know Beyonce, or Kanye or Taylor Swift! Alicia Keys, Lady Gaga, Rihanna, Britney Spears, all missing from their mindspace of pop culture and music experiences! The works of Florence Welch, SZA and Ethel Cain mean nothing to them. They never got to listen to good kid, m.A.A.d city or any other Kendrick album or any indie rock or, or, midwest emo.”

“Hey! I’ve listened to Texas is the Reason.” Reggie cut in, though Flynn could not hear or see him. Luka snickered and Alex whacked the back of her head, as if to scold her for laughing at him. Julie rolled her eyes. Ghosts would be ghosts.

She kept speaking, however, “They’ve never heard of One Direction, or 5sos, or Halsey or Demi Lovato or fucking Hannah Montanna. They’ve never seen High School Musical! They’re from a pre-Hamilton- No, a pre-Wicked world.”

Alex screwed up his face. “What the fuck is pre-hamilton meant to mean? Is it like an illness?”

Luka snorted out a laugh, brilliant like the sun in her exclamation. Once she stifled the cackles back into something manageable she said. “No, it’s a poster in the back of Julie’s closet, near this other one with the coloured robot lions and cartoon people.”

“What were you doing in my closet?” She asked sharply, brow quirked and arms folded over her chest, interrupting Flynn’s impassioned rant. Julie could feel Flynn’s eyes boring into the back of her head in something akin to confusion, yet she chose to ignore it.

The ghost girl looked guilty, like a puppy caught doing something it shouldn’t have been doing. “Nothing.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, sure you were Lu.”

“Sorry.”

“Flynn’s right though, guys.” Julie glanced at Flynn, a look of shared knowing passing between their minds. “You’ve never heard You’ve got the Dirtee Love, it needs to be fixed.”

“That sounds like something friends shouldn’t be talking to each other about.” Alex screwed up his face.

Luka snickered again, though she just shrugged when Julie gave her a glare.

Reggie waved a hand at both Luka and Alex, “So, we get a ghost pop-culture montage. Let’s go.”

Julie gave the nod as she turned to the other girl in the studio. Flynn’s lips split into a grin and she pulled her braids back into a ponytail. “This is going to be fun.”

The three phantoms spared an anxious-reluctant-excited look between each other.

It was a hell of music, movies, pop culture recap videos and Youtube drama videos. Several hours of the “key figures” of the last half of the 90s, 2000s, 2010s and several more blasting arguably “the most culturally significant albums and music videos in this generation’s history.” As Flynn had so eloquently put it before subjecting everyone to Jojo Siwa’s Boomerang.

Julie had nearly died of laughter at the look of absolute horror on the phantom’s faces.

“We’re going to haunt you for this.” Reggie deadpanned. But by 1:13, Alex had a little grin on his face, barely holding back his own chuckles. Luka was still too stunned to speak.

Alex clicked his tongue, “You know what? She reminds me of Carrie.”

Julie snorted an ugly laugh, a cackle breaching her throat. How she wished Flynn could have heard it too.

The other girl looked at her in confusion. She laughed more trying to explain it. Julie couldn’t get the words out around her giggles, eventually just pointing to the screen and breathlessly stating, “Carrie.”

Flynn chuckled too, a hand clapping over her mouth as it sent her face first into the ground.

Thankfully, her best friend recovered faster from the joke, so that by the time it was over, she’d shifted the group back to the real music that defined the 2000s and 2010s, as well as a healthy mix of their upcoming and/or underground favourites, before they made the transition into movies and TV shows, some of which had so conveniently packaged away by other people into best moments compilations or character x being iconic for x minutes straight.

Julie and Flynn had made the excuse of a sleepover to her dad, said excuse also worked as an adequate reason to lock Carlos out of the garage when he came to harass them. It would be a bit weird to try and talk to the ghosts around him. What if he tried to play exorcist again?

They were curled in a blanket fort, the two living girls repainting their nails and talking quietly as they absentmindedly supervised the ghosts.

Alex had joined in on the Britney Spears choreo in the music videos, much to everyone who could perceive him’s amusement.

Reggie and Alex had in particular enjoyed Glee, though all three had been fixated on the screen as Flynn had played the video of Kurt and Mercedes performing 4 minutes. Julie had filed that information away for later.

Luka had sung along to Check Yes Juliet at the top of her lungs when it had come up on shuffle, and also to Stupid for You earlier. But now, Luka was completely and entirely fixated on the screen as they were half way through Pitch Perfect, a Lorde album playing in the background on an old cd player that her mom had stashed away. Julie had smiled sadly at the dahlia stickers on it.

Reggie had shed his leather jacket and was scribbling stuff down in a little notebook, having hijacked Julie’s old ipod to listen to After Laughter with one earbud, though he’d glance up to the screen every now and then.

It was quiet, homely, like those sleepovers where you barely had to speak but were still understood. The ones where you could do your own thing but still hang out together without feeling bad.

The sunset glimmered golden and pink and violet, casting the room in a dusky orange glow. The pale lilac of Julie’s bedroom walls washed out as the sun spread out against the sky. It was quiet, sort of, she laid flat on her stomach on her soft bed, eyes closed and in that state of half-asleep, a pen scratched at the paper with a fury.

It had been hours. Hours of silence, yet she was not alone. Out of the corner of her eyes, Julie spied Luka, kicking her legs back and forth, chewing on the end of her pen. She’d been there when Julie had left for school that morning, asking for somewhere quiet to work. Julie had let her in with a smile, and she had been there when she’d gotten home.

Though the ghost girl had greeted her with an absent smile and a few soft words, there was little else. Julie sighed loudly, pressing her face closer to her comforter. Luka just kept writing away. She’d already finished all her homework, spent at least an hour messaging Flynn non-stop, responded to Nick’s texts and scrolled through all her social media aimlessly, she’d even organised her pinterest – hell, it was almost dinner, and yet Luka still remained, writing with the same fervour, writing like she was running out of time.

She twiddled her fingers and peeked at the girl from the corner of her eye. Would it be rude to interrupt her? Maybe, but Julie gave in to the impulse. Luka would understand. They had that kind of easy going connection, anyways. Her dark brow furrowed. “Lu, you alright?”

“Hmm, yeah? Why, what’s up, Jules?” Luka turned her head instantaneously, sitting up with a goofy grin on her lips. Her phantom joints popped and crunched, she winced at the sound.

“You haven’t moved all day, have you?” Julie said, worrying her lip.

“I’ve been here all day?” She asked innocently, like it was nothing out of the normal. After a painfully long second, realisation crept over her. Dark honey coloured eyes widened, her jaw dropped.

Julie sat up on her bed, “Yeah, it’s seven o’clock. Aren’t you hungry?”

Luka shrugged. “No, not really.”

“That’s not healthy.” The words slipped bluntly from her tongue. She picked at her fingers. God, why did I say that? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

A half-smile bore from her lips, “Julie, baby, I’ve been dead for 25 years. That’s not exactly healthy either.”

For some reason, the comment made her snort out a laugh. It wasn’t that funny, yet it made it all the better, but at the same time it also made a part of her wilt, a flower of sadness blooming in her chest.

She had been dead for 25 years, she should have been 42 with a successful music career and a partner and maybe even kids. Her mind darkened, sullen storms behind her eyes as Julie thought to herself of everything that could have been. Luka was robbed of her life too early. Instead of living out her future, she was naught but a memory of the past. A ghost living on, literally laying on the floor in her bedroom. A coffin cracked since the gates were barred.

Julie’s smile felt sour on her face, yet she kept her grin. Luka smiled at the grin on her face and for a moment it felt a little more genuine.

Luka sat up, hands running through her long dark brown hair. It was always so soft looking, and just the perfect amount of mess and style, it was so unfair. She just wanted to run her hands through it. Julie pursed her lips. Luka’s expression flickered.

“Whatcha working on?” She asked, shrugging her shoulders, her mom’s old silver cardigan slipping down her forearms.

The other girl’s cheeks turned rosy, and she shut the book tightly. She waved a hand, “Oh, nothing.”

Oh really? Julie thought to herself as she raised a brow, she tapped her chin pensively. “Then what have you been doing all day?”

“Little bits of songs, some lyrics, some melodies, honestly, just whatever I can, ‘m excited for our next gig – it's got me inspired, I guess.” Luka shrugged, her tone almost bashful. She smoothed down her Nirvana shirt. She wasn’t wearing her beanie today.

Julie smiled at her. “Cool.”

The other girl nodded and responded with a question of her own. “How was your day?”

Julie brushed her curls over her shoulder before responding. She sat up on her bed, leaning back against the headboard. “It was alright, chem was good, not much to do, oh and we’re doing dance in PE. Lit was fun, we’re studying Romeo and Juliet so Mrs Danes put on the film.”

“That really old one from the sixties?”

“No, the one from the nineties.”

“There’s one from the nineties?”

“You’ve not seen it?” Julie asked.

“Must of been after… y’know.” Luka winced in return.

“Oh.” Julie frowned.

There was a moment of pause, the silence so loud there might as well have been the ever so cliche crickets chirping.

After another moment, Julie took it upon herself to break the silence, “We can watch it, if you want.” she said, already scooting over in her bed and opening up her laptop.

Her voice was soft as she replied, filled with a delicate warmth and almost melodic-quality. It reminded her of the honey her mother used to stir into chamomile. “I’d like that, Julie.”

Luka had a soft grin on her face, lips pulled apart to bear shiny teeth. A look like the one Julie had only ever seen her father stare at her mother with lingering in her eyes. Her eyeliner was a little more smudged than normal. Julie gave a final request. “Can you get the lights?”

“As you wish.” Luka poofed to the switch, blanketing the room in the inky darkness before proofing back, small explosion of light shining as she disappeared and reappeared beside her bed. Julie petted the space beside her and the ghost clambered onto the mattress, the bed not even dipping beneath the phantom weight.

Julie turned to her, “Did you just quote The Princess Bride at me?”

Luka shrugged the covers over them and nestled down beside her. Julie leaned towards her, chasing the slight warm tingle and the sublime sort of feeling sinking into her skin in the place of the warmth of another body. Julie hit play and the film graced the screen.

“Yeah— like half an hour ago.” A voice spoke softly. It was just loud enough for her to hear over the gentle breeze and sound of leaves rustling. Julie paused, nosy, though she’d never admit it to anyone.

What were they talking about? She wondered. She had been going to talk to her bandmates, ask some mildly important questions, -y’know, the normal things friends ask each other- she’d reasoned near all day, but now listening from beyond the door sounded much more interesting.

“To her mo..” The rest grew too quiet to hear… but the voice was Reggie’s.

Her fingers coiled against the white paint on the garage door.

“Yeah, she didn’t look too good.” It was Alex’s voice, Julie furrowed her brow. Was something wrong with Luka? Worry lined her stomach, a sickly ilk…, she strained her ears to hear more. “Haven’t seen her this out of it since Cobain died.”

Reggie sucked in a breath through his teeth, a hiss, “That can’t be good.”

Alex made a sound of agreement.

“It is coming up though.” Reggie whispered back, barely loud enough. It was a struggle to hear, even with her ear pressed against the door and every moral teaching since ever, though Julie couldn’t help but listen in.

There were a few moments and the boys drew to silence. She took a breath, leaned back and ran her fingers over her curls, pretending like she hadn’t just been eavesdropping.

“Hey guys,” She announced from the doors, to give them enough time to change topics without it being obvious she was snooping. Julie gave a wave as she stepped in and the two ghosts did their best to play natural – which was entirely antithetical, as the two of them were standing at least three feet apart, Alex whistling and Reggie avoiding eye contact.

Julie spared a glance to the ceiling, her mom’s floating furniture the same as it ever was. The poster of the moon and its phases still hammered into the same spot it always had been.

She furrowed her brows, what would be the best way to segway into her question? Julie wondered. She sucked in a breath. Better to just get it over with. “What’s Luka short for?”

The boys turned their heads sharply to each other, obviously not the question they were expecting.

A moment’s recovery and Reggie said. “Trust me Julie, you do not want to know.”

“But I do.” She replied with a shrug.

He gave a shallow laugh. “No, you don’t. She swore us to secrecy.”

Alex nodded his head. “Yeah. I had to make a blood oath just so she’d tell me.”

Reggie looked at him in shock, brow furrowed. “Really? I just used the yearbook.”

Julie blinked.

“Guys!” She shouted, exasperated. Alex, at least had the decency to look bashful.

“Luka doesn’t like her full name.” The blonde explained with a shrug, as if to say well what can you do? His hands in the pockets of his zip up hoodie. His brow furrowed, “Why do you need to know, anyway?”

Julie paused at the question. Blinking in a rapid succession as she tried to come up with something to say other than that Flynn had definitely not shown her an actually incredibly well drawn up contract for her and Luka in math, –She’d only told her about their movie night in Spanish, damn it!– Flynn had also definitely not hushedly asked for clarification on Luka’s full name for said contract either, citing that the ghost girl was only ever listed as Luka or Ms Patterson in articles. Julie had just shrugged at her meekly and fought the flush to her cheeks at the image of a bouquet of white dahlias, dusky pink carnations, pale blue forget me nots and sprigs of fresh lavender that had danced across her mind as the teacher droned on something about quadratics.

“Uhh… no reason. Just curious?” She replied nonchalantly. “I thought Luka must be short for something, I didn’t realise it was such a big secret. Is it embarrassing?”

Reggie and Alex shared a glance. “... No?”

“Then what is it?” Julie asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Sunset Curve loyalty stays first.” Alex blurted out.

Reggie nodded along with him, “Sorry, Julie.”

The girl frowned. “Fine. Why don’t I list names and you say yes or no?”

Alex frowned at the suggestion, but Reggie replied unsurely. “.. Okay?”

And so, Julie got to work listing names. “Lucy, Louise, Lucille, Lori?” Reggie shook his head. “Lou?”

“Lois?” A shake for no.

“Lorraine?” She tried again.

Reggie looked at her judgmentally. “Lorraine?”

Alex snickered. Julie scowled.

“Luella.”

“Lora.”

“Lana.”

“Lulu.”

“Louanne.”

“Lucas.”

“Lola.”

“Luna.”

“Lewis.”

“Luisa.”

“Lisa.”

“Nope. None of them.” Reggie shrugged and Julie scowled. How had she not said it? It was practically every L name remotely similar.. “Also, Luna? That’s a dog name, not a people name.”

Alex chuckled along with him, though he added pointedly to the other ghost, “Wait, don’t you have a cousin called Coco?”

Julie ignored the affronted look on Reggie’s face or the smug smirk on Alex’. Her jaw hung agape. “Really, none? Can you just tell me?”

“No.” The blonde frowned.

“Come on,” She whined, “A hint, at least.”

Alex sighed, though he began to sound out the beginning in almost slow motion, “Lucr-”

“Dude!” Reggie furiously wove his hand over his neck in a cut it off motion, scowling.

“Wait, there was an r there! I heard an r!” She shouted, pointing, “Let me get up babynames.com!”

“What?” They both shared a look.

Julie shrugged, “Babynames.com? It’s fairly obvious what it’s for.”

Alex kissed his teeth. “It’s weird that that’s a thing.”

Lou-cre she sounded out in her mind as she typed into the search bar.

“Lucrezia?” She questioned.

It was the way they looked at each other that told her all she needed to know. The almost bashful glance and pursed lips and little hesitant nod was all the admission she needed. Luka’s name was Lucrezia. Sunset Curve was three ghosts called Alexander, Reginald and Lucrezia – It was almost ironic, they sure had the names ghosts would have.

“Do not tell her we told you.” Alex whispered, raising his palm and gesturing to an almost invisible scar on his palm.

She grimaced at the phantom’s hand, though she batted the limb away from her face.. or at least tried to. Her hand phased through it. Julie quickly texted the name to Flynn. If it was the thing that got her interested in contract law, so be it.

Julie’s finger hovered over the name, gently pressing on it and bringing forth the entomology. “The feminine version of Lucretius, meaning profit or wealth, that’s nice… Alternate spellings.. No one really cares … Oh, notable figures! Who’s Lucrezia Borgia?”

“Me and Luka had to do a project about her in history class.” Reggie added noncommittally.

“Where is she anyway? We need to rehearse soon.”

They shared another look. Sharp and a little sad. Alex shrugged though, “She didn’t say. But she’ll probably be back soon.”

Julie frowned. “Oh, okay. We can still get underway without her,”

“Yeah, maybe do some warm ups.”

When she got back, about another half hour later, Luka seemed sad. She played with her usual easy expertise, yet there was a certain melancholy. She didn’t make eye contact, merely hid behind her bangs and pulled her beanie lower.

The slowly setting sun dipped behind a cloud, casting the room in shadow despite the dim yellow lights that lined the ceiling. She sounded a little raspier than the usual rasp she sung with, and seemed small, wavering on other notes, as though they were as fragile as glass and they’d break. The ghost wasn’t as energetic. Worry pooled in her stomach, an almost unsteady feeling in her bones and swirling in her stomach like a sickness.

Something was wrong with Julie’s ghost. Her voice was rough and nose a little red, and when Julie looked a little closer, beneath her smudged, grungy eyeliner her eyes were red and puffy. She frowned, forehead lines crinkled deep. All she could wonder was what happened to her ghost?

Later on, as they’d called it quits for the night, after the metronome had driven everyone a little stir crazy, Julie managed to corner her up in the loft.

She was curled up, knees to her chest on the floor. Julie sat to her side, Luka didn’t respond to direct confrontation well and sitting to her side made it feel a little less confrontational.

Julie rested her chin on her hands, “What’s wrong?”

Luka shrugged, though their eyes did not meet. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“You look sad, Lu.” She tried again, “You can tell me.”

“I-“ She started, though cut herself off before she could say anything else. “I don’t know.”

She sighed, sinking deep beneath her flannel. It was quiet for a while, Julie fidgetted, still glancing at the ghost girl from the corner of her eyes and chewing at the inside of her cheek. After a moment of looking pensive, she began again, “I guess it’s kind of bittersweet, we’re just a few steps shy of our big break, again, I can feel it, Jules… but me and the boys died before we could, but here we are again. We’ve got a new band and a new lead singer, but we’re here. We’re on the edge of great.”

Julie was sensing a but. She nodded along, “But, you wish you got to do it the first time, to live your dream.”

Luka nodded, teeth digging into her lip. Julie blinked. It was their unfinished business after all, wasn’t it? Luka and Reggie and Alex had to play at the Orpheum so they could pass on fully. It wouldn’t last. It could never last. Shards of glass coiled in her belly. They’d have to go, all have to leave her too, pass on into the afterlife, heaven or wherever it was that the spirit went after death. She couldn’t love Luka, not when they both knew the end was so near. They always had. Built to end, born to die. Like Romeo and Juliet.

“Yeah… and I’m mad.” She admitted, quieter than she’d ever been. Her voice wavered with each word, emotion bubbling in each syllable and hands wiping over her face and cording through her hair. “I’m so fucking angry at Bobby-Trevor-whatever he wants to fucking call himself – he stole my songs! Over half of my book, gone like nothing. He stole all that was left of me and didn’t even give me a writing credit or my family royalties. He stole My name is Luka, but my name is Luka.” She ranted, tears in her eyes. “He made my life’s work amount to nothing and I can’t even confront him about it. A- and I’m angry I missed your dance and got you grounded and I’m sorry I hurt you. I wish- I don’t know,” Luka drew silent once more, fidgeting with one of her rings, “.. I wish we never had those street dogs..”

Julie nodded, her dark brown eyes peered into Luka’s. Her features painted with regret, tears unshed glimmering in her dark honey eyes. She just hummed - it made her own eyes well with tears, it sounded like the way her mother had used to comfort her.

It hurt in a way, even if she didn’t intend it to. She wishes they never met, a voice Julie had long since learnt to ignore hissed. A sadness circled in her stomach like a snake nonetheless.

Luka sniffed.

The slowly rising moon shone in through a window, pastel purple and twilight blue sky dotted with pink-orange clouds as the pale orb rose into the sky. Julie cracked her knuckles one by one.

The other girl sighed, a deep heavy sound. Luka reached out, as if to grasp her hand. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like that, Jules. You’re amazing, I’m so glad that you’re here, that I get to redo it all with you, Julie. Even if it wasn’t ideal, I love that I met you and get to work with you and your musical genius.”

Her lips quirked up and a warmth flooded her stomach, melancholy spots of sun streaking across the sky and dancing with the silvery moon. The warmth covered her from head to toe like a blanket danced in her belly like butterflies. “Thanks, Lu.”

Luka rested her head on her forearms, knees tucked against her chest. Julie wanted nothing more than to hug her in that moment, to wrap Luka in her arms and let her know she was not alone. Touch could not convey everything she wanted so desperately to say, nor could words, but she tried anyway.

“I love you, you know that, right?” - Is what should have come out, yet it didn’t. It was tied a way with a bundle of purple ribbon and caution tape. Don’t say it, don’t admit it, she can’t stay. Make it easier on yourself. She’s a ghost. She’s going to pass on to the other side. Don’t make it harder than it has to be. The voice screamed, hoarse and teary, like her dad’s speech at her mom’s funeral, like how her tia’s had been over a dinner none of them wanted to eat after everyone else had left.

“I like you, a lot.” Drifted from her lips instead. It sounded juvenile, immature, made her feel like a little kid, offering their crush pretty rocks and pulling pigtails - but it was all she had.

Lu’s face twisted sweetly, lips curved up and warmth deep in those dark honey eyes. An almost halo seemed to light up around her, like a gilded aura. Shimmery and barely there, but there none the less. “I like you too.”

She turned her head back to stare out at the distance, to the far horizon of where the sun had set over the distant sea. Julie reached out almost instinctively, hand wrapping around her shoulder. Warm skin on a barely there warmth that seeped through the fabric of her jumper.

Julie withdrew her hand sharply in response, yet she quickly lowered her fingertips to the back of Luka’s palm, soft textured and warm, but tangible in the way tulle was, light and airy and fragile.

“I can touch you.” She blurted out. Luka just hummed, lost in her own little world.

“Wait, what?” Luka whirled around, eyes lit with confusion and eyebrows furrowed with a sharp sort of attention. All melancholy that haunted her vanquished, at least briefly.

She shot to her feet, Julie followed.

Julie held her hands up, Luka followed. Their palms met and the ghost girl’s face exploded into a grin, breathtaking and airy, like the sun breaking through the cloud cover. Her gilded halo glimmered stronger, glowed brighter. A matching grin of her own opened on her face, like a flower in bloom.

Dark honey coloued eyes dipped down, was she looking at her lips? Julie blinked and found her own gaze trailing to the phantom’s lips. Her smile had turned soft, barely there and delicate. She leaned in, slowly, tentatively. Luka’s eyes fluttered shut.

Like that, their lips pressed together, gentle and sweet. Warm and tingly. Her stomach flipped, no, it did a full Olympic routine, butterflies swirling in every bone in her body.

They parted, and for a moment, all the vulnerability, if not more than before, had crept back onto Luka’s face. Her hands trembled. Julie was sure the same vulnerability was echoed on her own features.

“Is this okay?” The phantom asked, voice soft, the quiet meekness in her behaviour so different to the carefree, brave and fierceness of her usual self.

Julie found herself nodding as she pulled the taller girl in for another kiss. It was awkward, neither too experienced, but impassioned and warm and like the ones in the movies. Julie cradled Luka’s face in her hands, like the moon cradled the sun during an eclipse.

And rise through the night you and I

We will fight to shine together

The lyrics of the first song they’d sung together drifted through her mind. Glowing bright, growing strong.

The moon stared down on them, pale eyes gazing with a comforting chill, the familiar sense of home the celestial body provided. Luka’s hands still felt ghostly in a way, as had her lips. But real. But there. They could do this.

Luka wrapped her arms around her, the hug tighter than any other she’d ever experienced. Julie closed her eyes and squeezed her just as tightly in turn.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #luke patterson #julie molina #jatp fic #my fics

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fantastic-wizards · 2 years

Text

( @fallencrowns - continued from xoxo )

Albus went quiet, mulling over Ophiucus' words. Try as Albus might to close himself off entirely, sometimes it simply was not possible. How could he possibly ignore feelings of loss when he himself had lost a great deal as well? He hadn't given Ophiucus much information pertaining to his own blood family, but Ariana was dead and Aberforth? Well, their relations were so strained these days that both might as well be dead to the other. It was a blood tie Albus was clinging to by a hair upon his head. He had a feeling that if Aurelius wasn't alive and well ( or so he hoped ), Aberforth probably wouldn't talk to him at all. But they needed each other if they hoped to get the boy back alive. It was just another part of Albus' mess that he didn't want to involve anyone in, least of all a man who seemed to have everything going for him now.

He guessed there was some comfort to be had in the knowledge that Corvinus had difficulties forming deep connections. It should have been obvious due to the way he still wore his rings, but Albus was learning not to make too many assumptions about people. Many of his assumptions about Corvinus had been wrong so the odds of being wrong again had been far too great. At any rate, maybe it was safe to assume at least one thing: that Corvinus didn't take relationships lightly. That much seemed to be clear given his own behavior.

There was a long silence that ensued as Albus remained rooted at the door. His hand kept itching to reach for the knob but this wasn't exactly a conversation that could be dropped. Even if he walked out this door tonight, he would need to give Corvinus an answer sooner or later. The feelings weren't going to magically go away and unlike the other male, Albus was terrible at hiding his own attraction. Add to it the fact that Corvinus didn't care at all what others thought and well, this wasn't going to go well if left up in the air --- at least for Albus. Corvinus didn't like throwing in the towel while Albus had no real excuses for rejecting him. He wanted him to, but was the cost worth it?

Albus was ripped from his own thoughts by the sound of his voice. Sinead. What a lovely name. It wasn't all too shocking to hear he could not recall her face. Albus knew all too well how grief can muddle the mind. Sometimes he couldn't recall his mother's face either. Or his father's for that matter. And Ariana's? In time her face would probably start to fade but for now, he was still haunted by it. Or at least the expression on her face while she 'slept' dead in his arms. Regardless, it was but another thing they had in common: grief. Half of a soul apiece since they both shared grievous losses. But the thing he hadn't really thought of was how two halves could make a whole. This… revelation was enough to make Albus slowly turn and look at him. The irony of this night was blowing his mind right now. How quickly things had changed from one hour to the next. He went from being quite eager to escape to discovering that there was another half in this room waiting for something or someone to complete it. Fate was a fickle, funny tool and he had to wonder if this was yet another example of it. Even so, Corvinus struck a chord within him keeping him rooted in place. He may yet win the night for once.

Or perhaps he already had. God it was so unlike Albus to say such things; reveal his feelings so openly and through words. His love language was gestures --- tiny gifts and actions that alluded he cared. Not… this. Not putting himself out there with words that could haunt him someday. Yet he had bared his soul for the other just now, revealing the things that frightened such a 'great', powerful wizard. He shuddered to think what the world would think if they had heard such things just now. The very idea of anyone hearing this…

But he swallowed the pride. Swallowed it and stood there, owning the moment. He had to because tomorrow? He couldn't promise he would be this brave on the morrow and as Corvinus spoke, he was taken back to all the times they had spoke in private, recalling some of the subtle gestures that were not what they seemed at the time. Indeed Corvinus had offered to assist on more than one occasion although that last time had startled Albus. Already paranoid beyond reason, Albus had lashed out, attempting to push Corvinus away for good.

"I'm… sorry." And he truly was although he had to wonder if he would have allowed Corvinus to help if he knew what he knew now. Maybe… maybe not. Anything involving Gellert was a touchy subject and a burden Albus felt was his own. But it would seem even then, Corvinus had other intentions. Either Albus was too blind to see it or was in denial even then. Maybe a bit of both. Regardless, he knew going forward that this wasn't just an act to get close to him. Corvinus really did want something more. Just not what Albus initially thought.

The offer was extended once again to be of aid and while Albus wasn't going to take him up on it right away, he wouldn't be so quick to dismiss it either. He also made a point to note that regardless of what was decided here tonight, it wouldn't change his offer to help. That made Albus feel good --- simply knowing someone was in his corner --- but… so much had been said already. Did Albus have the heart any longer to reject him, especially after all of this?

Let go. LET GO. Easier said than done. Even now as Albus closed his eyes, he felt his body tremble at the idea of letting himself feel all of it. Oh how nice it would be to just lean in and let it all in. But who would catch him should he fall? Would he? …There was only one way to truly know for certain. He just wondered if he was truly prepared to go against everything his head was telling him right now.

There was a condition here --- one that was more than fair. The pessimist part of him was a little wary that a guy like him could easily sit back and watch the world burn if it came to it. That was another one of those red flags Albus' paranoid mind kept throwing at the forefront. On the other hand, regardless of those 'flags', Albus never had any intention of involving anyone. Newt had been a necessary evil as well as Theseus. He needed those guys for their current posistions, but outside of those two, this war was Albus' own to win or lose. He helped Gellert come to power when he helped him get that wand. Now it was Albus' job to end it whether he wanted to or not.

"Gellert is mine." And perhaps he said it a little too possessively, but it wasn't meant in the manner one might think. For all of Albus' power, there was only one way to test his growth. If he was to truly see who was the more powerful wizard, he had to face Gellert alone. "I need to fight him to know where I stand. If I die, I die, but I have to know. I helped make this mess. As much as I hate the Ministry's meddling, it really is my mess to clean. You have my word that you won't be forced to fight. I'll do it myself. That was always my plan anyhow."

And so now all that was left was to make a decision on where they stood. Albus was still on the fence about everything, but in all likelihood, he always would be. It would take time and plenty of it for him to fully lean into the idea that he could be happy with another man again. So what was Corvinus thinking now? After all that was said and done, did he still want this?

Albus hesitated to speak any further but he knew he wouldn't be able to rest until some of this was resolved. And so the legs that still felt like weights were holding him down, fully turned and slowly walked towards the desk, pulse pounding with every step taken. He stopped just shy a foot from the desk looking down at the man. He licked his lips before pushing himself to bring this talk to a resolution.

"Is this still what you want? After all that's been said tonight. . . Do you still…want this? Want me, Ophiucus? Because if so..." God this was hard, but he spit the words out even if he was trembling as he said them. "I...could be yours." He took a breath. "That is to say... I will be yours."

#fallencrowns #﹂ ʾ . ⭒ ❝ albus vs2 — chained by fate .#﹂ ʾ . ⭒ ❝ dumbledore — in character .#long reads tw #long post tw #// tumblr was being SO SLOW #idk why nothing wont load properly anymore #but anyway have this

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sekhisadventures · 2 years

Text

Weapon Repairs

Wingrest Embassy, a Couple Hours After the Primalist Attack

What was once a ruin had become the de-facto entry point into the Dragon Isles proper for all the representatives of the Alliance and Horde. Buildings were being refurbished, braziers relit, and the Embassy was coming to life for the first time in living memory. Both the Explorer’s League and the Reliquary had already set up shop and while there was still a tiny bit of suspicion among some of their ranks of the other, by and large they seemed quite eager to work together for the greater good of discovery and knowledge.

Among the mixed ranks, two vulpera walked side by side. Sekhi, the shamanistic musician, jabbered excitedly at her long-lost friend Jeemjazo, who had reappeared after the defeat of the Primalists who attacked the Reliquary’s landing site… much to the former cabin boy’s annoyance and embarrassment.

“Its just so crazy that we met up again here! I mean, our whole caravan 'n a few others are in Orgrimmar now, we left Vol’dun and are travelling the whole world!” she yipped, “What're th' odds that we’d meet up on th' Dragon Isles? What were ya doing those ten years?!”

“Look, I just… I wound up with a pirate crew, they all died when th' ship crashed, 'n I left. Okay?” grumbled Jeemjazo as he padded through the embassy. “Nothing. Else. Happened. We sailed around 'n… did pirate-y things!”

Jeemjazo’s eye twitched and he grumbled under his breath. All those years of dreaming of leaving Vol’dun, then ten years of outright torture and abuse as Saltfang’s cabin boy… and all he had to do was wait for his people to join the damn Horde?! He felt like kicking himself.

From behind him came a faint gurgling sound, an incoherent stream of fish-like bubbling noises and warbling as the baby murloc he affectionately called Murgly Jim said something to Sekhi.

“Huh, he says you were really happy that your captain was dead though… I mean, it doesn’t sound like it was ‘just pirate-y things.’” she murmured.

Jeemjazo sighed, his ears folding back, “Well it WAS! Look, I’m gonna go bed down fer th' night. I’m freakin’ wiped out Sekhi. Nice seeing ya again, good BYE.” he nodded firmly, padding into the Inn and glancing over his shoulder. “Whose side are ye feckin' on Jim?” he muttered.

The murloc just giggled, in it’s murloc-y way.

Sekhi whined a bit as he left, but she was just happy to know her friend was alive. She glanced around, then spotted the scribe’s table. Well, she had promised her mother she’d write regularly after she’d basically vanished for two years herself, and this would be quite the bit of news to share with the caravan! She padded over and bought a scroll, quill, and some standard black ink, then found a convenient bit of rubble to form a makeshift table, and got writing.

“Dear… Ma…” she murmured aloud as her quill scratched it’s way along the parchment, “We made it… to th' Dragon Isles… and… you’ll… never believe… who I found…”

As Sekhi penned her letter however, Galdia was wandering the embassy looking for someone in particular. “I really don’t want to ask some light-user but…” she grumbled, fingering the hilt of what was left of her sword. She was able to gather both halves, but a broken sword was a broken sword…

But, happily, she did know a guy… still, it had to be someone who used that sort of power.

She saw him, talking to some others of his people, then sighed before calling out, “HEY! STEELHAMMER!”

From the group of dwarves, a head with a mane of silvery-white hair and a huge bushy beard looked up as Dareley Steelhammer heard her call. “Eh? Oh, er… hoy Galdia. Whatcha need lass?” he asked.

Galdia frowned… a Paladin. She had to ask a Paladin for help… it could be worse, at least he wasn’t a vindicator… she’d rather find a new sword than ask one of them, but… “Look, you know blacksmithing, right?” she asked.

Dareley snorted, “Lass, ye think me name is just a fun little play on words? Th’ Steelhammers have been blacksmiths in Ironforge fer generations!” he nodded firmly, “… er, why tho?” he asked, raising one bushy eyebrow at her.

She sighed, “So, there was an ambush at our landing site ‘n…” she unsheathed her sword, holding it out, “… one of them had really fuckin’ good armor.” The sword had been a claymore, almost as long as Dareley was tall before… but now it was broken right along the middle. “The rest is in the scabbard.”

Dareley whistled, taking it carefully from her and looking it over. “Whoof… that’s… aye that’s a bloody thing. Pandaren make too, not easy ta break. Those pandaren make their things ta last.” he muttered as the two dwarven smiths he’d been talking to nodded in agreement. “Hm… cannae just fuse the halves back together. Too fragile after bein’ broken. It’d just snap all over again.” he frowned.

Galdia grimaced, “… well…” she put her hands on her hips, “What about… if we just made a new sword? Like, a smaller one?” she asked.

Dareley looked up at her, “Oh? Like a longsword? Aye, we could manage that I suppose. Heat it up, lengthen whats there, sharpen the edge…” he murmured, “Hmm… pandaren make tho, not me specialty. I dabbled a bit back in th’ day, but I ain’t an expert…”

“Well, what about Jaie or Zhan-min?” she asked, shrugging, an edge of desperation in her voice. She really did not want to give up on that blade.

Dareley glanced up at her… he could tell the sword wasn’t just a sword to Galdia, but he didn’t say it aloud. “Jaie is a jewelcrafter lass, she dunnae how ta forge anythin’ but rings ‘n th’ like… but Zhan-min…” he looked around, then spotted the shirtless beer brewer, “HOY! ZHAN-MIN! C’MERE LAD!” he called out.

The pandaren ambled over, looking at the sword and whistling, “Wow… is that yer Red Crane Sword, Galdia?” he asked, “Those things’re forged down in th’ Karasang Wilds, gotta be able ta stand up ta all sorts o’ nasty critters… they don’t break just from overuse.” he frowned, “Clean break too, what the heck did ya’ll hit with it?”

Galdia sighed, then explained the events of a few hours past, the attack on the landing zone, and the draenei who shielded himself with a carapace of living stone. Zhan-min looked troubled by that, he’d heard a few people talking about ‘primalists,’ but mostly it had been kept under wraps by the Alliance and Horde leadership out of fear of starting a panic after so long at peace.

Dareley however looked very troubled, “Elemental magic users… hrm… that brings back some memories, bad ones too…” he frowned, “Did any of ‘em say anythin’ about th’ Twilight’s Hammer, or anythin’ about ‘Twilight’ in general lass?” he asked.

Galdia shook her head, “No, just something about these ‘Incarnates.’ We tried to interrogate one, but Nitika couldn’t use her powers on him. Said it was like his brain was on fire or something.” she replied.

Dareley actually relaxed a bit at that, “Oh, well then… thought we’d be havin’ th’ Twilight’s Hammer Cult ta deal with. I swear we stomped down Cho’gall, Deathwing, ‘n all th’ others ‘n we’re still dealin’ with th’ odd cell here ‘n there…” he shook his head, “But I’ve never heard o’ these ‘Incarnates’ before.”

Zhan-min nodded, “Still, misusin’ th’ elements… I don’t like that one bit.” he frowned, “Well, if we gotta deal with that kinda crap we’d better get ya'll a proper weapon again!” he nodded at her, taking the blade and looking it over, “Hm… Mostly did tools back when I was workin’ at th’ Stormstout Brewery, but I can probably help Dareley with th’ metal. Ya’ll think ya can handle th’ actual forgin’?” he asked him.

Dareley snorted, taking a smaller hammer from his belt, a blacksmith’s hammer, “I can forge a proper sword outta that or I ain’t a bloody dwarf! Galdia, go take a rest fer a bit, we’ll get ta work on this but it’ll take us some time lass.”

Galdia grunted but nodded at that and walked towards the inn herself. She hated waiting, but she couldn’t fight without a weapon…

… well, okay, she could fight without one. She could fight better with one though, and she’d need one to fight anything bigger than another orc. She was a Warsong, not an idiot.

As she walked in she passed Nelen, who was sitting at a table discussing some notes he had with someone else. A tall elven man in luxurious purple robes decorated with silver.

“… so yes, you see my concerns here! It wasn’t just the Dragon Isles that were uncovered. I think that the island revealed itself for a reason, and that reason is related to what I saw in my leygraph!” he exclaimed.

The elf looked over the notes he’d taken, comparing them to those from his bestiary on proto-dragons. “Hm, yes indeed… a troubling thing most assuredly Magus Fullmoon.” he replied, “Well well, I came here hoping to find something useful for my own studies, but if I encounter something that gave off this sort of aura rest assured I will most certainly pass news along as soon as I am able.” he nodded, his bald head shining under the lamps of the room.

Nelen smiled at him, “Thank you, truly. I don’t know what the fel did that, but we need to stamp it down fast before it causes a panic among the Alliance and Horde. The Dracthyr showing up in Stormwind already got people riled up when they found out they were connected to Deathwing after all.”

“Indeed, Orgrimmar much the same… ah, but I must be going. I have business in the southern reaches of the isle.” said the elf as he stood, “A pleasure meeting you.”

“Indeed, you as well… er…” he paused, “Sorry, terrible memory for names.” muttered the worgen.

The elf chuckled, “Ah, but a mind can only hold so much and you are clearly a learned man for such a short-lived people. Nyloc Athel, of Suramar, at your service.” he smiled, shaking Nelen’s hand before heading to the door.

Nyloc looked around, then gestured with one hand as a manasaber seemed to appear from nothingness, the Nightborne climbing atop it. He had the knowledge he needed, the seat of the Bronze Dragonflight was in this ‘Thaldraszus’ area… well, time to see what he could use there.

Nelen gathered up his books, feeling rather cheerful. He’d always lamented how the poor relationship between the Nightborn of Suramar and the Night Elves under Tyrandae and Malfurion had driven a wall between them. A race that had mastered Arcane power to their degree could teach them so much! Truly, the armistice was a blessing for all Azeroth. He looked around, then headed out into the half-ruined, half-rebuilt embassy grounds before walking over to the representatives for the Dragonscale Expedition to see if any odd jobs had cropped up. After all, a mage had to earn coin if he wanted to eat.

As he did Sekhi walked past him and slid a rolled up scroll into the mail bag that would head back to Orgrimmar come the next morning. She wagged excitedly, Jeemjazo’s mother would be so happy to hear her son was still alive!

And further along the path, Laurelgosa, back in her humanoid guise of Laura Brightflame, sat alone as she processed what had happened with the Primalist attack.

She barely remembered most of it… but she knew one thing. Hearing that crash of thunder and lightning aimed at her and brought back one of those fragmented memories from before her sealing. She muttered under her breath as she turned her stave over and over in her hands, “Did… did I fight Raszageth? I…” she screwed up her eyes, remembering bright flashes, screams, a horrible whispering, and then… darkness… then sighed long and hard, “… nothing.” she frowned.

She wondered if she should bring this up with Nitika… the tauren woman seemed to have some power when it came to minds, and she had come off as nothing but friendly and caring on the voyage over… perhaps if she asked for help, she could do something.

And slowly, day turned into evening and into night. Work was done, food was cooked, and the sound of rebuilding, hammering, sawing, and the like filled the air as the long-abandoned Embassy was slowly restored piece by piece… a little bit more every day.

The next day, around noon, Dareley called Galdia over to the forge and presented her with two things.

“We couldnae save all th’ sword, but we could use th’ rest o’ th’ metal fer somethin’ else.” he nodded, pulling a cloth off a table to reveal a long scimitar-like sword, about as long as Galdia’s arm, with a pattern of pandaren scrollwork on the back, along with a sturdy shield of wood over a metal back, a stud in the middle, and it even had the red symbol of the Horde on the face. “I know yer used ta a claymore lass, but a sword ‘n shield is about what we could manage with wut we had ta work with.”

Galdia looked them over, picking up the shield first, sliding it on over her left arm, then lifting the sword and examining it… then taking a couple steps back and swinging it through the air, chopping rapidly as if an invisible foe was before her. “Hrm… light, but not TOO light… good edge… yeah, I can work with this. Good job.” she grunted.

He nodded, “Damn right it is lass! A dwarf always stands behind his work when forging is involved!” he grinned.

She looked at it again, then at him, then back at it. “… hey… could you, um… show me how to do this stuff?” she asked. “I mean, I did some stuff back on Draenor, but… it was mostly workin’ with scrap and whatever we could steal off the Lightbound.”

Dareley looked up at her, nodding slowly. He had heard about what had happened to Yrel and the draenei there, though he didn’t want to believe it… and he knew asking a paladin like him must have been hard for her. “Hrm… aye, I ain’t ever taught no one afore… but I suppose I could show ye a thing or two.” he replied, picking up his hammer. “First, ye need a good bit of ore. Always get more than ye think you’ll need, there’s always some bits of crud in ‘em that ya gotta work out…” he began.

Galdia put the shield down and slid the scabbard for her sword onto her belt, then sheathed it, before nodding to the dwarf. She hated how powerless she’d felt to fix her broken blade, and if he could teach her how to do that in future… well, she could look past him being a paladin for that. Maybe, it wouldn’t be easy, but she could try.

#warcraft #warcraft fanfiction #dragonflight #warcraft roleplay #adventures in azeroth

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ofhouseadama · 3 years

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Ed gets drafted into the Navy right after high school, and in between finishing basic and getting shipped out to the Pacific, he promises Lorraine that the next time he sees her, he's going to propose.

after high school, Lorraine needs something to do so she gets a part time job as a secretary at the Diocese of Bridgeport helping wrangle parish finances and correspondence and other clerical and administrative work.

(this is where Lorraine first meets a young Father Gordon, who occasionally borrows her because she knows her way around a files room and takes excellent notes; he hears a lot about her boyfriend who's away on a ship in the Sea of Japan)

Ed and Lorraine write... a lot of letters during this time, which range from very chaste and heartfelt to NC-17 horny teenage screeds referring to their 3-day sojourn when they were seniors in high school, their many misdeeds in the back of Ed's car, and the time he snuck her into the Alamo Theatre after it closed so that they could have a "private showing" of a movie they remember very little of

when Lorraine is too anxious to sleep, she sews her wedding dress. she saw the pattern a few weeks after Ed left, and liked it, and bought it. she's been slowly buying yards and yards of satin and lace and tulle.

Ed squirrels away all the money that he can towards buying a wedding ring set for Lorraine. after he buys them while on shore leave in Tokyo, he keeps the rings in the breast pocket of his uniform shirt, next to his heart, to feel close to her.

his ship strikes a mine and goes down in the small hours of the night in June of '53; the rings are in his shirt pocket, and Lorraine feels it immediately. Father Gordon has to drive her home from work, and believes her immediately when she says she knows something bad happened to her boyfriend.

Ed makes it home to Bridgeport ten days later; he gets in a taxi at the Navy yard and immediately goes to Lorraine's house. she meets him at the front door before he can even knock and tackles him on the front lawn.

he proposes to her while very exhausted and not exactly coherent.

technically, she proposes to him because she tells him they're getting married and she's not waiting any longer.

these are two hotly contested facts for years to come.

they get one very hasty pre-cana session in as the Moran family (+ Father Gordon a little bit) cash in all their political capital with the church to expedite a wedding as soon as humanly possible.

Georgiana and her friends plan the wedding, everyone is very concerned about Lorraine's dress. Georgiana tells them they should be more concerned about Ed's dress uniform, currently at the bottom of the ocean.

(He wears a suit from Sears. It's fine.)

the story of Ed Warren, hometown boy, as the sole survivor of the sinking of the USS Saint Paul makes the local papers and absolutely no one remembers to tell his father that he made it home until a full 24 hours later.

Ed and Lorraine get married exactly two hours after the end of the legally-required 72 hour Connecticut waiting period elapses. it's a Friday afternoon.

when he sees her in his dress, Ed absolutely cries.

their wedding readings are Romans 12:1-2, 9-18 and Sirach 26: 1-4. it's not a full wedding mass, due to time restraints. it's actually nothing like Lorraine thought her wedding would be like, but she's so relieved Ed is alive, and he's not allowed to go back to the war without being her husband.

their reception is some cake and champagne in the parish hall, Ed's hands have been shaking so badly all day that he can't manage to get cake in her mouth off a fork so Lorraine grabs his hand and sucks it off his finger.

by this point she's had three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach.

it's over by the middle of the afternoon, and they're speeding off to the same aunt's beach house that they ran off to when they were seventeen, this time with permission and this time knowing the whole drive down that they're finally going to have sex.

Ed spends much of the four-hour drive from Bridgeport, CT to Cape May, NJ rucking the many layers of the skirt on Lorraine's dress up her legs, running the hand not on the steering wheel of the car up and down the inside of her thigh, keying her up.

they arrive shortly after dinner, having eaten cheeseburger and fries in the car in their wedding clothes, and are suddenly very very nervous.

even though they've done everything except the technical deed itself.

as Ed peels himself out of his suit and tries to not psyche himself out, Lorraine goes into the bathroom and changes into the peignoir and robe she made for her trousseau. she comes out of the bathroom to grab her brush to take her hair down, but Ed asks her to sit on the bed and pulls all the pins and flowers out himself, gently brushing her curls.

when he's done, he moves onto gently touching her. the last time he saw her naked was also in this bedroom, as they shook with restraint. now they're shaking for other reasons, hands rediscovering each other's bodies and warming themselves on each other's skin.

kissing her neck, he reaches one hand in-between the halves of her robe as the other moves her hair off her shoulder, exposing more skin.

he rucks the hem of the sheer white peignoir up to her knees, then her thighs, then her hips. Ed decides that he needs to make her orgasm before they have sex, because if he doesn't last long, then at least she'll be satisfied.

he eats her out like a man with a point to prove, because he's nineteen and very much is one in this moment.

it's been almost eighteen months since they've been physically present together, and they didn't have much alone time together before their wedding, and Lorraine feels like her body is on fire. it's been so long, and she feels like a bullet leaving a gun. it doesn't take much to make her cum, and Ed manages to do it several times before she's hauling him up her body.

he's still not done getting her ready, unable to not think about every horror story he's heard about bleeding and pain and discomfort and the terrible jokes from his bunkmates.

(they're all dead now. he tries to not think about that, why he lived and they all died. why did he survive, if not to make Lorraine feel good? if not to make them both feel alive? he needs to feel alive, and when he drinks her with his mouth and feels her clench around his fingers, he finally does.)

he sucks hickeys into Lorraine's neck and chest and breasts, keeping her high as he circles her clit with the fingers on one hand as he plays with her nipples with the other.

he is harder than he's ever been in his life, he thinks, pumping two and then three fingers into her. she's wet and all over his hand, dripping down onto his wrist. he wants to eat her out again, taste her again. his mind is a feedback loop of her pleasure.

Lorraine is trying to touch him, but her hands don't feel entirely attached to her body. she ends up curling her fingers into his hair and pulling. the sharp pain is delicious, and he moans while lapping at her nipple and thinks he might see God.

eventually he realizes that she's begging, chanting "now, now, please now, Ed, please--"

they both feel lust drunk and clumsy, all limbs as they take their clothes off, as Ed slots himself between her thighs.

she hasn't touched him at all, and he thinks if she does he'll cum immediately.

he pushes into her slowly, incrementally, watching her face the whole time.

she gasps, bites her lip, scrunches her face up. then, it starts to feel good, and her eyes flutter closed, and she moans.

he doesn't want to move. he wants to move more than he's wanted anything in his whole life. dropping down on his elbows and forearms, he shakes while hovering above her.

Lorraine's mouth is a perfect "o," and slowly she tests out how she wants her legs, first pressing her heels into his calves, then his hamstrings, before pressing her knees in at the sides of his hips. it feels incredibly intense, and she's not quite sure what to do with herself. she no longer feels in control of her body. all of her gifts of perception narrow down to hyper-perceiving Ed, the red sheen to his face, the flop of dark hair over his forehead, the sweat dotting his brow, his heart in his chest. his racing thoughts, his love for her. she feels him inside her body and inside her head. she shivers.

she squirms, trying to get him to move.

he does not, burying his face in her neck.

eventually he realizes that, as she traces her hands up and down the side of his spine, she's whispering, "move, honey, you gotta move, oh God please move, Ed honey please--"

something in his head breaks loose a little bit, and he snaps his hips into hers. when she moves with him, it breaks loose entirely.

it's entirely unskillful and uncoordinated, but Lorraine is already so close to orgasming again that it doesn't matter. when she cums again, Ed's entire brain malfunctions and he stops, watching her, feeling it and feeling her. she reaches down and straight up spanks him, telling him to keep moving.

doubling down, he sucks on the tendon where her neck meets her shoulder, and doesn't last much longer than her.

he thinks his vision almost whites out, gripping her hips tightly as he cums inside of her before pulling out of her and collapsing, happily burrowing his face into her breasts.

Lorraine laughs, wrapping her arms and legs around him, holding him to her tightly.

the insides of her thighs chafe a little, and she feels a bit raw, but she likes it.

they almost fall asleep that way, but Lorraine knows that's probably not a good idea. her mother knew enough about their relationship to know that Lorraine needed a little bit of motherly advice before her wedding night, but not that much. after rolling him off her, Ed promptly falls asleep on his side of the bed.

he didn't sleep the night before.

Lorraine takes a quick shower, washing the shellac out of her hair and scrubbing the make up off her face. she doesn't bother to redress, just gets into bed with him. he feels her weight on the mattress and rolls over, blearily reaching for her to pull her against him. he's half in between dreaming and wakefulness, and slides his hand up to cup her breast in his hand.

"can we do it again?"

#this is deeply unhinged #ed warren #lorraine warren #emily watches the conjuring #otp: i forgot my pills #this is sam and brittanys fault they encouraged it

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thespacebetweenmoments · 3 years

Note

How about B & K for Thomphrey and O & Y for Vextan? 💙 Can't wait to read your headcanons!

Ahhh thank you for asking! Now that I look back, I might have gotten a little carried away with how much I wrote so sorry about that! I hope you enjoy them though 😄💜 (also please forgive the chaotic paragraphs—I copy-and-pasted this from bullet points in Google Docs and didn’t want to have to reformat it all!)

Thomphrey

B: Beauty. What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Thomas about Humphrey:

If asked straight-up, I think Thomas would be struck dumb trying to narrow it down to just one or two things. He thinks everything is beautiful about Humphrey, because that’s just how he is and how he loves—he’s a romantic and a romanticist at heart, after all.

I think what Thomas admires most about Humphrey, though, is that he’s kind. He hasn’t had an easy life, or death, and it would be so easy for him to be bitter about pretty much his whole existence. He isn’t, though. He’s warm and sunny and cheerful and optimistic and, above all, hopelessly kind.

On a more superficial note, if Thomas absolutely had to only pick one thing, I think he’d say that Humphrey’s eyes are quite possibly the most beautiful he’s ever seen. He waxes poetic about them so often that Humphrey has taken to closing them with a cheeky smile when he’s had enough, but Thomas doesn’t mind. He loves their colour, their depth, how they sparkle with mischief and humour so much that you would think he was still alive, how they crinkle at the corner when Humphrey laughs.

Humphrey about Thomas:

It has to be his passion for anything and everything. Thomas doesn’t seem to do anything by halves and, while it seems to annoy the other ghosts, Humphrey never tires of hearing him rant about prosody or watching him dance in the mornings. He just seems so in touch with the world, even though he’s dead: every time he gets excited about something or angry about something or finds something beautiful it feels like it’s the first time he’s experiencing that emotion. Humphrey finds it endearing and admirable at the same time.

In terms of physical beauty, Humphrey would probably answer that it’s… all of Thomas. All of him. From the tips of his curls that are much softer than they look all the way down to the bottom of his feet that have kicked Humphrey so many times, Humphrey loves all of Thomas just the same. And that’s a lot. (He does have a soft spot for his hands, though, because he finds that the feeling of one of Thomas’ hands in his is the best feeling in the world.)

K: Kiss. Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Honestly? They weren’t good kissers at first. Not really. Humphrey had barely had any practice, and Thomas none at all, but they didn’t realise that they were so bad at it until they got a lot more practice in and improved!

They had shared a few cheek/forehead/hair kisses before, but their first proper kiss was shy, awkward, wonderful, and a complete accident. Thomas was lying in Humphrey’s lap and turned to ask him a question but, just as he did so, Humphrey happened to lean down to press a kiss into Thomas’ hair. They met in the middle without meaning to, and both of them looked at each other in complete shock. Neither of them broke it, though, until after Thomas had closed his eyes, a hand coming up to rest on Humphrey’s cheek, and Humphrey had pulled him up and closer. When Thomas opened his eyes, Humphrey was wearing a smile and a blush that spread all the way up to the tips of his ears. He looked so lovely like that that Thomas simply had to kiss him again.

VexTan

O: On Cloud Nine. What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

When they’re in love, Vex and Ho-Tan can’t stop smiling. At all.

They can’t quite articulate it, but both of them feel as though something has shifted, as though some impassable object has somehow been moved and now there’s nothing to stop them from being happy pretty much all the time.

For want of a better term, they’re absolutely smitten with one another.

When they get together, Vex is so jovial anyway that the others don’t really notice it at first. In fact, it’s Ho-Tan that truly gives it away.

She’s always relatively reserved compared to the others (not that it’s hard to be so), so the different ways she reacts to Vex are more noticeable than how he reacts to her, if that makes sense?

I think the best way to explain both how they express their feelings for each other and how the other Elders find out about the two of them is that Vex’s main love language is acts of service, and Ho-Tan’s is words of affirmation.

Every morning after a night where they haven’t shared a bed, Vex will make sure to slip a little note under Ho-Tan’s door. It’s always something cute but genuine, and he always ends it by telling her that she’s beautiful and he loves her (sometimes that’s the whole note, and that’s enough). No one else notices that.

Vex doesn’t sleep well most nights, which is partly why he always falls asleep in the chamber (the council sessions also just bore him, but he keeps that point between him and Ho-Tan). One day, when he falls asleep, Ho-Tan puts down her quill for a moment, quietly gets up, and gently puts a pillow (that she’d brought with her) behind Vex’s head so his neck doesn’t ache so much when he wakes up. Her hand ghosts over his face and she smiles to herself as she sits back down, and everyone notices that.

Y: Yearning. How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

They’re not used to being apart, so when they’re more than just a few steps away from each other, it’s really difficult for both of them.

Vex finds he sleeps even worse than usual, and Ho-Tan finds that she starts to feel a little gloomier the longer she spends away from him.

What helps, though, is that each of them has a little teddy bear (Thanktival presents from Debbie one year!) that they sleep with each night. When they have to spend time far away from each other, they always make sure to swap teddies first.

The one that Vex gives Ho-Tan is blue, with a little tartan patch over his left eye. He has a little love heart sewn onto his right paw. The one that Ho-Tan gives to Vex is yellow, and has a pink tummy. She has a little love heart sewn on her left paw.

#headcanons #bbc ghosts #yonderland #thomphrey #vextan #humphrey bbc ghosts #thomas thorne bbc ghosts #wise elder vex #scribe elder ho-tan

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allegra-writes · 4 years

Text

"Bad together"

Prologue: Benjamin Reilly

Peter Parker x Reader

General audiences

Warnings: none.

"And if I'm dead to you

Why are you at the wake?

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed"

My tears ricochet - Taylor Swift

"... It's a disaster! Look at her! It's like someone took a look at Black Cat, selected everything that made her sexy and then took it out!"

Black Cat. The name froze the young photographer on his tracks right outside his boss' office. He hadn't heard that name in a long time, the last sighting had been well over a year ago. He would know. After all, it had been him, the very last person to have seen Felicia Hardy, alive or dead.

"What are you talking about? That looks hot af, not to mention badass!" Jade's persuasive voice reached his ears, making him smirk: It was no secret the chief editor had a soft spot for the young intern. And, on her part, the petite brunette was a firecracker. Poor old Jameson didn't stand a chance. "Come on, dad. Single handedly taking down three of the Kingpin's goons? That's impressive. It deserves to be one of the slides!"

"Not if we don't get a higher quality picture. That blurry video is good enough for a thumbnail, but not for a slide" Slides were a big deal, they were the Dailybugle.net's equivalent of a front page, and if J. Jonah Jameson took something seriously, it was his web site. He prided himself in the quality of the "receipts" of his "tea", as if that validated the trashiness of the bullshit articles he posted, more fiction from hyper imaginative wannabe writers than serious work from real reporters.

"Well, then let's get the pictures. Where is that star photographer of yours?"

The photographer rolled his eyes, typical Jade. As if the queen of cool didn't know his name. As if she hadn't graced his bed a handful of times already.

"That's a good question. Dolores, get me Reilly!"

"I'm here, Jonah" Ben finally stepped inside the office, throwing an envelope on Jameson's desk before throwing himself on a chair across it. He could feel Jade's eyes on him, almost like a physical caress, trailing from the long, slick back curls on the top of his head, to the muscles of his arms, threatening to rip open the seams at the sleeves of his white t-shirt, to his jean clad thighs. Still, he didn't turn to look at her, refusing to give her the satisfaction.

"What do you have for me today, boy?"

Ben gesticulated vaguely with his head in the direction of Jade, and Jameson caught the hint.

"Jade, out!"

"But, dad, my story!" The petulant reply left her mouth before she could stop it, undoubtedly the product of years of habit. But she had the grace to look embarrassed and leave the office without another word, trying to save whatever professionalism she had left.

Once she was gone, Jameson opened the envelope, flipping through the various pictures of a masked figure swinging around New York in a black and red suit.

"Hmmm… these are good" the older man praised, staring at the images of a frustrated robbery at 5th avenue

Ben snifled nocomitically,

"There was a fire at 16th avenue happening at the same time" He offered, "we could use that. Spider-Man forgets his roots and leaves his old neighborhood to fend for itself, running off to save some pretty socialite…"

"Oh, that is excellent! See, this is why I like you, kid. You have initiative. Unlike these snowflakes out there. Oh, but Spider-Man is a hero. Hero, my ass"

"Well, when you watch your so called hero sit back and do nothing as your life gets destroyed" Ben shrugged, "the rose colored glasses tend to fall off…"

Jameson made a face at that,

"Yeah, about that… I'm sorry. For the role the Daily Bugle played on that…"

Ben shook his head,

"You thought you were getting the truth out there. It's not your fault to have been played, along with half the world. Plus," he added, sounding genuinely enthusiastic, "you gave me this job. And now we can really tell the truth"

"Even when our idea of the truth is somehow different" The older man scoffed, flipping around a picture of Spider-Man sat on what appeared to be a hammock of his own webs, eating a hamburger and reading something that looked suspiciously like a comic book, "Still hung up on that high schooler theory of yours?"

"Well, if it talks like a brat and acts like a brat…" Ben took out another envelope, this time containing a few burger king wrappers and, effectively, a spider-man comic book.

"Where did you even get these?"

"Harlem" was Ben's curt reply, and Jameson knew that was as exact a location as he was going to get.

"So you still believe this is a copycat? Some kid playing dress up"

Ben simply shrugged again.

"Well, there seems to be an epidemic of those lately" Jameson admitted, indicating Ben to come closer, passing a tablet to him, "Jade just handled me this, take a look"

Ben took a deep breath, steeling himself, already knowing what he was going to see in it. Yet, a part of him couldn't help but hope to be wrong. To hope the silver haired figure facing three much bigger, stronger looking ones as he pressed play, wasn't the same one he had spent weeks memorizing last summer. Wasn't the body he had found solace in, when everything fell apart, once again, for the hundredth time in his life.

To hope it wasn't you.

But when in his twenty-two or so years of existence, had things ever gone his way?

Ben felt the screen crack under his fingertips.

"I've heard of her" he lied through his teeth, "didn't even think she was real, to be honest. Extremely elusive, and cunning." That much was true, "I don't understand how something as mundane as a security camera managed to catch her…"

Unless you wanted to be caught, that was.

"Well, I don't care if she's the fucking Loch Ness monster, I want an HD picture of her on my desk tomorrow to go with Jade's article. I already have a headline: New Catastrophe Jen wreaks havoc on Hell's Kitchen" Jameson's eyes lit up with glee as he weaved his hands up in the air, like writing on an invisible marquee.

Ben snorted

"Don't you mean Calamity Jane?"

Jameson's face fell, the color rising to his cheeks, characteristic vein popping on his forehead.

"I meant what I meant, boy! Now, what are you still doing here? You have 24 hours to get me that picture"

"I'm going to need 72," came Ben's unphased reply, "and I want twice what you pay me for the spidey pics"

Jameson's vein looked about ready to explode,

"48 hours. And deal."

Ben jumped from his seat and bolted out of the office before his boss could change his mind, not realizing until it was too late that he was on a collision course with a sweet looking short haired blonde girl.

"Watch where you're going! Jeez!"

"Me? You're the one who crashed against me!"

Ben rolled his eyes, but crouched next to the girl anyway, helping her gather the papers that had been sent flying on impact back together.

"Peter? Oh my god, is that you?"

Of course. What an idiot, he should had recognized that annoying, shrilly voice the second he heard it. It had caught him off guard, something he knew he couldn't afford. But how could he had ever imagine he could run into Betty fucking Brant, Yale cum laude, in the freaking dailybugle.net headquarters of all places?

"Sorry, sweetheart. You must confuse me with someone else…" He mumbled, lowering his head even more in a vain attempt to hide his face.

"Of course not!" She insisted, "You're Peter, Peter Parker, we went to Midtown together!"

"Miss, I have no idea what you're talking about…"

"Don't be silly, Peter!" She chuckled, completely deft to his tone or the way his whole demeanor had changed the second she had called him by the old name. "How have you been? Oh, just wait until I tell Ned, he's going to be so-"

CRACK.

At last, the tablet that had been in peril ever since Jameson had put it in Ben's hands, the one that contained his assignment, met its demise, both broken halves falling to the ground, along with all the papers he had picked up for Betty. It was several moments before he could get the shaking of his hands under control, before the tar black rage inside him subsided enough for him to be able to move without shifting. But it had.

"Peter Parker is dead." He deadpanned, dark brown eyes finally meeting Betty's stunned blue ones, "Tell Ned that, he'll probably be glad to hear it"

With that, he stood up and walked away, leaving a confused and agitated Betty behind.

To be continued...

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland #peter parker imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #peter parker x reader smut #tom holland x reader smut #dark!peter parker #dark peter parker #venom #venom!peter parker #marvel #black cat #felicia hardy #bad together #arvin russell

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padme-amitabha · 3 years

Text

Anidala Week 2021

Day 4: Modern AU OR Favorite Trope

I have always been fascinated by the concept of twin flames so here’s my AU with twin flames Anidala. A twin flame is a kind of soulmate so this counts as a soulmate AU.

Half of My Soul

“I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything.

Maybe we’re from the same star.”

― Emery Allen

I loved you before I met you. I think I have been in love with you for a very long time – since the beginning of time, really. I didn’t know what you looked like and I often wondered about you as a child. I would look around the other girls my age and you just weren’t there. My other half – the missing piece to my soul.

It hurt – just a bit – that you weren’t around when I needed you as a lonely child but I was determined that you would show up some day so kept on looking. And then I finally saw you. Not in school, not in the junkyard I often played in, and not in my neighborhood. I saw you much more closely – in a dream.

In my dream, I worked at a repairs shop but I was a slave. And you were an angel in the form of a girl. You were older than me and it made sense to me then why I had never found you before.

“Padmé Naberrie,” you say and the name resonates within me. Of course, that was your name. What else could it be?

Your name is etched into my very bones and imprinted on my very soul. Everything about you – from your big, brown eyes to the little beauty spot on your cheeks still burned in my memory.

In my dream, you were a queen from an elysian world and it seemed like you descended from the heavens when I met you. I was a mere slave, smitten by your ethereal beauty.

You have haunted my dreams since I was a child. I wondered if I did the same in yours.

Amidst the crowd of people, my eyes sought out yours. I knew you were the one I've been looking for my entire life. The moment our eyes locked, I felt complete. Whole. Something I have never felt my entire life.

My life couldn't be any better - I am a Harvard graduate in mechanical engineering, I have a loving mother, a friendly stepfather, a supportive best friend and yet life has always been far from satisfying. Was it because I was only half of a soul waiting to be reunited with its missing half?

Your beautiful brown eyes sparkled with a hint of recognition. Your face was as familiar as my own.

I longed to tell you that you looked mesmerizing in that white dress. The rest of the world - this noisy bar - faded away once I had laid my eyes on you. It finally like coming home.

"You're the angel, aren't you?" I whisper.

You laugh and the sound is just as melodic as I remembered it.

"I have never heard that from a stranger," you say with a hint of amusement.

“But we aren’t strangers,” I say.

"No. We've met before," you say with a mischievous smirk. You knew exactly what

“Once upon a dream,” we say in unison.

Looking on you was a strange feeling – I saw a part of myself in you. It was as if the Universe had shifted around me and I had finally discovered my place in it.

"I remember you. Though your hair was much longer when I saw you," you remark.

The last time I saw you (alive), you were miserable. Tears had stained your cheeks and you were been desperately clawing at your throat. And after that, I only had the opportunity to see you in holograms. When you looked like you were drowning in a sea of flowers as six guaalars took you back home. The others were faint images of the times you were happy.

"Last I remember, I was a sad, sad man. You know why?" I asked as I played with a loose strand of your hair.

I know why, Anakin. But I let you finish anyway.

My heart beats just a little faster as I gaze into your solemn blue eyes. There’s a hint of sadness in them. I have seen that look before.

"Because I had lost you."

I gazed at the man I had loved in countless lifetimes. He looked like a lost child. There was a vulnerability in him that I had not seen in most men. He was beautiful as tragedies often were.

How could one feel so complete and lost at the same time?

I remember the last time I had closed my eyes because I was exhausted and it was hurting to stay alive. My time was over, I knew it but yours wasn’t. You were going through so much more pain but you had to live on and fulfil your destiny.

I always had faith in you, Anakin. And I told that to your Master and I whispered it in to our son. He had your eyes.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth for he knew what I was thinking. We had shared a mental connection in our other lives as well.

I laced my hand in yours and tiptoed to reach your ears.

"But not this time,” I say.

Your smile is as radiant as the sun itself. When you smile, you remind me of that little boy I dreamt of.

“Not this time,” you echo.

"What do you say we leave this place and go somewhere more private?"

"I would like that,” I say with a smile.

You tremble slightly and I can tell you’re tipsy. I look at the girls who had accompanied me. I gesture them to enjoy the rest of the night by themselves.

“I am not letting you drive home,” I say. "Tell me the story of the Queen and the slave boy again."

"You already know."

"I do. But I would like to hear from you all the same."

We found each other again for a reason. I’ve always known we would find ourselves in each other’s arms in the end. Perhaps, the Universe wants to make up for all the suffering it had put us through in the past. Perhaps, this was the happy ending we have always wanted. It was a faint hope but I saw it burning in his eyes as well and we held onto that hope. For without hope, we had nothing.

II.

“Anakin.”

Odd how a simple word – just some wind, really – was enough to rattle him. Hearing it from surviving Jedi would fuel his rage and brought forth denial if it came from his Master but, when she said it, it haunted him. Her voice could calm him from even the deepest rage. She still had that effect on him, even when she was dead and cold in the grave.

He stared straight ahead, determined not to turn around and meet her eyes. This ghost from Vader’s past from appear at different times in his life – briefly, unexpectedly. Even in death, she had never left him.

Vader had many ghosts and he never hesitated to crush them down for ghosts had no power of their own. They were petty annoyances and reminders of a life he had long left behind. But he happened to love this particular ghost and so he let come and go as she pleased, not quite certain if she was a figment of his imagination.

"Anakin."

She would whisper so softly he would wonder if she was there at it. Perhaps it was just the wind hissing.

He didn't respond. During her visits, she spoke very little. On the rare occasions he had dared to look on her face, it was the same pained expression on Mustafar. Her last moments…

He kept his silence, letting his loud rhythmics breaths drown out her weeping. He decided to take a look. After all, her grief meant his grief, and that would make him a better Sith, as his Master wanted.

He expected to see Padmé with braids, her belly swollen – the way she was on Mustafar or a shriveled, decayed corpse as she was in the nightmares that plagued him every night.

But she was just a child – the way he had first met her. She wasn’t looking at him kindly and Vader knew he deserved that look. He was her murderer, after all.

"You weren't like this," she said in her cold, regal voice. It had always fascinated him how a child could appear so authoritative.

He looked away but there was no escape from her. The Padmé that stood before him was in her yellow gown – the way she had been on the meadow in Naboo.

“I knew our love would destroy us,” she said in a kinder voice than the younger Padmé with a hint of sadness. Vader now addressed them both.

"This is what I have become without you,” he rumbled.

"You aren't the same," said child Padmé petulantly.

"Why? Why did you change?" asked the elder. She had the same look she had when she would be frustrated with her work. His Padmé...the one who was his wife would have been gentler. But he remembered she had a temper in her younger years.

"How can I be the same without you? We were two halves of the same soul and without you, I'll never be whole again...I won't ever be Anakin again."

"Without Padme, there is no Anakin. You were me, Padmé. You and I we were the same person. You were trapped by the Republic just as much as I was trapped by the Jedi. We led the same lives. With you died one half of my soul. And now I'm just what's left of me."

The Padmés faded away. Only this time his wife was in their place and she had flowers in her hair.

"Have faith my love," she said as she drew closer. The words sounded hauntingly familiar but he couldn’t remember why. It had been so long…

She put a ghostly hand on his face though he couldn't feel it. He tried to clutch her hand with his gloved ones only to let it pass through the phantom. "We'll be whole, once again. Just you wait," she said as she disappeared into nothingness.

Vader sighed. His other half had proved to be the best thing in his life and also his greatest misery.

Vader never hallucinated his dead wife again but when she did return, she did in the form of a fierce young princess and a young farm boy from a distant planet.

III.

In a different timeline, Anakin Skywalker lay entangled with his wife. She was fast asleep in his arms but sleep didn’t come as easily to him. Anakin always had a hard time falling asleep. The war had made it very difficult to be vulnerable. He knew he was safe at Coruscant and yet he just couldn't let all his worries fade away.

He gently disentangled himself from his wife and watched her sleep peacefully, her curls spread all over the pillow, her expression as soft as an angel's. He paced back and forth their apartment and settled in front of the large windows in Padmé’s apartment. The city never slept but the traffic was less in Coruscant's skylanes at this hour so it was easy to see the stars clearly.

He remembered watching them from his own small hut back on Tatooine. The worlds that had seemed so foreign back then seemed so familiar now. It was the place he grew up in he had trouble remembering.

"Anakin, what are you doing?" asked Padme softly, her eyes still sleepy.

"I’m sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No, of course not," she said as she rubbed her eyes. "You should get some sleep."

"I just can't. It's hard to relax," he explained.

She nodded with understanding as she took a seat beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulders and rubbed it gently. "Alright, then. I'll sit with you."

"You don't have to."

"I want to. It's not that I get to be with my husband every day."

They sat together and intertwined their hands. "Do you...you ever wonder if...we had never met?" Padme asked.

"No. I don't. Because we were always meant to meet. Don't you believe that, angel?"

"I-I do but that's wishful thinking on my part."

"No. it isn't. My connection to the force is so strong I just know we were meant to be together. It has always been our destiny."

"Mhmm," she hummed, "Wonder what destiny has in store for us."

“Whatever comes our way, we’ll face it together,” assured Anakin as he kissed her cheek. The couple spent the rest of the night sitting in comfortable silence and basking in each other’s presence.

#anidalaweek2021 #anidalaweek #anidala #anakin x padme #vaderdala #vader x padme #fic #soulmate au #twin flames

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mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune · 3 years

Text

The Theory About Steven, Pink-Steven And Their Mom

I was originally going to sign back on later after talking about well the other stuff I had posted and I wanted to wait to post the talk about the theory about Steven, Pink-Steven and Rose.

I first wanted to sign back in to edit one of the tags in the last post I had posted before I sign out, but then I decided to talk about the theory about Steven.

okay first of all we know the Crossover theory

about Sans and Steven being one and the same.

and Steven Quartz Universe spells out “Sans”

and it is possible that while one version of Steven never became Sans,

such as a version that lived in the Deltarune Timeline, and the Sans we see in that game might very well be a version of Steven that became Sans and is from the Undertale Genocide Timeline, that never had a neutral or pacifist run.

and Sans, his little brother and the rest of the survivors of that non-stop geno timeline had to escape into the Deltarune Timeline.

where there was another him, but the him that was born there was still Steven and never became a Sans.

anyway back to the theory about Steven, Pink-Steven and Rose.

even if it is said that Rose gave up her form to bring Steven into the world,

but what if that is only half true, we know that Pink-Steven

when he was reforming, he first appeared as Pink Diamond, Then Rose Quartz and lastly as Steven.

I believe that Pink-Steven might really be a Fragment from Rose,

when a soul is fragmented, it is likely to become a new being, one that isn’t 100% the same as their soul-parent.

we know that Rose has lied before, and she even kept what she did to Spinel a secret from the rest of the Crystal Gems.

I believe that Pink-Steven saying that she’s Gone, has more meaning than just her being “dead” and he might know what really happen to her.

in theory when Rose was still pregnant with Steven,

she secretly made another Pink Diamond that she put inside herself

and let it bond to Steven, then she fragmented a part of herself and place it in the New Pink Diamond that would be part of Steven.

then once again Rose fakes her death, and went to parts unknown.

maybe she could of escape to the Dark World in the Deltarune Timeline.

I do have another theory about the Dark World, that it might be the very place that Gaster was lost through Time and Space in.

we know that in the Chapter 1, when Susie and Kris got back there was no one at school and it was just them.

and Toriel calls when Kris is about to leave the school.

it is a theory, but it is possible when Kris and Susie entered that world...

their existence was forgotten, like at first they would be remembered,

and those who have been to the Dark World (or Dark Worlds) like them

will be able to be immune to the whole forgetting their existence.

so it is possible while Kris and Susie go back to Dark World,

and a hour passes when they are still there,

the only ones who will be able to remember them and freakout about everyone forgetting them....would be Noelle and Berdly.

since those two had ended up in the Cyber-Dark World.

they might end up becoming immune to the effects the Dark World/Void.

if Berdly asks whats taking Susie and Kris so long,

I would imagine that everyone (but Noelle) would look at him like he was crazy and wondering who are Kris and Susie.

so yeah I believe that the Dark World, might be the Void.

and it has the ability to cause those outside it, to get amnesia of a person who enters that world....

the only way someone from the outside can remember, is if they been to that place before and were able to escape.

back to the talk about Steven, if Steven becomes Sans in one of the possible ways....either being resurrected or reincarnation.

the half that is Pink-Steven would still end up existing,

both halves being cleaved.

if Steven ended up having his age flux dangerously while he was in the middle of dying, then at his last moments he could of ended up becoming a baby.

and Gaster could of found the Baby Sans and ended up becoming his new dad.

or Steven could of been reborn as Gaster’s son, there can be different theories on how Steven becomes Sans.

but no matter the theories,

he would always end up becoming the big brother to Papyrus.

if Steven did become a Baby again, and became Baby Sans.

his memories of his past with his Ex-Dad, Connie and the Crystal Gems.

might not resurface until a few years later, maybe not until after Papyrus was born.

I know not all fans will agree, but it is possible that Pink-Steven isn’t just a reincarnation of Pink/Rose, and might just be a fragment from her that she placed into a new pink diamond she created and had it bond to her human child, that she and Greg would either name Steven or Nora.

Pink-Steven yelling out that “She’s Gone” might have more meaning,

like he knew she didn’t “die” or just retreated into the gem she gave to Steven.

I believe the Pink Diamond that Steven has, is truly his and was possibly made by Rose and Pink-Steven was a creation of hers by taking a fragment of her consciousness light and placing the very small fragment into the newly created Pink Diamond.

if that were true, that would mean that Rose is still alive and hiding.

and she made her friends, Greg and her own Son believe she had truly gave up her physical form and she gave her life to bring Steven into the world.

only Pink-Steven, the other half of Steven would know this very big secret.

it’s okay that not all fans agree about this theory being possibly true.

and it’s alright that no one agrees about the dark world we see in Deltarune,

is really the void that makes others outside it, forget those who enter it.

but it would explain why no one was truly worried about Susie and Kris when they didn’t come back to class for hours.

and the only time they did show worry, was when they came back from the dark world and everyone remembered their existence.

it is possible that Susie, Kris and maybe some of the Darkners/Tulpa

have no idea that the Dark World makes those outside it forget a person’s existence and the only way to undo it is if they return.

I’m gonna stick to my headcanon theory, that has to do with how before the Player/Red Soul ended up using Kris as a vessel.

the Knight had taken over Kris at some point, and would get them into trouble and even did some dangerous pranks, like with the ferris wheel.

the purpose we have in the game, is to free Kris from Knight and have them bond with others and form strong friendships.

but if we choose to go down the Geno Path, we end up becoming partners with Knight.

I had to watch clips from Chapter 2 to find out certain stuff that I missed when finally being able to play it myself.

I believe that the Ralsei we meet in Chapter 2, is not the same one we first meet in Chapter 1, and the real fluffy prince is in imprisoned and the Ralsei we meet in Chapter 2 is trying to fool us into believing they are the one we befriended before.

I know a lot of fans might of wondered if Ralsei is hiding a dark secret.

and it turning out that he is the bad guy, but that might only be half true.

the Ralsei in Chapter 2 might turn out to be secretly a bad guy who is working for the Knight.

but as for the Ralsei in Chapter 1, he could turn out to truly care about Kris and knows that the Player/Red Soul was placed in them, in order to save them from Knight and to take away their control over Kris.

Knight might only get back control during a Geno Route in the Dark World,

and even during the Nighttime when Kris returns home.

it is possible while the Knight has control of Kris, they allow them to eat the Pie.

Kris might possibly have three souls in them, one belonging to them, the other being the Knight who was making their life miserable, and lastly the Player.

the Player can go down the Geno Route, but in doing so would be adding the misery to Kris, and they wouldn’t just have one soul that wasn’t theirs that is making their life a nightmare, but two instead.

we know that Steven was very confused about the thoughts if he was his Mom or not, and it turns out he isn’t her, but he could still have a fragment of her

that ended up becoming Pink-Steven.

no one has to agree about this theory being true, but I believe that Pink-Steven isn’t just a reincarnation of Rose but is really a fragment from her that Rose created, along with a new diamond.

Steven’s relationship with his mother, is already estranged and it can be possible he doesn’t view her as much of a hero to look up to as he did when he was a kid, same goes for how bad things got for him and Greg.

I’m sure that while some who watched that episode on Steven Universe Future,

where Greg showed Steven the House he grew up in, think Greg made the right choice by leaving......well I’m not sure if others feel that way but I’m just guessing.

but I believe Greg was slightly in the wrong, even if his parents tried to do their best, they could of still explained why he wasn’t allowed to have certain things.

I did mention before about the theory that one of Greg’s parents

might of had a sensitive hearing and couldn’t handle loud music,

and Greg kept having the volume up and even though one or both his parents told him to stop it and to keep it down, he ignored them and kept the volume up.

and there could of been a good reason why they gave him meatloaf,

even if too much of it might be possibly bad.

Greg might of had a habit of misbehaving, and that is why his parents had to be even more strict with him.

we know that Pink Diamond, before she became Rose and when she faked her death and poof and reformed, the Rose Quartz disguise was no longer a disguise and that form became her real form the moment she reformed after Pink Diamond was “shattered” and we know before all that happen,

Pink would always misbehave and Blue would have to place her in the tower.

while Pink could of had some unfair moments where she was punished for the wrong reasons, other times the punishments were fair and something she needed.

but it would of been best to just ground her in her room,

and only use the tower if necessary, like to block out her destructive powers.

I believe the tower was made to block out Pink’s destructive powers.

Rose was both a good and bad person, but she could be a bit insensitive

and didn’t know how much Blue, Yellow and White loved her.

or how much Spinel loved her,

or how Pink Pearl aka “Lily” (Fanon) or Volleyball (Canon) loved her

and defended her actions when she ended up hurting them.

even Pearl was hurt by her, and she didn’t want to believe that she would hurt Lily, but then at some point in that episode where they tried to fix Lily,

Pearl had open her eyes to the damage that Rose (when she was Pink Diamond) had done.

after what happen with Steven, and even seeing that his problems had first started in the first series, Rose had caused him some emotional pain.

it doesn’t help that his family, Greg and the Crystal Gems are partly responsible.

even if they love him, they kinda half neglected his human needs.

even if they ended up taking care of most of his human needs....

Greg is at the most fault for not taking Steven to a doctor for his human half,

and Doctor Mahaswaren was in the right to be upset at Greg.

she mentions the unhealthy and healthy stress and the trauma done to Steven’s body, and how he always feels attacked.

I don’t think Sadie, Lars, Connie or others who knew Greg, knew anything about how Steven was being raised might be actually hurting him.

there is something called balance, Steven could still do Gem stuff

but he should make sure to give himself a break and do more human stuff.

some who have been in the same or slightly different feelings that Steven goes through in Steven Universe Future, end up relating to Steven and understand the bad feelings aren’t so easy to get rid of and don’t just go away as fast as we want them to.

if you get a another depression after getting better from the first one,

it might end up becoming worse and might go through some stages

and it will take way longer to get better.

you could try to act like everything is fine, and even if there are people and the stuff that interest you that still makes you feel a bit happy, the bad feeling is still there and it can hurt.

not like the hurt you feel when you get a cut or if you end up with a bruise on your arm and depending how hard your arm got hit, the inside of the arm will feel a bit sore and you will have to use ice and when the bruise starts to change color means it is getting better.

the type of hurt that has nothing to do with those two, has to do with your very soul and emotions I think.

like a build up of too much negative energy that is only hurting you on the inside.

I know there was more than one things that were getting to me that day,

and because of a fight, it was the breaking point.

I didn’t like it when the words I was trying to explain before ended up being misinterpreted and I had to give up on trying to explain.

I learned that it is a bad idea for someone who had a few months of depression, to end up with another depression on another year that might be close to the one that they had the first one and had got better too.

it could end up becoming way worse.

plus it can hurt when you feel like your family don’t listen to you,

and might make you feel they don’t love you as much, even if they do love you, they might make you feel like they don’t when they can’t understand about certain concerns and you might feel heart broken at thoughts that you try to tell them but they wont listen or they try to tell you that isn’t true.

I mean I still love my family, but it feels like they don’t listen to me half the time.

I think it is possible when our family don’t listen when we needed it,

it can end up hurting us emotionally and it might cause us to not trust them with certain things anymore.

we can still trust them, but not like how we use to.

like with my whole Ficto-Aroaceflux and then going through a type of chrysalis stage that has my inner me trying to figure out if I’m more of a Gyno-Agender

or Feminine-Nonbinary.

and I know I can’t tell my family about me believing in a Goddess too.

I still believe in God and even Jesus, but now I believe in Goddess.

at first I started to go by Neo-Christian with the whole Ma-Acolyte

(which the “MA” stands for Mother of All Angels.)

but now I go by Neo-Spiritual.

and I can’t tell my Mom that I am a Asexual Flux type.

there are some Aces who can be Bi or Pan or Hetero.

the Asexuality should not be confused for the Asexual Reproduction.

just because they both use the word “Asexual” doesn’t mean they will be the same.

Steven not talking about his feelings or if he does, it doesn’t go into how bad it has gotten for him.

ended up with him having a really REALLY bad breaking point.

and it caused him to view himself as a Monster and ended up corrupting himself.

there are some things that we can share with family and friends,

but some things we keep to ourselves.

anyway I’m gonna go sign off now, I will sign back later or tomorrow.

I hope some of you agree about the theory about the Dark World really being the Void, and the whole Pink-Steven really being a fragment from Rose and the diamond that Steven has, is really a new diamond that Rose created so she could once again fake her death and go into hiding.

we know that Pink had the ability to create gems from dirt and made a very real looking pink diamond shards.

so it is logical to believe that she created a new pink diamond and place a fragment from herself, into it and made everyone believe she gave up her form when she had Steven.

if Sans and Pink-Steven became separate beings, but still being related...

and Sans still having traces of gem in soul.

Pink-Steven could end up meeting Sans again, and might decide to tell him the truth about their Mother, how she made both of them, and how the Diamond that everyone believed was Rose/Pink’s Gem was really a new pink diamond she created and made everyone believe she had died when giving up her form to bring Steven into the world.

we know that Rose had kept secrets before, this would just be another secret that fans would of had to figure out, I mean if it is true.

but it is still a theory, but it is a theory that I see as headcanon.

not everyone has to agree about it being true, not everyone has to agree on the same headcanon and that’s okay.

I’m going to go watch Steven Universe now,

and later I’m going to play Deltarune.

see ya later and stay safe everyone.

#steven quartz universe #pink steven #rose quartz #pink diamond #fragment #sans the skeleton #steven universe theory #undertale theory #deltarune theory #spoilers #dark world #void #Headcanon

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lelenoir · 4 years

Text

pairings: soulmate!na jaemin x reader and a small dash of mark lee x reader

word count: 5.3k+

warnings: profanities, one suggestive scene, also some historical inaccuracies [since i don’t know how to speak oldsey timesy english], if you feel like you’ve read this before it’s because you have, in my old blog.

synopsis: a person’s life is destined for a purpose. in this world, everyone revolves around one purpose and that purpose floats around one person, a soulmate. throughout the majority of a person’s life, they are all set to a journey to find their other halves. some lived to be hundreds of years old in their pursuit. but it was all worth it when two souls finally meet.

taglist: @mikasrecs

note: big big thank you to my future wife @jimjamjaemin for reading this fic in its baby days and to @jenoir for being one of my constant motivators and helping me fix my horrible grammar. i love u both :( 💕

Greece. 650 B.C.

A person’s life is destined for a purpose. In this world, everyone revolves around one purpose and that purpose floats around one person, a soulmate. Throughout the majority of a person’s life, they are all set to a journey to find their other halves. Some lived to be hundreds of years old in their pursuit. But it was all worth it when two souls finally meet.

Na Jaemin was a firm believer of the soulmate bonds. He was a sucker for it, often slipping into countless daydreams of him meeting his other half.

He imagined it to happen in a vast field of flowers, the sun shining bright with no one in sight but him and his soulmate. Every second would go in slow motion, with him savoring every moment of it. His mother often scolded him for it, telling him off whenever he over baked the bread or mixed up the customers’ orders due to him zoning out.

His best friend, an upper class, named Lee Jeno got his tattoo months before him. It made the younger boy giggle every time he recalled the memory. The way Jeno’s parents gasp at the words engraved on their son’s skin like it was an abomination. And in the traditions and beliefs of Ancient Greece, it was.

Before Jaemin could even stifle his chuckle, Jeno walked through the door of their shop. He sported a colorful tunic, a contrast to the plain white one the younger boy was wearing.

“Big day tomorrow,” Jeno remarked, a happy tone lacing his voice as he strolled towards the counter, eyeing the bread displayed all around.

Jaemin couldn’t help but beam at the thought. Tomorrow was his eighteenth birthday and in his world, eighteen is probably considered the most important age a person will turn to. It was the age of independence. The age where you are thrusted into a very long journey. For some that journey might last for a year, maybe five or ten. And those people are considered very lucky because for some that journey could stretch up to a hundred years. Because at eighteen is when you receive a tattoo. Not just any tattoo, but your soulmate bond.

After that, a person’s age will be stuck to eighteen until they meet their other half. Thus, the journey ensues.

“What do you think the sentence will be?” Jeno asked, throwing a glance over to the boy.

“As long as it’s better than yours then I’m good.” Jaemin teased, making the other scowl in return. It was an ongoing joke the pair had. The sentence written on Jeno’s wrist in bold were the words; ‘nice going, asshole!’ making the older feel embarrassed by the obscene words his soulmate will throw at him. Since then, he wore a long bracelet to cover the tattoo. “Anyways what do you need? Not like I can give you much since we only sell bread here.” Jaemin said, leaning his hands on the counter.

“Just the usual,” the older answered, “some relatives are stopping by.”

Jaemin nodded, going to the back where his mother bakes. The heat from the ovens made the boy readjust the tunic he was wearing. He took one of the white bread from the rack and wrapped it up for his friend.

“Thanks,” Jeno said, taking the food before giving the payment for it. “Goodluck tomorrow!” He called over his shoulder, offering one last smile before exiting the shop, leaving the boy to go back to daydreaming.

That night Jaemin couldn’t sleep. How could he? He waited his entire life for this moment. Carefully, he lit the small lamp on the table next to his makeshift bed. He watched as the light touched every part of his small room. The chilly breeze of the night crawling up to his back, making him shiver. He took the large blanket on his bed before wrapping it around his body.

His eyes bore on the skin of his wrist, waiting. He shifted, tapping his foot impatiently on the floor. He turned his attention to the window to look at the glowing moon surrounded by its many stars. It should happen anytime now. He assured himself. Of course the onslaught of his anxiety didn’t stop after that. Every second felt like an hour to him and every hour felt like an eternity. His eyes shot fire to his wrist as he continued to stare intensely at it. The tapping of his foot grew more frantic by the minute.

He almost couldn’t contain himself as specks of black started to appear, the small tickling sensation making his lips part into an amazed 'o’. He pulled the cloth on his shoulders closer as the black swirled around the surface. His smile grew wider as time went by and the words started to become more distinguishable.

Jaemin could almost see it; the way his soulmate’s eyes would gleam, he could almost hear the sound of their laughter, and feel the electricity when their fingertips touch. Would you be as happy as him when you two meet? Would you even get the jokes he’d tell? How long will he wait for you?

He hoped it wouldn’t be long. But he also wouldn’t mind if it took a long time. He knew it was worth it. The simplest of questions ran through his mind but all of it stopped as the final word started to take form.

'you dropped your phone.’

His eyebrows furrow at the strange word. Phone? He can’t help but wonder what that was. Was it some kind of foreign food? He didn’t think so, but if it was then where was it made? The East? He heard a lot of exotic food was made there. There was a ship about to go on another expedition up north. Should he go now? Drop everything here to search for you? All that Jaemin could do was wonder. Happy thoughts filling his mind again once again, now that he thinks that he is one step closer to finding his soulmate; to finding you.

France. 1888.

“Come on, Mark!” You called out, dragging the boy as you marvelled at the tall unfinished tower. You hear the boy catch his breath next to you, resting his hand on his knees. You chuckled at his exhausted state before looking back to the sight in front of you. “How long do you think they’ll take to finish it?”

He looked confusedly at you before shifting his attention to the front. He scoffed, “probably a few more years. A hundred?”

You rolled your eyes at his answer. “Nonsense, Lee. You’ve seen how mankind has evolved a lot. Who knows? They might finish it next year.”

“You mean, you’ve seen how mankind has evolved.” He told you, putting more emphasis on the 'you’. “I’ve only been around for seventy years. That’s like a teaspoon compared to how long you’ve been alive.”

You hummed in reply, a sad smile settling in your features before quickly pulling yourself together.

True, it has been a long time since you were born. You’ve met so many people, practiced so many traditions and saw the world age right before your eyes. At this point you were slowly making your way around the globe; starting from your hometown and going west to whatever is out there.

You’ve met Mark in the ship that brought you here. The two of you hitting it off almost immediately. He told you about his life in Canada and about the happenings in the countries next to it. He was a young doctor, currently travelling the world to study medicine from different regions. On the way here, he gushed about the many plants, herbs and spices he had studied over the years. It was incredibly fascinating how he was so passionate about his work. You bet he could go on and on about his studies without ever going bored.

In exchange for the many information—and you know they were a lot—you told him about some of your very own adventures. You told him about the war you joined when you were nineteen and also told him about your time as a healer. You haven’t seen someone look so ready to take notes in your entire life. And you’ve been alive for years.

It was charming to say the least, the way the boy held onto your every word. You felt the first signs of subtle infatuation course through your veins whenever he looked at you. You wondered if this is what it felt like when you meet your soulmate: the loud pounding in your chest, the heat that spread across your head and lastly, the intoxicating feeling of having him around. It’s probably the loneliness speaking but you loved having him around.

This went on for days, the two of you hanging out wherever and whenever. It wasn’t new when the two of you headed out at night, the lights of Paris illuminating the streets as you and Mark walked along them. It’s only been a day but it felt like you’ve met him all your life. He loved sailing across the sea, he lived for the wind blowing against his face, and he had a passion for serving others and taking care of them.

You wondered what would happen if the whole soulmate ordeal wasn’t real. What if in this moment the both of you are just a bunch of runaway tourists bumping into each other. The first step to what could’ve been an amazing love story.

It was a funny thing, wasn’t it? The whole soulmate business. It punished you to no end but at the same time you wouldn’t have met Mark without it. You should be dead by now, you think. If it wasn’t for the partial immortality it gives, you would’ve died of old age. You wondered what would’ve been your life if it was.

Mark noticed your sudden quietness, his steps slowing down to meet yours as he looked up at you. Unaware of his stare, you continued to get lost in your own ocean of possibilities.

The touch he graced your shoulders made you jump, squeaking a bit as you looked at him in surprise. Mark chuckled at your response. He shook his head in amusement before finally having the nerve to call himself down. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You scoffed, smiling lightly at the boy. “Liked you’d ever spare anything for whatever’s going on in my head.”

“Well… why not?” He said nonchalantly. He pursed his lips together to further emphasise his point. “You’ve lived hundreds of years. I’m pretty sure everyone would like to know everything about you.”

You hummed, entertaining the thought a bit. “Are you?”

You don’t know where the boldness in your words came from but you thanked the stars for helping you build up your facade as you looked at Mark in anticipation.

He raised his eyebrow at you for a moment. His eyes showed you how much they scramble to gather his thoughts and make sense of your gaze and words. “Yes.”

Soon you found yourself locked with him in his room. Tongues moving against one another in a frenzy and hands gripping on any and every part of him. His lips tasted like honey while his touch felt like fire against your skin. His body set yours ablaze as he laid you down, sparking up every single desire he could find until you finally let him take you.

“Is this okay?” He asked. You nodded your head quickly while his fingers continued its job to untangle the knots of your dress. A sheepish smile adorning his face as he kissed you once again.

After that night, the two of you grew closer to one another. A sudden shift in the once platonic tide. The secret whispers and kisses shared when no one was looking. In another universe the two of you would’ve looked like a young couple in love. However you weren’t living in another universe. You were living in this one. One where kissing someone that isn’t your soulmate is forbidden. An insult to the gods. But you just couldn’t help but fall deeper. The world dizzying around you as you frolicked around this daydream with him. It was all wrong and you knew that. But why did every second with him feel so right?

The answer, however, slams into you as a cold harsh no. It wasn’t. And it never would. The universe, as cruel as it could be, broke you apart before you could savor it some more. Soon enough the two of you had to part ways, you were going to travel to the U.K. while he was going back to America. The both of you were unwilling to compromise so you found it best to separate.

In your last night together, Mark held you close to his chest. He whispered sweet nothings in your ears, those which were filled with hope and wistful promises. In another world, this would’ve lasted.

“In our next life,” he said, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “I hope it will be ours.”

There, as you wave your hand goodbye like someone would with their lover, Mark smiled down sadly from the ship. His hand held up as well to bid you farewell. The loud horn almost deafening as he began to drift away.

You stood by the docks frozen as the wind began to pick up. You pulled your coat closer, snapping yourself out of your trance. Turning your attention to the sea, the ship was now gone, taking Mark with it. Along with the soulmate bond, promises a lifetime of heartbreaks. You just never thought it would feel this harsh.

United States of America. 1989.

After the day he got his bond, Na Jaemin was even more determined. His life worked like a clock, his daily routines consisted of waking up, helping out in the bakery, sleep and repeat. His parents withered away while Jaemin remained the same. The regulars who came to the bakery changed as well with business slowly dwindling away, wars came and gone and Jaemin managed to live through it all. Jeno accompanied him across the years, both boys living up to the ages of old men but still appeared like they were just about to see the world. When in fact, they’ve seen it all. They travelled around it together, watched history play in front of their eyes, they got to see the world evolve into things they never imagined. But at one point, even Jeno had to leave him.

It was around 1989 in a land now called the United States of America, by this point the first handheld phone was invented. And once it did, no one was more excited for it than Na Jaemin. The words on his wrist finally making sense after years of questioning.

Jaemin didn’t miss any opportunity to subtly drop it whenever he could. This made Jeno laugh every time the phone would end up either broken or, even funnier, stolen. But on the rare instances that the stranger was not an asshole, it was always a “you dropped this” or “your phone dropped” or any version of the words written on his wrist but never those exact words. It was baffling how the universe seemed to love teasing him about who his soulmate is. He blamed himself for being such a hopeless romantic.

Jeno met his soulmate during one of their late night drives across Chicago. It just finished raining and the empty streets were filled with mud. The wind was cold, and the air was still a bit dense. Jaemin had told Jeno to put the roof down so he could recreate one of the scenes in a movie they recently saw. One of the best things people ever invented, he once said in the middle of one. The older just scoffed at his remark, recounting the different times Jaemin had said the same phrase about numerous other things.

Currently preoccupied, Jeno didn’t notice the person standing dangerously close to the edge of the sidewalk nor did he notice the huge puddle of mud he was about to cut through that, unfortunately, lay in front of the person’s feet. The car sped through it, causing a huge splash of brown to befall on the unlucky person.

Jeno abruptly stopped the car to apologise, only to be slapped back with a loud: “nice going, asshole!” before he could even utter out a word.

At that moment, Jeno was in love. Only whispering a small 'wow’ followed by a “you have no idea how long I’ve waited for someone to call me an asshole.” And the rest was history.

Soon Jeno began to age while Jaemin continued being eighteen. When his friend started to have a family of his own, he started trying to live by himself, no more depending on his friend. He hated to admit it but the hundreds of years of living in this world only became bearable to him because Jeno was there. He always thought he’d have his friend by his side no matter what but now that Jeno’s hair was turning gray, he couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of facing another hundred years all by himself.

United States of America. 2030

The time came when Jeno had to finally say goodbye. Jaemin stood next to his friend’s kids as they gently put the casket down. All the people that surrounded him were filled with Jeno’s spouse’s family and friends, some of them looking older than he is while the other half could pass off as his 'peers’. Jaemin was the only one there that was Jeno’s.

It felt odd. Standing amongst strangers that aren’t supposed to be strangers. They should be his friends, yet Jaemin never felt so alone in the middle of a crowd. They lowered Jeno’s coffin but before they could throw the first patch of dirt, Jaemin threw a few purple and blue hyacinths. A symbol for constancy and sincerity.

After the ceremony, Jaemin stared up at the sky. The stars made him feel small as tears escaped his eyes. Some scholars back in his day would often say that the stars were the souls of the dead. Jaemin liked to believe his friend was there. He took in a deep breath, preparing himself to face this world all over again. Only this time, he’d be all alone.

Japan. 2031.

Meanwhile, you were miles away. The day Jaemin lost his friend, you were on your way to make a talk at one of the top universities in the country of Japan and you’d been staying there ever since. It was now the year 2031 and it was rare for someone to live hundreds of years without their soulmate, even rarer that that person played a huge role in history.

The moment the words came to your wrists, the elders in your village knew you were destined to live a long life. You were a strong warrior who fought and defended your country from colonizers. You were also a healer during the revolution and helped some prominent figures in history.

After Mark, you continued to travel the world, mostly alone, and met a handful of friends. Although none of them stuck around long, you enjoyed the temporary company. Still, your mind would always drift back to the young doctor you’ve spent Paris with.

“Anyways, after this you have another talk in Chicago next week so you still have a few days to explore.” Your assistant, Donghyuck said as the two of you walk through the halls.

You scoffed lightly, “I’ve walked through Japan more times than anyone, I feel like I already know it at the back of my hand. In fact, I feel like I know the world at the back of my hand at this point!” You sighed out exhaustively.

“I-I’m sorry…” Donghyuck stuttered out. You frowned at yourself for taking your anger out on the boy. The hundreds of years you’ve walked in this Earth really took a toll on you. You were frustrated with how long this journey was taking, the friends you met through the years have all gone to the stars. The people you used to gush about and talk to have now withered away, leaving you to years of loneliness.

“No, I’m sorry Donghyuck.” You said, giving him an apologetic smile. “I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that… Let’s just get this over with.”

Donghyuck nodded his head. Although his lips were upturned to an encouraging smile, his eyebrows were furrowed in a small frown. A subtle sign of pity.

You couldn’t blame him really, even you would pity yourself if you were in his shoes. Most people meet their soulmate after at least five years after getting the bond—heck some meet theirs after a year if you’re lucky—and that could stretch to at least a hundred but that’s it. You hold the record of being on Earth for the longest time without finding your soulmate, the second one was a guy who lived during Ancient Greece. You don’t really know much about him since he tends to lay low. Unlike you, you liked the money. If you were gonna live for hundreds of years, you atleast want to spend it rich.

After the seminar, you slumped yourself on the comfort of your bed. Hands grabbing hold of the bottle of alcohol sitting on your nightstand. You took a long swig of the drink, the liquid burning down your throat as you swallowed it all. You wiped the spill off your lips, head already spinning and eyes threatening to shut. You wondered how your soulmate was doing, or if he even was alive by now. You could wait for another hundred years but you wished they’d come soon. In your haze, you let the alcohol consume you. Turning to your side as you let go of the bottle to the carpeted floor. You were getting tired of this life anyways.

United States of America. 2031

When you arrived in Chicago, you couldn’t hide the dull look that encompassed your features. A distinguishable difference to the boy next to you, Donghyuck couldn’t help but be giddy at being in a new country. You almost laughed when he ran out of the plane excitedly, jumping around and pointing at things he rarely saw when living in Korea. His reaction made you nostalgic on how you were when you first went to a foreign country. Now it just felt like nothing. The excitement was gone and all that was left was boredom.

You suddenly remembered Mark. He was buried around here. He found his soulmate three years after Paris. You received a letter from him, describing the ecstasy and the warmth and all the things you felt with him. He wished you all the good things, hoping for you to find yours soon just like he did. You spent days in the confines of your room, inconsolable. The world was an unfair place filled with unfair people. Everything, the universe, just loved to watch you burn. You wanted to scream at them, tell them how cruel they were for doing whatever they did. But you could never do that. Not to Mark. Never at Mark.

A year later, you found out he died of tuberculosis. The young doctor didn’t even get the chance to spend a whole lifetime with his soulmate. The world was an unfair place, even to someone like Mark.

“Hey Hyuck, do you know what time the seminar will start tomorrow?” You asked, walking side by side as you made your way to your car.

Donghyuck went silent for a moment, looking through his tablet mindlessly. “Around three pm,” he replied briefly. Ever since you went off on him the week before, you’ve noticed he’s been more cautious with his words around you. You took a mental note to talk to him later.

“Okay, I need to go somewhere beforehand. It’s really important.” You told him. He nodded in reply, muttering an “okay” before turning back to his tablet and continued to scroll through it.

Jaemin had been a wreck. It had been weeks without Jeno and the boy couldn’t even will himself to go outside. He almost didn’t know what the sun felt like on his skin anymore, having drawn his curtains down since the funeral. His supply of ramen, his only source of food at this point, was already starting to go nil which meant he had to get his ass up sooner or later. He groaned to himself, pushing his body off the couch. A strong surge of dizziness attacked his brain because of the sudden movement. His hands instinctively went to his head to ease the pain.

After the sensation faded, he turned to look at himself in the mirror, cringing at his paleness. He splashed water to his face to wash off the oil, grabbed his phone and wallet then left the dingy apartment he called home.

Walking around the city felt strange now. He didn’t know why but something felt different. He chuckled to himself, of course everything was different. The world changed hundreds of years ago when he and Jeno had fled Greece due to the many wars and invasions that were happening. The world changed when he was forced to forget all that he knew and grew up to leave everything behind in order to move forward. The world changed when the people changed, gone were the days when he could get by by just baking bread, now greed roamed rampant and he’d been doing jobs he never even imagined doing back when he was in Greece. His world changed the moment Jeno met his soulmate and he was suddenly thrusted into this world he’d lived all his life in but now felt so foreign. And finally, the world changed when Jeno died. Leaving him on his own while the world continued to move forward. He adapted this far, surely he could do it all again on his own now. Everything felt difficult now. When everything felt difficult back then, he had Jeno. But now Jeno is gone.

He sighed to himself, making a turn to one familiar alley. It felt weird coming back here after weeks. He could almost imagine the ghost of his friend walking alongside him as he made way to the cemetery.

The both of them used to loiter around here a lot, watch the people come and go as they try to decipher their stories. This was where they observed their behaviors; what to do and what not to when they first came here. It was one of the two reasons why they want to be buried here instead of in Greece. They pretty much knew a lot of the names in this cemetery. The people dating back to as early as the 18th century.

His legs felt like they had a mind of their own, dragging the sullen body of Jaemin with it until they’ve reached their destination.

“Hey there,” Jaemin whispered, eyes trained down to the gray slab of stone. “It feels weird not having you around anymore but I’ll be okay. I just stopped by because… Well to be honest I don’t know. I guess I missed you? There, I said it. You’re probably laughing in the sky now or whatever. But yeah I miss you, bud.” He continued to stare at it as if waiting for a response of some sort to come. He shifted in his feet every once in a while. He sighed, “I hope you’re doing okay… wherever you are.”

With that, he turned around, kicking the bunched up pebbles on the ground as he did so. He straightened out the hoodie he was wearing before setting off to leave.

Mark’s grave was located at the farthest point of the cemetery. His was one of the oldest and most well kept graves in the section since you try to visit him whenever you were in the country, which was about at least once every two years.

The wind felt soft against your skin, making you hum at the touch. The sky was a beautiful shade of blue, adorned with white puffy clouds and a bright rayed sun. It was the perfect day. You could hardly remember when you felt this calm on such a day. Usually, these weather conditions made you nostalgic of how the world was back then but today felt different. You couldn’t quite put your finger as to why.

The leaves crunched with every step you took. You managed to look around the cemetery, seeing a handful of new gravestones as you walked. You could barely remember this part as an open field back then, now it was almost filled. However, in a field full of tombstones and dead leaves, one person stood on top of it. He was a bit far from you, almost a speck in the field. He had this weird aura around him, almost drawing you in without doing anything.

You found yourself hypnotised by the figure, your legs turning to the direction of the man. What was once a speck in the distance soon became a clear form of a sad man, and oh my god he was beautiful. He had blue hair, like the sky. His eyes, although you could barely catch a glimpse of it, looked like it could hold the sun with the way it shone. His lips, downturned to a frown, made you want to come up to him for a smile. You’ve never been so enthralled by a person before. Your heart pounded in your ribcage and you were afraid that he could hear it.

He straightened himself up, your eyes suddenly distracted to the thing that fell off from one of his pockets. You rushed to him just as he was about to leave, quickly grabbing the object then tapping his shoulder.

“You dropped your phone.”

Jaemin stopped in his tracks. He turned his head to the soft voice. His eyes took in every single feature of your face, taking in every freckle, mole, eyelash and all the small details. He wanted to memorize it all.

He couldn’t believe it. There you were, in front of him in all your glory. He could feel the tears well up in his eyes as he stared at you.

You smiled at him awkwardly, eyes shifting as you wonder what was happening. Your hand—the one that wasn’t holding his phone—made its way to the ends of his shoulders, snapping him back to reality. Although he wasn’t really sure if this was actually reality. He wondered if this was just one fucked up dream he’s having. Another cruel joke the universe decided to pull on him. He pinched himself just to check.

Your eyes furrowed at the action. An awkward laugh left your throat at the weird interaction. Any normal person would have left at this point already but you found yourself mounted on the spot. His magnetic aura pulls you in even at the scary behavior he’s exuding. Something about him felt familiar.

His hand took yours that was still on his shoulder. He held it with such gentleness, it almost made you blush, an electrifying feeling travelling up to your heart that was still pounding in your chest. His free hand then went to the side of your face, making you grip the phone that you were still holding. Your breath now caught in your throat as he stared at you with so much love, you felt the butterflies storming in your guts.

Was this what Mark meant in his letters? The familiarity? The magnetizing aura? All these ran through your head as you stared at the stranger in disbelief. Tears welled up on the sides of your eyes, a shaky breath leaving your lips. Suddenly, you felt his arms around your form, a relieved sigh leaving his lips as he held you. An overwhelming euphoria washed over your bodies as you hugged him back, closing your eyes to savor the feeling of having him in your arms.

“I’ve waited lifetimes for you to find me.”

No matter how long it takes and no matter what the circumstances may be. The phenomenon when two souls, meant for each other, finally meet is always worth it.

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snarwor · 3 years

Text

moon and old stars - chapter 9

holy shit it’s been awhile huh. no warnings for this one <3

Masterlist | Read on AO3

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Din thought about frost a bit too much.

It made almost no sense. Navarro was a lava planet, sulfuric and burning in dangerous pools less than a klick outside of city limits. His missions took him through the hottest damn planets. One of his only memories of his childhood was whining at the cold, and feeling the heavy weight of his father’s jacket settling around his shoulders. Heat and warmth and weight, that was love.

Of course, the exception to this was the blurrg which had fallen on him on Arvala-7, which was hot and heavy and smelly.

But Grogu, the kid. He weighed barely anything and was no warmer than perhaps a Loth-cat, and yet the weight which had settled over Din the moment he’d shot IG-11, the warmth which had filled his bones when that little hand had reached out for him, it was unlike anything he’d experienced before.

Crash landing on the ice planet with Mrs. Frog and the kid had been an exercise in fear, in hopelessness, in compartmentalization. The Crest was damaged beyond reasonable repair, there was a very odd biological imperative happening, there were karking ice spiders, yet the thing that filled Din with the most dread had been the cold. It seeped in and leached the warmth and hope from his bones, staining his beskar with ice, splintering like cracks in stone. False fissures.

When they'd managed to get to the atmosphere again, he joked about all of them dying in the harsh vacuum of space, and it didn’t even register until they’d hit the balmy surface of Trask. He’d made light of an icy, deadly situation, which was, at its core, supposed to be heavy and blood-hot. He’d been horrified when he realized.

He remembered listening to Omera speak on Sorgan about the history of the valley they lived in, how everything had been ice thousands and thousands of years ago, a massive glacier which melted and froze and melted and froze until an entire mountain had split in two. Din couldn’t believe it, but when he’d gotten back on the holonet, he looked up the phenomenon, and marveled at how cold destruction could bring such an idyllic sanctuary.

He began to see signs of it all over his travels. Ancient canyons with split boulders, once-whole halves laying cleaved by no tool made by man or machine. Din told the kid his findings. “Frost did this. Water gets in everywhere, it settles deep and when the cold hits, that water expands, and breaks things if it’s lucky enough.” Of course, the kid only paid attention when he had dried meat rations in his hand, but he liked to think he was paying attention at least some of the time.

His sanity had sprung a leak on Morak. Boba Fett had taken an ax to that leak and filled every splintered part of him with water until he felt like he was near drowning. His first gasp of air was on the armchair at the safe house, when they had been the only people in the entire galaxy. The shame was his heart’s first winter after the flood. The setup on the Lothal moon was an early spring snowstorm. The safe house had been a mild summer. The water had not left him. But when they boarded the ship, when they fought the Dark troopers, when…

Don’t be afraid.

That had been such a shock to his system that all that latent love and affection in him, feelings left dormant and misunderstood in the abscesses of his heart, froze. It was so cataclysmic he couldn’t even hear himself think over the groaning heave of his every canyon and valley. He was broken. He could not be put back together at all. And when Boba had said those five words, the frost started to melt, sure, but the cracks and chasms remained, evidence of a too-cold climate for anything like love to grow in.

Unless.

The melting sensation Boba had given him, the weight and warmth Din had always associated with love, perhaps it had been as natural as a cleaved boulder, but thaw had been intentional as well. It wasn’t Boba’s fault for the freeze in his heart. It wasn’t Boba’s fault he had existing cracks in his foundation. But he’d cleaned up the aftermath, several times over, taken his broken pieces and patched them together, said “I know you’re not whole, but I love you just the same” with every soft pass of a hand over his hair. With every pleasured moan he drew from Din’s lips. With every suspended second their gazes held, and every gentle press of a kiss, Din realized that the crags in his heart had smoothed over in places, didn’t hurt him as much as they had before. It wasn’t Boba’s fault for this new fissure, and here Din was, cutting the man on his own broken edges.

“Why didn’t you let her just kill me when she had the chance?!”

And still.

“Din—”

And still.

“No. Tell me why.”

And still.

“Because I love you, Din.”

The words sat in the air between them like a physical thing, an old moon in orbit, waiting to see if the shooting star would strike it down or warm it back. The last words his mother had said to him, before she was gone forever. He’d always understood that love wasn’t something to be volleyed back and forth, love wasn’t supposed to be expected or returned, not the true love his mother had given, and not the shy, defeated love Boba was giving him now.

And still.

“I love you, too.”

Boba let out a shuddering breath, half a laugh, and a single tear. “Then you understand why I couldn’t let you go.”

Love could look selfish, but it never felt selfish. At least not to Din. He let go of the bottle, and hung his head in his hands instead. The familiar shame of crying in front of Boba washed over him, and as his shoulders shook, he mourned that freeze a little, because he could at least pretend he was solid when it was there. Not now, though. Not now.

With hesitation, Boba’s arm wrapped around the slumped line of his shoulders. Without hesitation, Din leaned into it. “He’s gone,” Din rasped.

Boba made a noise he probably hadn’t meant to before the other arm came up to pull Din into his lap, curl him up small and safe. With the beskar, he was much heavier, and less kind on his aching body, but Boba bore his weight without complaint. “Not gone, just somewhere else,” Boba said, stroking a hand over Din’s head in a well-practiced motion they’d perfected since Morak. “I’ll...” The promise sat on the tip of his tongue. “If you really want him back, I can help you find him.”

Din shook his head, cried out and drained. “You don’t have to,” he said softly. “Your debt to me is paid, you don’t—”

“I don’t offer this to you out of a sense of obligation. I don’t offer any of myself to you for that. Maybe once, but certainly not now, jat’ika.”

The name hurt Din like a punch to the gut. The objection sat behind his lips like a fathier at the starting gate. He lifted his head so their eyes could meet again. Openness sat in Boba’s expression, and Din realized, all at once, that the two of them had really changed in those soft weeks between Tython and here. Without breaking eye contact, he brought his hand up to cup the back of Boba’s neck, and leaned in to press their foreheads together. A stuttering breath left Boba’s chest, a flash of that softness Din didn’t often see in him.

“I’m sorry,” Din said. “For what I said about your father.”

“You were upset,” Boba hedged. Din shook his head, only a little, as to not break the mirshmure’cya too fast.

“It doesn’t excuse it. I won’t say anything like that again. Forgive me, please.”

“I understand,” Boba said, bringing his own hand up to touch the apple of Din’s cheek. “It’s forgiven. Don’t catastrophize a mistake, Din.”

Din couldn’t help but laugh, a little. “Catastrophize.”

“Exactly,” Boba said, returning the smile. “Do you need to talk some more? Are you injured from the mission?”

This time, Din hedged, “Cuts and bruises, rattled my brain fighting a darktrooper, nothing huge.” Boba leveled him with an unimpressed look. “If it bothered me, I would have taken care of it.”

“Forgive me if I don’t quite believe you can take care of yourself.”

“Hoverskiff daddying, are we?” Din asked, a smirk on his mouth that both endeared and infuriated Boba in equal doses. Boba leaned back to press a smacking kiss to Din’s forehead.

“Show you daddying. C’mon, up. We’ll talk while we get you patched up.”

As Boba removed the armor from Din’s body, the weight which pulled at Din’s conscience followed suit. He felt able to take a full breath of air again, letting Boba smear bacta on his cuts and bruises, like every breath got easier than the last. Boba made him laugh, made him smile and forget he was ever frozen, forget he was ever broken and jagged and rough-edged. And when Boba mentioned the kid, the memories came with an ache, but no sharp pain. He would have permission to grieve, later. He knew that much. But for now, they reveled in the feeling of being alive after another difficult day, a unique sensation to the two that felt more familiar than coming home ever had.

“Your helmet.” Boba finally reached that topic, which predictably pulled a sigh and a downcast expression from Din’s face.

“I broke the Creed on Morak. And again, on the cruiser.” He left out the moments with Boba specifically. You are not of a Creed you can disappoint while in here. The only truth is that you are mine.

“You were saying goodbye to your son. I know men who would raze whole planets to the ground for the chance. It’s an honorable thing, what you did. Not a dishonorable one.” Din can’t make himself believe it in its entirety, not really.

“But the armor—”

“You told me once I’d have to peel your armor off your dead body. Yet I had to, to patch your wounds, give you comfort.”

They looked at the pile in the corner, gleaming beskar and worn padding which had protected Din for years. Clearly, he wasn’t dead, and yet, the armor went. Boba continued.

“And that to hand mine over to me was against the Creed. Until the more honorable realization was proven, you were returning it to me.”

Ret’urcye mhi. How funny that goodbye sounds like return to me.

“Your helmet was in the way of protecting your foundling, until it was not. Ke’juri beskar’gam, but not at the expense of k’ara’novo aliit, nor ke’gaa’tayli aliit bralir, nor ke’ba’juri sa Mando’ade.” Din felt the tears fall, but did not look away. “You are no less Mandalorian for making the decisions you did. In fact, you are perhaps more suited to hold that saber because of it.” He took Din’s hands. “You have protected and cared for your family. One of your aliit is learning what you could not teach. Your son is Mandalorian because he is yours.”

“Then why do I feel so guilty?” Din asked, his chest jumping a little in a hiccup, eyes shining with yet-unshed tears. Boba brought his hands up to kiss at their knuckles.

“It’s not guilt. It’s grief. We carry it differently, but it does not make us. The same as our armor. It is something we wear, something sacred, but it is not the armor who protects a son.”

Din fell into his arms, pressing grateful kisses to Boba’s mouth, his face. Tears of relief, not shame, not guilt, fell across his cheeks and smeared onto Boba’s skin, but he didn’t mind. His soul was still redeemable, he was still an upright man, deserving of salvation and absolution, deserving of the love which patched him together.

He realized he was speaking. “I love, I love—”

“I know, I know,” Boba repeated, not in a volley, but letting Din know his love had somewhere safe and soft to land.

And that it always would.

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

Mando'a - Translation

jat'ika - y'all should know this one by now mirshmure'cya - Keldabe kiss, soft headbutt for emotion, or apply forcefully for stronger emotion ret'urcye mhi - see you again, goodbye aliit - family, clan

Tenets of the Resol'nare (Mandalorian Creed) mentioned in m&os ke'juri beskar'gam - you will wear armor k'ara'novo aliit - you will protect family ke'gaa'tayli aliit bralir - you will help your clan succeed ke'ba'juri sa Mando'ade - you will raise Mandalorians

Other Tenets not mentioned because they don't make me cry as much ke'jorhaa'i Mando'a - you will speak Mando'a ke'shekemi haar Mand'alor - you will rally to the cause of the Mand'alor

#moon and old stars #my writing #mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #din djarin/boba fett #bobadin

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veliseraptor · 4 years

Note

Hey just wondering, do you have any draft or work in process or any plan for your next Loki fic? If so can you give us a little sneak peek. Or if you don’t, do you think you’ll write more about him in the future? I know you probably get this a lot and I’m sorry if it’s annoying or if it sounds rude or anything. I’m just wondering and also I’ve been binge reading your stories about him and got addicted so there’s that. But seriously I’m sorry if my message comes off as rude or annoying, that’s not my intention. Anyway hope you’re having an amazing day

I genuinely hate to sound like a broken record, anon, since you are being very polite about this! Which I very much appreciate! But the answer remains more or less the same: I don’t know. I have (counts) 38 different Loki-related WIPs in various stages of completion sitting on my hard drive. I haven’t been working on them actively lately because, to the dismay I’m sure of many of my followers, another fandom has devoured me whole. I’m really enjoying the experience, but it has left me with relatively little brainspace for things that aren’t that thing (or, I guess, other danmei novels and adaptations thereof?? idk okay).

At some point I would like to finish at least some of those stories, because I do not like leaving things unfinished. But I just don’t know when - or if! - I will. It just depends on if I get that emotional investment back. At the moment it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen imminently, but who knows. And maybe I’ll go back and reread what I have written of some of these, go “where’s the rest, op” and feel encouraged to write more.

All that being said - since you were so nice about this, I will give you a (3000 word) excerpt from one of the WIPs - Dead Superheroes Walking, which is the one about the characters who died/were dusted in Infinity War on a road trip through the Soul Stone.

---

“Anyone for a game of twenty questions?” Sam asked, after they’d been walking for maybe ten minutes.

“Really?” Bucky said. “Twenty questions?”

“I don’t think ‘I Spy’ would work too well. Not a lot of interesting landmarks. Or hadn’t you noticed that the landscape keeps repeating?”

“I am Groot,” said Groot.

“And I have no idea what that means,” Sam said.

Sam was right, Wanda realized. The landscape was repeating. It wasn’t obvious, at first, but there was only one tree, over and over; only one rock placed near to it. The sky was a flat and even orange.

A faint shiver ran down Wanda’s spine. Bucky stopped, though, visibly disconcerted.

“What the hell is this place,” he said.

“Does it matter?” Sam asked. “We’re not exactly going anywhere else. All right, I’ve got it. Twenty questions, yes or no answers only.”

“I am Groot?” said Groot. Sam eyed him.

“I’m not going to take that off the count,” he said.

“Is it alive?” T’Challa asked.

“Yep,” Sam said.

“Guess that rules us out,” Bucky said. Sam snorted, and T’Challa cracked a small smile. Wanda stared down at a small, triangular rock in front of her feet.

“All right,” Bucky said. “Is it an animal?”

“Yes. Two questions down. Wanda?”

She bent down and picked up the rock. It left red dust on her fingers, and when she pressed her fingers together it crumbled like chalk. She half expected the dust to vanish, but the red stain on her fingertips stayed.

“Wanda?” Sam said, more gently.

“Sorry,” she said. “Is it a person?”

“Nope,” Sam said. “That’s three.”

She wiped her hand off on her clothes. This place wasn’t right - she could feel it in her bones, deep down where her magic ought to be. But nothing had been right in the last few days. Very few things in Wanda’s life had been right. Why should her death be any different?

It only seemed unfair that the others should be here, too.

They sky did not change, but they stopped walking eventually - less because any of them were actually tired than because it seemed like they should. Or maybe because they were tired of walking and wanted some change, even if there was very little change to be had. The road went on. The landscape didn’t alter.

And no one else appeared.

“It can’t just be us,” Sam said. “Other people died. Where are they?”

Nobody had an answer for him, unless the tree’s “I am Groot” was an answer none of them could understand. Wanda thought it might be something to do with the fact that they’d all died when Thanos had snapped his fingers, but she stayed quiet, staring off at the horizon and only half listening to Bucky and Sam going back and forth at each other.

“I see something,” T’Challa said abruptly. They all turned and followed the line of his arm.

“I can’t see anything,” Sam said.

“Give it a sec,” Bucky said. “He’s probably got a hundred extra yards visibility on me. Maybe 150 on you–”

“I am Groot,” Groot said. Wanda strained her eyes, some part of her wishing - hoping–

“Is that a dog?” Sam said.

A moment later Wanda saw it too, and slumped. It did look like a dog padding towards them - or at least, it certainly wasn’t a person.

“That’s not a dog,” T’Challa said.

“Fox, I think,” Bucky said. “What the fuck is a fox doing here?”

“I don’t think it’s a fox, either,” T’Challa said. He shifted, like he was thinking about getting into a fighting stance. Wanda stepped forward, reaching for her powers, but nothing was there.

What would be the point, anyway? You can only die once.

The fox - and it was a fox, Wanda could see that now, though black instead of red - slowed as it began to draw closer. It sat down, still a ways away, and cocked its head, looking at them.

“This is weird,” Sam said. T’Challa was still frowning.

“What is it?” Bucky asked him. T’Challa shook his head.

“I’m not certain.”

The fox stood, stretched, and changed, unfolding into a person. Wanda sucked in a breath, staring at the man now walking toward them: dark-haired, pale, lean and taller than Bucky or T’Challa. A vague sense of familiarity nagged at her, but she couldn’t say from where.

The man stopped, still several paces from them, and cocked his head just as the fox had. “Well,” he said, a faint rasp in his voice. “This is new.”

Wanda stared at him, trying to remember where she recognized him from. “New?”

“Yes,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else. But then, this time is different.”

“Wait,” Sam said abruptly. “Shit. Are you-”

“Mm,” he said, still looking at Wanda. T’Challa’s eyes were narrowed, too, and Sam’s. Bucky looked blankly at them both.

“What?”

“It’s always nice to be recognized,” the stranger said dryly.

“Loki,” Sam said. “That’s fucking Loki. Right?” Wanda’s eyes widened, but he - Loki - just shrugged one shoulder.

“So I am. Or was. I’m not certain of the appropriate tense.” His gaze swept across them, indifferent, disinterested.

“You’re dead, too,” Wanda said. Loki glanced at her, eyes focusing briefly before they slid back into dullness. No, exhaustion.

“Or something,” he said.

“‘Or something?’” Sam said. Loki’s eyes flicked in his direction.

“This doesn’t feel like death,” he said, “but I remember the feeling of my neck breaking in Thanos’s hand fairly clearly, so…” Wanda flinched, and she thought she saw Sam’s eye twitch. She remembered Thor coming roaring down from the sky, thunder and lightning in his voice, and understood. She looked down.

“What do you mean that this doesn’t feel like death,” T’Challa said into the silence.

“I know a little of what death tastes like,” Loki said after a moment. “This isn’t it.”

“What does that mean,” Bucky said, looking agitated and uncertain.

“I am Groot,” said Groot, and Loki glanced at him, something briefly flashing across his expression before it was gone. Pain, Wanda thought.

“Not entirely accurate,” he said, “but not entirely inaccurate, either.” There was a brief pause.

“You can understand him?” Bucky said. Loki shrugged again. “What did he say?”

“It’s irrelevant.” Loki’s eyes moved back to Wanda. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you were simply the high cost of victory?” Wanda looked down, somehow feeling ashamed of her failure. Loki let out a quiet huff. “Pity.”

Bucky, oddly, snorted.

“Thanos gained all of the Infinity Stones,” T’Challa said. “Then…” He trailed off. “I am not entirely certain what happened then.”

Loki made a sort of hm noise, glancing at T’Challa sidelong. “So you didn’t die in battle,” he said.

“If so, I do not remember it,” T’Challa said.

“I am Groot,” Groot said to Loki, whose head swiveled violently toward him, eyes sharpening.

“Gamora,” he said, and there was a wealth of hatred and fear in that word. “You are a companion of hers?”

“I am Groot,” Groot said emphatically, and Loki blinked, then pressed his lips together and exhaled in a short burst.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

“Can you maybe translate what he’s saying,” Bucky said irritably. “Since all the rest of us can hear is the same three words over and over.”

“He says that Gamora claimed Thanos meant to use the completed Gauntlet to halve all life in the universe,” Loki said. “If you know that he achieved his goal, then presumably you were part of the unlucky half. Though that does not explain why you are here. Or else does not explain why I am.”

“And who’s Gamora,” Sam said, with such exaggerated patience that it demonstrated anything but.

“An old acquaintance,” Loki said. He sounded distracted.

“I am Groot,” Groot said, and this time Wanda could hear the near pride in his voice. Loki didn’t respond. He was scanning their number again, Wanda realized, more closely.

She bit her lip, then raised her voice and said, “Thor’s alive.” His gaze snapped to her, and she made herself hold it though her instinct was to look down. “At least, he was when I...he drove an axe into Thanos’s chest. It didn’t work, it was too late, but…” She trailed off.

Loki glanced down, his eyes half closing, and Wanda thought she caught a brief flicker at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile, and a barely audible, “ah, Thor.” Then his eyes were back on hers and he said simply, “thank you for informing me,” with a lack of feeling that made Wanda frown.

“You haven’t asked who any of us are,” Bucky said.

“So I have not,” Loki said. “I am not certain it is precisely relevant.”

“Excuse you,” Sam said. Loki glanced at him, that tired indifference returning.

“I approached because I was curious. I wasn’t intending to stay, nor would I think you were inclined to encourage it.”

T’Challa was studying Loki with curious intensity. “Were you going somewhere?”

“No,” Loki said, and then paused and adjusted, “perhaps.”

“I am Groot?” Groot said, and Loki’s lips pressed briefly together.

“It means perhaps. And don’t be crude.”

“I’m with him,” Sam said. “What does perhaps mean?” Loki looked briefly annoyed, and Sam said, “come on. We’re all dead here. Or - not. Which still begs the question as far as I’m concerned of what we are.”

Loki’s eyes went back to her, and Wanda shifted. “What?” She asked. “Why do you keep looking at me?”

“You haven’t noticed anything strange, then?” He asked. “Felt anything?”

Too many things, Wanda thought, but she didn’t think that was what he meant, and now they were all looking at her. Wanda hesitated.

“I don’t have my powers,” she said slowly. Loki made a derisive noise.

“Of course you don’t,” he said. “Do you need them to sense what’s around you? Midgardian magicians. Norns.”

Wanda glared at him, but took a breath and tried to turn inward, like she was going to use her power. It still wasn’t there, but this time, without distractions…

She jerked and saw a satisfied glint in Loki’s eyes, just for an instant. “There,” he said.

“Wanda, what is it?” Sam asked, looking suspiciously at Loki.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But it feels like…” She searched for the right words. “Like a heartbeat,” she said finally, even if that wasn’t quite right.

Bucky’s expression was a mixture of horror and alarm. “A heartbeat?”

“So that’s what it feels like to you,” Loki said thoughtfully. He seemed more engaged now than he had been at first, and somehow even though it shouldn’t matter that felt like a good thing. Maybe because nothing else was.

“It’s not actually,” Wanda said quickly. “That’s just sort of what it feels like - to me, anyway. It’s...different for you?”

Loki shrugged. T’Challa shifted.

“I know what she means,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t have described it like that. But there is...something.”

“Interesting,” Loki said, glancing at T’Challa and looking him over with slightly more interest. “To answer your implied question, I would call it a...resonance.”

“A resonance with what,” Sam asked.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be bothering to talk to you,” Loki said. “But partly it is that which makes me think this is something other than simple death.”

“What is there other than ‘simple death,’” Bucky said tightly.

“That is the question, isn’t it,” Loki said. “Maybe nothing. Maybe I am wrong. But if I am not…”

“If you’re not, what,” Bucky said, even tighter.

“Then it begs the question of why, doesn’t it?” Loki rolled his neck in a slow circle, and Wanda could have sworn she heard something crack. “At least, such was my thought. But maybe it is just desperation.”

He didn’t sound desperate. He didn’t sound much of anything.

“Why not stay with us,” Wanda said abruptly. Everyone else turned to stare at her, Loki included, and she straightened, turning toward her friends. “I mean it,” she said. “Why not? We’re all here together. And if he’s right and there’s a why, a reason...wouldn’t it suggest that’s true for all of us, including him?” She paused, and added, “and besides - what can he do to us, anyway?”

Loki barked a laugh. “That is a fair point,” he murmured.

“How do we know this isn’t some kind of trick?” T’Challa asked, his eyes narrowed.

“You don’t,” Loki said. “But I will say that you vastly overestimate my interest in you. Well, the majority of you. And your witch has a point: what is it you think I will do?”

“I don’t know,” T’Challa said. “That’s what worries me.”

“And ‘our witch’ has a name,” Sam said a little sourly.

Loki shrugged. “As you will. It makes little difference to me.” He moved around them and started to walk away.

“I am Groot,” Groot muttered, and strode after him, long tree-legs catching up in a few strides. “I am Groot?” He said to Loki, who checked himself and looked at him, his face tightening.

“Was, yes,” he said. “Why?”

“I am Groot,” Groot said definitively, and Loki shook his head.

“Call back your child,” he said, with a sharp gesture at Groot.

“Child?” Sam said, eyebrows shooting up.

“He’s an adolescent Flora Colossus,” Loki said, as though it were obvious. “And he is not following me. I don’t care who you were friends with.”

Thor, Wanda thought. Groot didn’t know any of them, but he’d known Thor, at least a little, and Loki was Thor’s brother, and Groot was, apparently, a teenager, among strangers who couldn’t understand him, who had just died.

Wanda’s chest ached. “If he wants to,” she said, “I don’t see why he shouldn’t.”

“I’m not interested in playing nursemaid–”

“I am Groot,” Groot said, and Loki gave him a hard look.

“No, you are not,” he said. “I’ve met grown Flora Colossi and you aren’t it. You’re barely more than a sapling. Maybe - what, four years old?”

“You know what,” Bucky said, “I’m with Wanda, actually. And the, uh...Groot. This place is weird. I think we should stick together, and it seems like he knows more about this place than any of the rest of us do.” His eyes settled on Loki. “And it’s not like we have a whole lot to lose, right now.”

Sam gave Bucky a long, skeptical look and then glanced at T’Challa, who shrugged.

“You assume I am interested in putting up with the lot of you,” Loki said flatly. He looked tense, Wanda thought. Like he was expecting some kind of trap. Wanda tried to summon a smile.

“You said you came over because you were curious,” she said. “And if you’re right, and there is some reason we’re all here...isn’t that something else to be curious about?”

“I am Groot,” said Groot, and Loki glanced at him, jaw twitching.

“I’m dead, you twig,” he said. “If not now, then probably soon. And if I did need protecting, you wouldn’t be much help.”

Bucky snorted, poorly muffled. Wanda bit her lip so she didn’t smile. Groot’s expression was hard for her to read, but it looked to her eyes like a glare.

Loki exhaled loudly and looked away. “Fine,” he said. “If you are inclined...I suppose there’s no harm in traveling adjacently.”

“Traveling where?” Sam asked. “You make it sound like you have an actual destination.”

“I have a...feeling,” Loki said, though something about the brief pause before he spoke made Wanda think there was something he wasn’t saying. The question was if it was important or not. “No more than that.”

“Well,” T’Challa said after a few moments of hesitation, “that is more than I have, at the moment. And so far as I know we weren’t going anywhere in particular, so…”

“I guess that settles it,” Wanda said. Loki eyed her like he suspected her of having some ulterior motive. She decided to pretend not to notice. “So which way are we going?”

#anonymous #conversating #fic excerpt #i know this is an unsatisfying answer! i know it!#i just don't have a better one #this does remind me i should write up an actual faq at some point maybe

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hollenka99 · 3 years

Text

Introductions

Summary: Ghostbur arrives in the Void and meets the half of Alivebur that never returned to the Overworld. It is not always plain sailing. Chapter 1 of Unequal Halves.

Warnings: Implied/referenced self harm, derealisation(?), unreality, death, smoking, alcoholism mention

There is the low hubbub of quiet conversation in the air. All around him is rubble and he can't quite recall how L'Manburg came to look like this. If he asked Phil, his father would likely explain. Something bad must have happened if he can't remember. So... maybe it was for the best that his mind goes blank whenever he thinks about it. It was probably just the result of Alivebur blowing the country up anyway, he didn't get a great vantage point before he died so the theory is feasible. Ghostbur must be misremembering how L'Manberg looked before- Huh, no it got restored at some point, he knows that. Not Alivebur's doing then. Phil would know. Phil knows a lot of things, including how to potentially bring back Alivebur. Speaking of Phil, his father was stood next to Eret, both of them lingering by the little recreation set. Ghostbur isn't paying much attention but his best guess is that the topic revolves around their third resurrection attempt today, the reason they've all gathered here once more. He wonders whether the others like Tommy, Fundy and Tubbo will join them. He wouldn't mind leaving for a few minutes to make absolutely sure he's said his goodbyes to them and others. That said, he has had nearly an entire week between the last attempt and today to do that. Not to mention the few days prior to that after he and Phil had organised the first round of re-enactments. Perhaps if this works out, he could influence Alivebur somehow and say goodbye posthumously. "Well, if we're going to do it, better sooner rather than later. Unless we're waiting for the exact time of day he died." "No, let's do it now. I've got the totem and sword, we're all here... there's no point in waiting for the stars to align." "And if it goes like the last two times?" "Then we deal with it. I'll take the blame for wanting to use our third and final chance." There is a pause and in the corner of his eye, he can sense Phil looking his way. "Ghostbur?" "Hi, Phil." He floats over. "Is it time to try again? I've been going over my lines so nothing can go wrong." "I'm sure you have, mate." Phil takes his arm so it is outstretched with an open palm. Into his awaiting hand, a small figurine is placed. It resembles a villager with tiny wings poking to the sides and eyes made of emerald. He believes the closest he's come into contact with one of these totems is that time some citizens of L'Manburg locked Techno in a cage as a prank. Was that thing he saw Techno use a totem? He can't recall correctly, he's not even sure he was fully paying attention since he was watching Friend sniff around at the time, but the light show had been very pretty. "This is a totem of undying. It's going to help us with resurrecting you. Do not drop it at any point. Hold it as tight as you can, got that mate? You holding on to that totem is more important than any lines you might have rehearsed." He playfully tosses it between his hands. "Okay." "Ghostbur." Phil snatches the item from mid-air. Ghostbur catches a glimpse of his father's scornful expression and instinctively averts his eyes. "This is serious. Do you understand how important it is for you to hold this totem or not?" "I do, Phil. Sorry." The item is returned to him. Like he's been instructed to do, he grips it tightly and refuses to let his hold on it weaken. Their little dramatisation goes well. He says the crucial line, the button gets pressed and even more impressively, Ghostbur doesn't flinch in the slightest when the sword meets his semi-corporeal being. This is the third time he's properly died as himself and the sixth since Alivebur's birth. He's sure that if there's any deity in charge of death, they'll be going 'oh it's you again' in a second. ---- It's an odd thing to see your doppelganger in front of you. Wilbur is certainly not a twin and he's never met anyone he's shared a particularly strong resemblance to either. Even during the genetic mishmash that created him, both sides of his family tree had won their battles yet neither claimed true victory over the other to represent themselves more heavily within him. So sure, there were traits you could see he'd inherited from his mother but it wasn't as if he looked like her. However, he was yet to meet someone whose similarity in appearance took him by surprise. The first time had been a shock. He'd been tolerating Schlatt's company with Mexican Dream making the experience a little easier to endure. The Wilbur duplicate had randomly appeared while the three of them had been sitting around, wasting time at a table. The guy is only there for a matter of seconds but it's enough to register his appearance. There's the matching dull grey skin and the hair that's darkened with death. Wilbur's vaguely aware he used to own a sunflower yellow jumper like that in life. It's certainly not the chequered top he's wearing. It happens again shortly after. Wilbur Two doesn't stay long but he appears at the exact spot where Schlatt was sitting. A flimsy connection seems to form, strong enough for the ex-emperor to speak through the ghost and have an extremely blurred view through his eyes. Wilbur sits there as his political rival talks bullocks about jacking off, protein powder and cigarettes. Wilbur would tell him to cut it out if he had cared enough about his counterpart being used like that. All he says when Schlatt seems present within himself once more is impatient prompting to continue their game. They'd anticipated another visit but his clone hasn't shown up since. By now it's been... months maybe? It was hard to tell with the only natural variables when it came to the passage of time being whether it was day or night, sunny or raining. He's been stuck in what he believes is the transition period between spring and summer ever since he got here. Which is absolutely ridiculous given that he has some creative control of this place. Regardless, he's honestly half forgotten about the incident when they truly reunite. The clone sticks out in his bright jumper. It's one of the days Wilbur's dragged himself away from whatever tree roots he's picked to curl up besides. Upon spotting the other Wilbur, he follows from a distance. He ascends a nearby tree. He swears he's been here before, amongst the highest branches to observe someone who didn't know he was there. It's the kind of deja vu he hates, the one with not even the slightest hint of why he might feel that way. Well, maybe one reason but he'd rather not dwell on that. Listen, he tells himself after travelling through the treetops, he's not going to be whole until the two of them interact so he'd better just get on with it. Well, here goes nothing. He pushes off and hops down with a thump. ---- It's peaceful here. Daisies are dotted around, as are oak trees. Despite not knowing where exactly he is, he appreciates how at ease the occasional sounds of wildlife or the leaves of trees rustling in the wind make him. Well, at least for a while, that is. He swears it's just birds. Honestly, what else would it be if not birds? He's being silly. Although, maybe he should escape from any potential creature's line of sight. A part of him he can't reach urges him to not seek out any dirt walls, to head in the opposite direction of them in fact. He's pretty sure he doesn't have anything to protect here other than himself but the instinct to fool potential pursuers directs his movements. A weighty object impacts the ground behind him and he abandons his efforts. Ghostbur risks peeking over his shoulder. And that is how he finds himself face to face with the man who'd been following his movements. "Well, took you long enough." The stranger was certainly not there a moment ago. The fact they are his mirror image is naturally the most striking detail to notice. Although, he will say Alivebur doesn't look too well. His beanie helps with hiding the full extent of his hair's dishevelment despite said hair potentially being able to somewhat distract onlookers from noticing how permanently exhausted his face was. It doesn't matter to Ghostbur. Regardless of the disapproving crossed arms he is met with, he politely introduces himself. "Hi, I don't think we've met before. My name is Ghostbur! What's yours?" "You know our name." He's rifling through his pockets, seemingly unconcerned by the momentous occasion. "Oh, you're Alivebur then." "Ali-" The other Wilbur's head whips up to glare at him. "Do I look alive to you?! We are both the same person, a person who is very much dead." "Deadbur then." "Wilbur is fine. It's our name so I don't see why you can't use it." "It doesn't matter anyway." Wilbur abandons his quest to locate whatever he was try to find. Instead, he sticks out his hand, offering for it to be shaken. "Since you haven't disappeared 2 seconds after showing up this time, I think it's high time we wrap this little charade up, don't you? My best guess is we need skin contact or something along those lines." "Charade?" The hand's altitude falters slightly, almost as if the disgruntled sigh it was paired with had caused it. "Us being apart. I'm sure you've had your fun but it's time we fused back." He should take Wilbur's hand. He really should. This is what Phil, Eret and the others were working towards. People wanted Alivebur back as it was. So that meant he had to go. Think of all that time and effort to prepare everything for something he suggested they do in the first place, wasted by cold feet. Was he the first one to bring up resurrection? He honestly has no clue. There isn't a guarantee that this will work anyway. Same as... something he's sure has slipped his mind. Oh wait no, the button! He hadn't been sure about whether that would be successful either. But it had been. So this would likely be too, right? Except, he doesn't want to. He's not ready to give up the feeling of sunshine as he strolls around, the aroma of ingredients as he brews potions, the ability to chat with his friends while checking in on them or any of the other things he's enjoyed while himself. It was him who helped make the lanterns that once floated above New L'Manburg, him who attempted to collect enough books to start a history-preserving library and it was him who tried to build Tommy a nice holiday home to cheer his brother up during their time away from their nation. He knows he told Phil he was willing to relinquish his existence to return Alivebur to everybody but... maybe he didn't entirely mean it in his heart. They'll never be enough time, regardless how much the universe may wish to grant him, yet this doesn't feel like it's close to enough. "...No." "No?" "I don't want to go back yet. I..." He isn't too keen on that scowl. Perhaps if he makes up an excuse, things won't be so tense. "I just got here so why would I leave before I um, explored?" Shoulders loosen and Wilbur is back to absentmindedly rummaging through his pockets. "Guess I won't force you. And well, if you're going to be here for the indefinite future, I can give you a tour of this place." "That would be really helpful. Thank you." He breaks into a grateful smile. "Okay so to the north is grass and trees, to the west is grass and trees, same to the south. Oh but the east is actually quite exciting. You'll find trees and grass there." "I... see. Sounds great." Keep smiling, no need to ruin any potential future rapport so early. "I can't wait to look around." "Ghostbur, was it?" "Uh huh!" "Guess I'll be seeing you around." Having finally found his cigarette, the one native to these lands waves him off, the soon-to-be lit stick inbetween his fingers. He begins to stroll off into the cover of forest. He's sure he's being silly but Ghostbur could have sworn the quantity of trees gains density as it conceals the other man. Still, Ghostbur has seemingly been left completely to his own devices so he comes to the decision he will spend the rest of the day exploring. It can't hurt to get a feel for his surroundings. Honestly, how monotonously repetitive could this world really be? --- This is fine. All this is a setback but not one they can't overcome. He'd meant it when he said he wouldn't force Ghostbur to do anything. This was all a waiting game, to be honest. He could win it with the mouth that had long ago rallied people to a cause. He once believed in the phrase 'words over weapons' and how nobody in L'Manburg should wear armour because they shouldn't need that level of protection on a daily basis. The reality of tyrannical violence had proved him wrong. However, it was a negotiation that ultimately won them the war, albeit not one he was part of. He still likes to think Tommy's success that day was potentially due in part to Wilbur rubbing off on his right hand man. So in the pursuit of victory, Wilbur vows to stay civil where possible. --- As Ghostbur wanders, he comes to realise how true Wilbur's summary had been. The longer he explores, the longer the green persists. This world truly seems to be comprised of forests and open fields. It's his third day of checking what each path may offer when he finds himself in the midst of trees. However, the woods here were familiar. All around him was birch bark. They're scattered about and nothing about them indicates a natural path that can be made. Yet, as Ghostbur walks, he seems to know instinctively how to navigate the area and the way in which he should weave through the trees. It surprises him to eventually discover a stream flowing by these woods. Yet, at the same time, he feels like he should have been expecting to find it. Why does this place feel familiar? Oh. This was where Alivebur met Tommy, wasn't it? He could almost picture it. He had been wandering around the area surrounding their latest base. At least this part of the world tended to have fairly warm Aprils. Even better after the two months Phil had made them spend in a tundra during winter. It was completely nonsensical and Wilbur had made sure Phil knew his thoughts on the matter beyond any doubt. But they'd evaded any of nature's potential attempts to make them hypothermic long enough to get through it. Now all Wilbur needed to focus on was enjoying the not-yet-scorching sunshine while Phil was... off collecting resources, he believes. He's sure he's slightly lost. The general direction of their temporary base, that was no problem to discern but the actual way to reach his destination? Who on earth knew. It was just birch tree after dumb birch tree. There weren't any of those markers that he'd been taught about either so it was like he was destined to get lost. But then, a break in the tree line? A stream, actually! He's sure Phil has the essentials like water down already but it wouldn't hurt to gather a bucketful more. Phil did lend him a chest for a reason, after all. It's not the cleanest nor clearest body of water he's ever seen. Who really cares when there's ways of purifying it. It does seem to go on for a great distance, further than Wilbur's eyes can tell. The stream itself isn't particularly wide. He reckons he could easily leap over from one side to the other. On the opposite side of the bank, there's a hole that seems to have been hollowed out by hand amongst all the mud. Rather bizarrely, there's also a random child lingering there. Wilbur was hardly an expert on determining someone's age, especially when it came to younger children. However, he'd soon know with hindsight that the little boy in front of him had been roughly 4 years old at that moment. Blond hair messy to the point it might be easier to shave it all off than attempt brushing it, clothes tattered and dirt visible in several spots of his skin, it was evident from this kid (regardless of their isolated surroundings) wasn't meant to be here. "Hey, are you lost?" "No. Go away." A thin branch makes an attempt at threatening him. "Are you planning to hit me with those sticks?" The little boy glances back at the pile nearby. "They're my Scary Ouchers." "Scary Ouchers. Uh-huh." He forces himself not to laugh. This kid must have undoubtedly been through a lot if he's out here on his own seemingly long term. "And am I scary?" "Maybe." "What if I tell you my name, will that help me be less scary?" "Dunno." "Well, I'm Wilbur. And I promise I'm not here to hurt you." The kid seems to shrink within himself slightly as he weighs whether this 11 year old stranger is worth trusting. "Tommy." "Tommy? Okay. Hi, Tommy. Do you want me to take you home?" "I have a home." "Then let me bring you back there. I'm sure your Mummy and Daddy are worried about you." "Got a home." He repeats, banging the stick in his hand against the earth. "Tommy," Wilbur sighs. "You get that this isn't a good home, right? Come on, I can take you to my camp. Me and my dad will help you out." Tommy's confliction persists until he tentatively raises a hand, all fingers folded inwards except for the smallest one. Wilbur giggles as understanding dawns. One pinky encompasses a much smaller one. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you, Tommy." "You sure?" "Just pinky promised, didn't I?" Tommy considers this then nods with all the solemnness that only a child his age could treat such a practise with. They gather up all of the so called 'Scary Ouchers', god Phil will probably get a kick out of hearing the story tonight, and dump them in the chest. With Tommy tasked with guarding their wares upon the shoddy wagon Wilbur had constructed himself ages ago, the older boy guides them back to camp. Phil is understandably confused when he sees another child by the tents. He quickly resigns himself to their new reality. The conclusion that there are no parents to speak of, at least not anymore, is kind of obvious. Any memory of them will be stolen by time and the inability of a developing mind to store any event for potentially lifelong recollection. It's fine though. The four year old has a new family now, one that will love him for years to come. And after they return home to the little house situated in a valley? Well, Wilbur's little brother only gains volume when he speaks and far too much energy the more comfortable he becomes with his new life. In response to this memory, he longs to have Tommy here, to be the good Alivebur who can be trusted to be on better terms with his little brother. The two of them used to be really close, despite how often they drove each other up the wall. But Ghostbur had seen how Tommy didn't seem too fond of Alivebur anymore. There was also the fact Alivebur had become bad at some point down the line, driving Tommy as well as others away. Because nobody is born bad and Ghostbur struggles to reason that an 11 year old boy who genuinely wished to help a homeless kid approximately a third of his age was bad too. Here, in this secluded area full of birch trees with flowing water as part of its soundtrack, Ghostbur imagines a teenager obnoxiously laying across his lap in the gentlest of ways. Tommy calls him a bitch through chuckles and playfully chastises him for being 'all sappy and shit'. It's reminiscent of moments that truly did come to pass once upon a time. His little brother once made him a daisy chain while in this very position but unfortunately, this was back when Fundy was still tiny and all it took was little hands being allowed to inspect the item before the stemmed links broke as a result of tears. It had still ended well, the remnants were sprinkled in Fundy's then-wispy hair while the baby's giggles joined the laughter of his father and uncle. God he misses Tommy. He hopes that one day, if- when he and Wilbur manage to reform into Alivebur, things will improve and they can have that again. --- By now, he knows not to expect Wilbur to look his way. It's okay, he's used to it. People would talk to him then struggle to continue fully politely hiding their desire for him to leave them to their own affairs. At least Wilbur is more willing to be upfront with it, he supposes. Wilbur has things he wants to do and so must Ghostbur. When the rain descended upon them yesterday, their conversation resulted in them clashing. Wilbur can come out with a spiteful anger without much provocation. It usually lies restrained on the surface but Ghostbur dreads when it is fully unleashed on him. For the most part, there is an understanding that for whatever reason, Ghostbur is not inclined to view him fondly. He wonders if his rejection of the merging request has anything to do with Wilbur's negative bias. Perhaps it is best that Wilbur keeps his distance. He doesn't want to believe that is the case though. It is for this very reason that Wilbur approaching him with an friendly offer takes him by surprise. "I'm going to visit Schlatt and Mexican Dream. Want to come? I think it would be interesting to see how you'd affect our dynamic. Plus, an even number of players means we could do teams." "Of course." A grin bursts onto his face. He follows Wilbur's lead as they traverse the path. He's getting used to the scenery but when he notices a mushroom his eyes had previously missed when passing by, he knows he's far from done yet. There is no time for admiration right now and he's fully aware Wilbur will outwardly make known his frustration otherwise. When they reach their destination, Wilbur tears a section of the bark off from a spruce tree. Instead of revealing more inner layers, a fully lit pathway stretches in front of them. "Well, go on. It's not like I can hold a rip in our reality open forever." "Oh!" He slips past obediently, watching Wilbur join him immediately afterwards. "You must be quite strong then if you do this regularly." "Sure. Became a real bodybuilder out here." The deadpan causes Ghostbur's attention to flick momentarily to the black sleeves that certainly aren't filled, least of all by muscles. The corridor practically belongs in an aquarium. The arching walls are made of glass, allowing for full view of all the dolphins, turtles and large variety of fish on display. The pathway itself is unusually wide but since they were heading to meet with Wilbur's friends, he can only assume they liked spending time here and therefore needed the space. Following each pair of glass panels were strips of wood upon which torches were hung. It created a lovely ambiance along with the shadows from the waves outside. To be fair, his only complaint is the temperature. It's freezing, nearly unbearably so. Perhaps they are in the sea by a tundra, sheets of ice floating above them on the surface. That would seem like a plausible answer. Ghostbur could spend a good long while here if he found a warmer outfit. "It's very pretty." "Yeah. Just wish I didn't keep having to see it for the first time each week." He wants to harness the inquisitiveness of a toddler in order to learn how exactly Wilbur would ever be able to forget a sight like this. But something tells him it's not the time nor place. Maybe the view out of the windows shifted with each visit. That seems like a decent explanation. So instead he comes out with "I like the lighting too." "Ghostbur," He momentarily glances back over his shoulder. "You can't expect me to create a dark single-file pathway. There's no steps to a dead end either, see." It's muttered with such quiet sincerity that Ghostbur questions what happened to the Wilbur who scorned him and carried an air of resentment towards everything. He wishes he had some blue to offer him right now. Whatever Wilbur's issue with dark and narrow corridors was, Ghostbur can tell it's awful, too awful for him to ever understand. As they make their way between areas, Wilbur debriefs him on what to expect. It nothing too elaborate, simply a few rounds of card games. Until they get too bored or fed up with each other. They mostly stuck to solitaire and poker if he's going to be honest. Sometimes they'd pull out board games for the sake of variety. The three of them had promised Monopoly was for when they wanted to watch the world burn which hadn't happened yet but there'd been threats to manifest a game the next time they all met up. First there was Schlatt. When Ghostbur completely blanks at the name, it is begrudgingly explained to him that this was the guy who succeeded Alivebur as president. No effort is made to hide the fact Wilbur does not view Schlatt's continued presence in his post-mortal existence in a positive light. He even admits to the game he played whereby he attempted to guess what the J in JSchlatt stood for. It did nobody any good but it served its purpose of annoying Schlatt quite well. The ex-president was a poker kind of guy which also caused clashes between them. Ghostbur is told to expect alcoholic drinks being available, especially the stronger varieties. The man's fatal heart attack hadn't been helped by his drinking habits so honestly, it seemed pretty much on brand. Either way, the less Ghostbur allowed himself to do with Schlatt, the better in Wilbur's opinion. The other member of the group was Mexican Dream. Ghostbur remembered Quackity, right? Well, Mexican Dream was his cousin. He'd been generous enough to allow Wilbur the opportunity to learn Spanish as a way to pass time. He shrugs when he says it's something to get up for. He wasn't the best student because he frequently missed scheduled meet-ups by accident or simply let practising what he'd learned when he did show up slip his mind. Regardless, Mexican Dream was an alright guy who tended to hang around Schlatt and Wilbur more for the sake of company half the time. You just had to watch out for when he began going on about his love life. Ghostbur's new, Wilbur warns, so as fresh ears he'd be a prime target for the laments regarding Mamacita. The other half of Alivebur wishes him luck if that becomes the case. Oh and before he forgets, don't ask about his death. Touchy subject apparently. The civilities go well. Given the warmth (or lack thereof) he receives, Ghostbur would say Wilbur's assessments of temperament weren't too far off. Ghostbur sticks by Mexican Dream's side throughout their games, chatting as they attempted to ignore the tension ever brewing between the former political leaders of L'Manburg while they played. Wilbur does not take long to lose his temper at Schlatt. "You can't put a joker directly under a king. Also they're both spades so not only are they in the wrong position of the sequence, they're the wrong colour and suit for that move to be legal." "You know, Wilbur, this is why I always say we should start with poker." "Oh you and your poker. If you love poker so much then why don't you make it your vice president so it can leave you the minute you piss it off one too many times." "You don't like poker because it's too hard for you to understand." "Says the one who can't even understand that a black king can't be immediately followed by a black joker." "Well at least I don't have a tell that even a newborn could recognise." "And at least I'm not so untrustworthy that two-faced is an understatement." Wilbur glares before adding an ever so succinct "Wanker." as his closing statement while he collapses back into the chair. "Asshole." "...I have a joker and it's red. Would you like it, Schlatt?" "Thank you, Ghostbur." Schlatt grins in a way that somehow makes Ghostbur wish he wasn't in his company. Wilbur's face gently slams into open palms. When his fingers are finished with their journey down his face, he plucks the offending card out of his counterpart's hold. "Put the card down. We can't start mixing packs like this." Wilbur abruptly rises to his feet. "Actually, you know what? Sod this. Between you and Tweedle Dum here, I feel like he's the lesser evil. Come on, Ghostbur, let's go back." Like a plus one whose only way in and out of the event was their invited friend, he has no choice but to follow Wilbur's lead. He would rather stay and get to know Mexican Dream better but it would seem it wasn't on the cards for today. He waves the pair goodbye. Mexican Dream returns it genuinely. Schlatt's smile comes across as sinister and his attention appeared to be on Wilbur as it was. "...I can see why you like Mexican Dream more." He comments in the tunnel home. "Yes, guy's less of a twat." He distracts himself from this disaster of a meeting with the marine life outside. It doesn't prove as effective as he would hope. --- He doesn't understand why or how but it seems that Wilbur has developed the ability to have a hunch as to where Ghostbur could be found. Today this hunch led him to a peaceful stream. The water flows uninterrupted and he can't recall the last time he was in the presence of such clear water. He suspects it goes on for a while before meeting a larger area of water. Ghostbur himself is seated by the bank, admiring the scenery surrounding them. He periodically remembers himself and returns his focus to a little notebook he was scribbling in. "What's this?" "Wilbur." The ghost lights up at the sight of him for whatever reason. He pats the ground beside him. "Come, sit here. It'll be fun." "I'm... I'm good thanks." "If you're sure." There's that wide smile again. There's no way he can't call major bullshit on it. "Has anyone told you how unnerving your constant good mood is?" "You're just saying that because you like being moody." "I'm saying it because it's the truth." He scrutinises his other half. "Nobody has the ability to be that positive 24/7." "I- Well, I do." There is an argument he could begin having with Ghostbur but he hasn't got the patience for it. "What are you writing about?" "Oh, this is my diary. I don't want to forget what I've been doing while here." Wilbur is struck with the desire- no, the need to discover what Ghostbur has been writing about him. As a general, intel was everything and as a fugitive, every bit of insider information had the potential to prove useful. Ghostbur correctly interprets his extended hand but still hesitates before adhering to the request. It's pointless though as there is nothing regarding himself to analyse. Day 8 (24/1/21) I am in the Void so I think the plan worked. I wish I could tell Phil because he seemed quite worried about the process failing. I have been counting the days at the back of this book because they all look the same and there doesn't seem to be any calendars anywhere. So I'm guessing it's January 24th right now. I think I'm getting used to the Void. Everything is very green but I like it. Exploring has been quite fun and Wilbur introduced me to a couple of his friends for a games night. The tunnel to get to them is beautiful but I think I'll need to craft a few campfires to help combat the cold there if I want to watch the wildlife. I also need more cornflowers to make blue with but they seem to be difficult to find which is a shame. I will have to keep looking but that's okay. Maybe I can convince Wilbur to help me if he's available. I'm at the stream where Alivebur met Tommy right now. I really like it. It reminds me of the picnics Alivebur used "A picnic?" "Yeah! Alivebur used to have lunch on a raft with his mum whenever they could find one. It was fun." "Good for us, I guess. I wouldn't know anything about that." Except maybe, it seems, he might. The feeling of feet bounding against the earth. Excited yelling. Ruffling of hair with something that wasn't an arm around his shoulder. An exasperated chuckle while something sweet was on his tongue. Playing lookout by a window. A contest that ends with a soggy lap. Surrounded by laughter and happy chatter. He realises what this is too late. As it fades, he chases it. No, come back. Don't leave. He needs it, even if it's the vaguest of scraps. Please, please, come back. "Wilbur?" "Sorry, I might have just spaced out for a minute. I was thinking about... about... I don't know, something." "Here." Ghostbur presents blue dye. "I haven't been able to find many cornflowers to make it but I think you should have some." "What's this for?" "You look like you're about to cry. Blue's very good at absorbing all your sadness away. You let it soak it all up and then throw it away. I promise it works. Honestly, try it." "Thanks but I'd rather not stain my hands with blue dye for the sake of humouring you. That shit takes forever to get off. Although... this does explain why your clothes are like that. I thought we'd be smarter than to wear something bright while frequently handling a substance that stains easily." "Well okay then. The offer's always there if you want it though." "I'm fine. Just need a breather. Don't uh... don't wait up for me or whatever." The worst thing is he has no clue why he's suddenly upset. Sitting on top of a hill, he overlooks land with the potential to be built upon, land that had seen construction in a world similar to this one. He's not sure if he's in the exact spot but it's close enough. In his mind's eye, L'Manburg springs into existence, a diagonal line cuts through the wall as it is destroyed by Fundy's pickaxe. Their country had come close to death before but that day had arguably been its last one. The reason why Tommy wasn't by his side in that moment is lost to him. A spark of resentment temporarily roars into a flame as he thinks of how his former right hand man should be present for this in a way more than simply joining in at the end of the anthem over a voice call. Oh who cares anymore? It doesn't matter now. Alone, he witnesses L'Manburg die before him for the... how many times was it now? At least if he's going to be mournful, he should mourn something he actually knows he's lost. --- The entry concludes with a final paragraph. I've also met Wilbur. He's the other part of Alivebur and he wants to fuse so we can be Alivebur again. We will have to eventually but he seems willing to wait. I hope he stays that patient because I don't know how long it will take me to say yes. In the meantime, I want us to become friends. He can be so dismissive and angry but despite how mean he seems, I think we could still get along if we really try. I think getting more blue should be on my list of priorities because he really needs it. Which reminds me, I need to draft a list of priorities. I think I should get on that as soon as I can so goodbye for now. --- Ghostbur makes the decision on the... well he needs to check his memory book to remember exactly what day it is but whatever today was, that was when he sets himself the goal of working on a house. It'll be a nice place, not too fancy (at least not at first, he can add to it later if he so desires) but it can be a lovely base for himself. Maybe Wilbur too, if he can get the other half of Alivebur to join him. The problem was he wasn't sure where to take inspiration from. He built a house for Tommy during their holiday and he really liked how that simple little place turned out. He also recalls Tubbo's house from when he and Tommy were messing around shortly following his arrival in the area. Now that house was very pretty. It would take some more effort to get right, especially when all he had for reference was the memory of it, but he feels it would be worth it if he wanted to go down a similar route in terms of design. Oh! Didn't Techno have a lovely looking cabin too? Perhaps he should keep that building in mind as well. Or he could come up with something new entirely. He wasn't sure yet. He thinks it may be best to experiment first. It's as he is figuring out the size and shape he'd prefer the ground floor to be that Wilbur comes across the soon to be construction site. Arms crossed, he doesn't look too impressed. But then again, when does he? "What is this?" "Oh hi, Wilbur. I thought I could build myself a house. It could be our house if you'd like. Or... Or maybe I could add a bedroom just for you if you already have a house." "I think I'll pass. Though this does explain all the missing oak trees around here." His gaze flicks to the pile of wood Ghostbur has gathered. "Anyway, you're just doing this by hand?" "How else would I be doing it?" "I have my ways. You probably have the same ones." The two of them venture through a taiga until they reach a hill overlooking an empty field of plains. Even before he truly lays eyes on their expanse of their destination, he can sense how far of a drop it would be to reach it without caution. "Wait!" The warning comes too late to have any effect. Wilbur leaps from the edge. Rushing forward instinctively, Ghostbur dreads the scene he is sure will be upsetting to witness. He shuts his eyes but risks a peak regardless. It's to his utter shock that Wilbur stands waiting, perfectly fine. "I know we pretty much have all the time in the world but I'd rather not spend it waiting for you to get on with it and jump already." "You're not hurt?" "What? No, of course not. Why would I-?" Realisation arrives and Wilbur's only reaction to it seems to be an eye roll. "We're dead, you idiot. When was the last time your feet actually touched the ground? In fact, when was the last time you even had feet?" "Oh." "Yeah." Wilbur continues to walk ahead, using an arm to beckon Ghostbur in the right direction. "Now come on." Once they settle on a spot for the demonstration, wooden blocks materialise without warning. They arrange themselves into an empty birch cube that is perhaps twice as tall as they are. It's not a complex structure, pretty non-descript. Ghostbur had been hoping to be a bit more ambitious with his construction work than this. However, he supposes Wilbur is simply only showing him the basics. There's no need to go overboard in an attempt to show off. "It's pretty simple, really. All you have to do is picture what you want and boom," A final block of birch comes into existence. "It shows up without much effort. It saves a lot of time and hassle. Got it? How about you summon a torch to test it out." He imagines a stick. Even a branch will do, he feels. As he does so, a weight grows in his hand with the appearance of a long brown object. The stick he summons is actually fairly substantial once it solidifies. For extra measure, he concentrates on the tip. He devotes his thoughts to warmth and autumnal bonfires and an orange glow then- Oh! Well, next time he should make sure he's careful when causing spontaneous combustion. "See? Easy. Now toss it here." With the rudimentary house completed and torch in hand, Wilbur carelessly allows the flame to linger too close to the wood. Ghostbur is unable to cry out a warning before the building is set alight. It gradually dawns on him that, somehow, this was a deliberate action to achieve this consequence. It leaves Ghostbur more lost regarding the workings of the other man's thoughts than ever. "What is the point in this? I don't... I don't understand." "It's warm." He acts as if this is the obvious answer. "Do you feel it, Ghostbur? Do you feel the cold, the way any and all sources of heat seem to be sapped while you try to make the most of them? You've been here days, you must feel it. Took me a day to recognise what it was. It's the Void, Ghostbur, it's the Void. It- It- It takes the heat from this place. We could be standing in the middle of the fucking desert right now but you'd still feel a chill, like someone left the window open and caused a draft. I... you know, I made this place to get away from it but it followed me regardless. Just... got muted, I guess. I carved out a little bit of the Void. Not even that big. It simply feels that way because it's like in those drama productions where you have the scenery on a rotator or whatever it's called. Not using it? Just poof, gone on standby or- or taped over. Mixing my metaphors here." "Stop standing there before you're on fire." "Hmm? Oh, don't worry about that. Doesn't scar or anything. I can reverse any damage, make it seem like it never happened." "Just get out of it." The ghost reaches out to his friend. Wilbur steps back to avoid him. "Ghostbur, I'm fine. I only want to be warm." "I can make a fire if you want. A normal one, in a pit." "Like I haven't made a bonfire before. You really think I haven't tried that?" "Let's get some water. You just have think about it, don't you?" "Wait, no! I tend to watch it burn. Gives me something to do." "O-Okay." So they witness the structure's demise to fire. Ghostbur mourns the loss of the materials that seem to be going to waste for the sake of entertainment. He can't help but succumb to the desire to be enraptured. The flames dance with curls and bows and sways. He breaks his gaze away to glance at Wilbur, curious to see if he is having a similar experience as him. His companion has only a hardened expression to show, one that pairs a set jaw with calculating eyes. Yet a light, separate to that reflected from the fire, can be spotted dwelling within those same eyes. What one finds aesthetically pleasing albeit wasteful, the other studies as if he can learn how to tame it in order to command it to do his immoral bidding. --- Wilbur thinks of buttons. How technically easy they are to press. How, despite this fact, he'd been getting closer and closer to a dozen attempts before bailing. How one of his last memories (from the ones he'd been oh so generously permitted to keep) was that of burning. Fire is destruction, the chaos of something that aims to consume indiscriminately, a means to an end. But at the same time this is safe, controlled, something he can force to stop if it goes too far. There are 101 reasons why he has every right to hate Ghostbur. More, he'd argue actually. Since they became two, he's been left with the shortest end of the stick. Ghostbur got to go have fun and enjoy himself, got the opportunity to act like everything had always been alright since he'd deliberately discarded the evidence that suggested otherwise. And the personified form of the discarded evidence had simply been forced to endure the nightmares, to desperately avoid triggers he's not willing to confront in any shape or form yet, to attempt to find comfort in familiarity regardless of why an object or location may seem familiar to him. He's done this before. Not every day, mind you. He's not that big of a masochist to pull that shit. Perhaps once or twice in the span of what might be considered a fortnight, if that. Other times he's simply not done anything for a while. But Wilbur has gone through this process before. He has stood in flammable structures and allowed the flames to take their course. He hacks when the smoke increases to the point of becoming overwhelming. It hurts, of course it does (it's fire for crying out loud). Yet when he leaves the scene of arson, any blisters that have begun bubbling on his skin disappear at his command. The main incentive to act so stupidly is to remember. He can recall bombs and the devastation of witnessing his safety being ripped away before his eyes. Over and over, he attempts to confront the things that keep him up at night. The door is always right there, waiting to be flung open the second he decides it is more than enough for that session. In Albert Einstein's eyes, he could qualify to be called insane. He would disagree but then again, they are using different definitions. While alive, he had developed a smoking habit. It began as something to help alleviate stress. Then not inhaling nicotine ironically became a source of stress for him. That's how addictions form, he supposes, with stupid destructive cycles such as his. The inherent need to risk slowly killing his lungs for the sake of feeling relatively decent didn't seem to carry over to Ghostbur. Lucky bastard, always getting the better end of the deal. By his design, most likely. Be civil, he reminds himself, since it will increase his chances of securing victory. Now that Ghostbur is here, he is a step closer to getting what he's wished for since they'd died. It is only a matter of time before he rediscovers the peace of being whole once more. What he hopes will be peace. Wilbur thinks of buttons and fires and explosions. Most importantly though, he thinks of how nice it must be to witness something subjectively beautiful and not question a myriad of life choices. --- Ghostbur didn't appreciate the loneliness. Back down with everyone else, his friends and family either tolerated his company or told him to leave them alone. Even the friendlier ones had a habit of getting tired of him hanging out with them for too long. Sometimes he happened to catch them when they were busy. It was fine and certainly no big deal. Everyone needs alone time. Wilbur, for instance, likes a lot of alone time. Then there were those that Alivebur hurt and struggled to not be reminded of the man they once knew whenever Ghostbur was around, like Phil and Tommy. It was nobody's fault. He did have a striking resemblance to his pre-death counterpart. All this in consideration, Ghostbur could really a friend. Or perhaps more specifically, a Friend. He's seen Wilbur do this practically effortlessly so how hard could this be? He thinks the best way to go about this is to take it slow and begin at the bottom. He brings himself to an open space so he can have as few obstacles during this important moment as possible. Two pairs of hooves appear, already upright on the grass. With them comes four legs then a torso adorned in naturally blue wool which is accompanied by a tail. When the process comes to an end, Ghostbur is met with a familiar face. He wraps his arms around the neck of his closest companion in a hug. "Hi, Friend. I've really missed you. We can hang out whenever Wilbur is being grumpy or wants to be alone. Would you like that? Maybe we can even convince him to like you too. But that might be hard since he doesn't seem to like anyone." He feels it should be common courtesy for Ghostbur to introduce Friend to Wilbur. After all, his twin had already extended that courtesy to him the other day. --- "Wilbur!" There is no need for him to acknowledge the voice calling out his name. Even if he didn't recognise the owner of said voice, there is no-one else it could be. Yet when he does, he isn't sure whether to curse his reflexes for making him see the sight in general or be grateful for the minute's forewarning it grants him. Encouraged to tag along with Ghostbur is an affront to nature. "So..." He begins when the two visitors are near enough. "The sheep." "Yeah! His name is Friend. I had a sheep just like him when I was with everyone else so I thought he could keep me company while I'm here." He's not even sure how to respond to this development. He simply stares at the animal as he attempts to process it. It's so weird because he swears the sheep has one of those rare genetic variations where their wool is quite literally blue naturally. It's obviously not been dyed at all because you can tell with that sort of thing. Somehow, Ghostbur has straight up manifested a sheep with a rare coat colouring. He wants to be more thrown off by it than he is. Yet he struggles to do so. Because, in the several days since he's met the one he shares a face with, he can't truthfully claim he's surprised. "Friend, huh? Well, you really have a knack for coming up with names, don't you?" "I guess." "You asked me the other day what you should call me. You seem to love these cute little versions of our name. Given the way I treat you, I'm surprised you haven't been tempted to call me Meanbur or Sadbur or even Why-The-Fuck-Won't-You-Take-A-Hint-And-Just-Leave-Me-Alonebur?" Ghostbur hesitates, clearly a little shocked by this outburst. He quickly corrects himself, changing his expression instead to something more akin to content thoughtfulness. "Oh, I know! What do you think of Soulbur? I like Soulbur. Because you're half of his soul." "Fine, whatever makes you happy. Though if you really need to bother someone, I'd rather you go to Schlatt or MD." "But do you like Friend?" He glances back at the sheep for the sake of humouring his twin. "I... I suppose it's alright for a sheep. Don't want too much to do with it though. It's your pet." "He is more than a pet." And it comes off as if he's offended him. "He's well, he's Friend." "Gho- It is a sheep. I get that you're attached to it- him so you're hardly planning to serve mutton anytime soon but he's still just a bloody sheep." As he distances himself from Ghostbur to escape this nonsense, his ears catch muttered assurances that 'Soulbur' was not worth listening to. Plus, what kind of name was 'Friend'? His ghostly counterpart sounded like a child who'd decided their stuffed toy deserved a name to fit the role of lifelong companion. He'd retaliate but he's far from in the mood. --- Okay, as it turns out, he does begin to get used to the new moniker. For one thing, it's easier to differentiate himself from their pre-death self (though Ghostbur seems to have that covered thanks to his insistence of using 'Alivebur'). Soulbur likewise continues to tolerate him for the sake of civility. Hence why he's sat by a small fire and performing the absolutely redundant task of eating a meal. No matter how much he attempts to explain neither of them physically need sustenance, Ghostbur remains persistent on his thoughts regarding the issue. "No cows were harmed in the making of this steak." "Oh that's good." Ghostbur beams. "And you made a joke. You don't do that often." "Listen, I might not have a reason to laugh anymore but I do still have a sense of humour." "You know, you sound like Techno when you speak. All serious and bored." "Doesn't surprise me." He mutters. "Besides, you're the one who kept the happier emotions in the split. I'd be worried if I didn't sound like I have the more exhausting ones." "What?" "What are you confused about? You said you can't remember upsetting things, right? Well where did you think they went, the back of your mind, left stranded in the void- no, actually I suppose that one is technically true. Either way, the oversimplified version of events is that you got the good stuff and I got the bad." There is silence but there is also calm. From it, Soulbur gains the courage to put forward one of the questions he's been deliberating on for a good long while. "Ghostbur…" He frowns. "How did we die?" "You don't remember?" "No. For some fucked up reason, we apparently thought so low of ourself that it was a good memory. That or you took it to spite me." "I-" Soulbur holds his hand up. "No excuses, no rambling in the hopes you can beat around the bush. I just want the truth. Because all I can remember is Phil showing up, us getting frustrated then this unbearable pain as if... as if something was cooking us from the inside. I don't know I- it just hurt. A lot. Then we were dead. So what the hell happened to us?" The ghost is focused on fiddling with the sleeves of his yellow jumper. "I don't want to say." "Bad memory then. So... an unnecessary theft. As much as I hate to admit it, that was supposed to be mine if it was traumatic." "Wasn't nice but it was a good moment." "Well, was it good or bad? Make up your mind! I told you, I didn't want any messing around. I'm not expecting an essay from you, only a sentence or two." He groans. "Okay, how about this since you can't give me a straight answer. Did we press the button, yes or no?" "We did." "Brilliant! We got somewhere. I suspected it was burning debris but couldn't be sure. That's all I wanted." Soulbur manages only a handful of steps before his twin's voice is heard once more. "It wasn't debris. The explosion didn't kill us." "Then what did?" If his patience wore any more thin, somebody would have to pull out a microscope to view it. Ghostbur appears conflicted, ever tugging on his sleeves. "Phil was the Saint George to our dragon. He stopped us from hurting anyone else." "Whoa whoa whoa, hang on that's- Phil wasn't always the best parental figure to us, I know that, but he would never... kill us. That is not the kind of guy he is." "We asked him to." "Why would we-" "Don't ask me. You're the one who's always grumpy. You should know." Ghostbur argues back. "Even if we begged him on our hands and knees, as shitty as he could sometimes be, Phil would never cause us deliberate harm." "But he did." Soulbur visibly mulls this over in his mind before a scowl settles on his face. "Can't win, can you? Unbelievable. Couldn't even trust Phil to be on our side." "But he-" "He was supposed to take care of us. I can excuse him not being father of the year because he only took us in out of pity so we wouldn't end up on the streets. But the bare minimum I would have expected from him is to not kill the kid he's raised since they were little." "I don't know what you want me to say. You said you wanted the truth? Well the truth is Phil stabbed us with a sword because we asked him to. It was a... it was a sword with fire aspect, I think. That's why you think it hurt." "I don't think it hurt. I know it hurt." "Can we stop talking about this? I don't like it." "No. No, we are talking about this. I'm not letting you slink off at the first hint of something upsetting, Mr Repression." "I'm not slinking off. I just don't want to think about this." "Well, welcome to my life, every single bloody day since you ran off. At least you have the privilege of avoiding it." "Stop it! Stop it! Why do always have to be so- so- I'm going to find Friend. At least he's nice to me." "You are literally proving my point right now." "I don't care." "Fine! Piss off then. That's what you seem to do best, cry and run away at the slightest bit of trouble. But you can't do this forever, you know. You're going to have to accept we've been through a lot of shit one day." And for the first time in what he believes has been roughly two weeks, Ghostbur frowns. It is not the slight frown from whenever he is unsure or downtrodden, Soulbur's seen that before. Those times had been more akin to a pout. No, this expression has been witnessed by him before. He saw this occasionally in his reflection while alive, especially in the lead up to the festival and war between Manberg and Pogtopia when he'd been steeling himself to play his role in it all. So perhaps frown is not the most accurate word for it. Ghostbur glares, he scowls, he glowers. And then the façade breaks as if the universe cannot permit an angry Ghostbur to exist. Dark blue pools by his eyes and begins to spill down his face. Soulbur doesn't think he's seen his other half cry either actually. It doesn't feel right, watching the one who kept going about everything with a smile cry and descend into sobs while he's at it. The universe doesn't swiftly correct itself at this though so Soulbur will have to make of that what he will. "I'm going to find Friend." Ghostbur repeats. And that is that for the calm dinner between both halves of the same person.

#dream smp #twobur au #wilbur soot #ghostbur #my writing #tw self harm #tw death #tw smoking #tw unreality

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tornrose24 · 4 years

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Separation (Red Diamond AAU Drabble)

A certain (and very spoilerific, considering when it happens in the Steven Universe cartoon) familiar scene... but with a twist. (Also bit of a warning: there’s blood/ injuries involved.)

Original Gem AU (as well as zircon!George, sapphire!Harold, peridot!Melvin, and tourmaline!Poopypants) belongs to angerydj. Alexandra belongs to me.

(Honestly I was bored and wanted to write something. Then I remembered something I haven’t written out yet which will require a part 2 in the future).

Of all the gems George and Harold had faced, Watermelon Tourmaline was one of the most recurring antagonists. An old gem from their Homeworld days, he had been quite persistent in trying to catch them as well as Red Quartz when he was still around. It was one thing fighting him during the war all those centuries ago, but it was another when it turned out he was still around and was able to come back to earth.

But after he found out that Alexandra had Red Quartz’s–No, Red Diamond’s–gem, he became more dangerous than before. To him, capturing Red Quartz would not only ensure a personal victory over the rebels, but would ensure that no one on Homeworld would ever make fun of him again.

Unfortunately it appeared that this was not going to be like old times. This time he had wised up and had enough back up to ensure a different outcome.

He distracted the sapphire and zircon and their allies with his machines while he himself chased after Alexandra in the destroyed ruins that was once Red Diamond’s base. (It was unfortunate that his young assistant and fellow scientist Orange Peridot decided to ally himself with the little miscreants, but he had other things to care about). Alexandra tried to run away, but Watermelon Tourmaline caught up and all it took was a few attacks from the robot he piloted to make the girl crash to the floor with bruises across her body. He wanted ‘Red Quartz’ to suffer, and held off from doing serious damage, but he couldn’t believe how weak the gem was.

“Is that the best you can do, Quartz?!” Watermelon Tourmaline sneered from inside his robot.

“I’m... I’m not...” Alexandra wheezed as she tried to crawl away, even though she knew it was pointless.

She wasn’t able to crawl away in time when the robot roughly grabbed her between two fingers and held her up until she was facing him. “Stop running away and face me like a real gem!” He sneered. “Show your true self!” He still thought she was Red Quartz, she realized. He had no clue whose gem in her stomach really belonged to.

Watermelon Tourmaline gave her a sadistic look. “If you won’t, then I’ll make you!” One of the robot’s fingers opened up to reveal a small tweezer like appendage that shot out towards the child and forced her shirt up to reveal the beautiful shining stone in her midsection.

“No don’t!” Alexandra tried to wriggle free. She had no clue what would happen if the gem was pulled out and she didn’t want to find out.

The tweezers pinched the stone and began to tug at it. It hurt so much and Alexandra was screaming as the tugging made her feel as if her insides were going to be ripped out along with it.

“Come on out, Red!”

“NO!” She screamed as she heard George and Harold screaming for her. The moment they arrived on the scene, their eyes grew in alarm and they ran towards the robot with their weapons ready.

But by then it was too late.

The gem finally pulled free–along with bits of human skin and blood that still clung to it.

The child’s scream was almost deafening. It was one of the most awful sounds imaginable.

She was unceremoniously released and she crashed to the floor before anyone could reach her.

Watermelon Tourmaline let out a triumphant laugh as the zircon and sapphire reached Alexandra. “FINALLY!” The robot held up the gemstone that was half coated in blood. “I FINALLY CAPTURED RED QUARTZ! NOW EVERYONE WILL GIVE ME THE RESPECT I RIGHTFULLY DESERVE!”

Both George and Harold had been kneeling beside Alexandra as she cried in pain and clutched her injured navel where the gem once was. They both turned in anger at Watermelon Tourmaline and George was the first to strike. He quickly took out his tie whip and threw it out–willing it to extend as far as it could–until it wrapped around the robot arm’s tweezers.

“GIVE IT BACK!” George yelled as he tugged as hard as he could, while Harold also grabbed onto the weapon and tried to pull alongside him.

“LET GO YOU BRATS!” Watermelon Tourmaline snapped as the robot arm tried to pull away, but the young gems were able to hold their ground.

George tried to pull as hard as he could, but it was clear that something else needed to be done. In a desperate move, Harold took his shield out and threw it at the old gem in the robot. “NO YOU LET GO!” He yelled.

The shield managed to hit Watermelon Tourmaline right in the face, but in the process he pulled the lever for the arm at the same time and not only was the arm able to pull free from the whip, but the tweezers accidentally flung the red diamond into the air.

“NO!” George and Harold yelled when they saw what just happened. George quickly tried to throw the whip out to catch the diamond, but it was like trying to hit a fly with a stick and he missed.

The diamond fell to the ground and cracked perfectly in half on impact before the two halves flung into opposite directions and hit the ground.

“Oh no.” George voiced the fear he and Harold felt as a sinking feeling dropped in their stomaches.

“Ugh,” Watermelon Tourmaline got up and rubbed his face before noticing what happened to the gem. “Oh... well, I guess that’s just as good.” He shrugged. (Though it would have helped his cause if he was able to bring Red Quartz in alive).

“Oh no, oh no, oh no.” Harold shook his head and grabbed his hair as the robot moved its hand towards the broken halves of the diamond. If the diamond had shattered, and the only person who could fix it was now in bad shape, then–

Then to everyone’s shock both halves of the diamond started to glow.

“Wait, what?” Watermelon raised an eyebrow.

“WHAT?!” The zircon and sapphire yelled.

The images that began to form from the broken diamond halves were almost two exact copies of one another. And when they finished, they revealed two very unexpected figures. Both of whom should have been dead and gone.

****

For Benjamin, it was like waking up from a long sleep. He wasn’t able to register or remember much for a few moments as he held his head and tried to come to his senses.

When he looked up, he thought he was seeing himself in a mirror in his Red Quartz form, who was also holding his head and trying to come to his senses.

What he was not expecting was for the mirror image to flinch away. “Red Diamond?!” The mirror image cried out.

“RED DIAMOND?!” Benjamin and his mirror image looked up as Watermelon Tourmaline turned pale pink with shock and nearly jumped out of his robot as he looked at Benjamin. Even though the diamond was dressed a little more causally than normal, and had a faint pink skin tone similar to Red Quartz’s own, there was no mistaking that it was the infamous, long believed to have been dead Red Diamond himself.

“What is going on?” Harold asked George. “You’re seeing this too, right? I’m seeing both–”

“I am.” George nodded as both Red Diamond and Red Quartz were finally face to face, with each persona having one half of the gem that they once had and now had once again.

“You’re–!” Benjamin’s eyes widened as he stared at his counterpart in confusion.

“But I thought you–!” Red Quartz stammered and pointed at his counterpart.

“HOW?!” Watermelon Tourmaline grabbed his hair. “YOU’VE BEEN ALIVE THIS WHOLE TIME?! HOW’S THAT POSSIBLE?! I THOUGHT QUARTZ SHATTERED YOU!”

“Yeah, how are you still alive?!” Red Quartz panicked. He distinctly remembered destroying the evil diamond’s gem in one punch, causing him to flicker out of existence the moment it shattered into fragments.

“Wh-what is–?” Benjamin stammered as he tried to make sense as to where he was. The last thing he remembered was looking at his newborn child and holding her before he gave up his–

Wait.

He looked at the half destroyed, now malformed gem in Red Quartz’s midsection before he looked at his own to see that it was in a similar state.

It was not supposed to look like that. And it wasn’t supposed to be a part of him anymore. In fact, he wasn’t supposed to still exist.

Alarmed, he turned around and the first thing he saw was George and Harold. Both were equally alarmed and horrified (once upon a time, he would have enjoyed seeing that look on their faces and had even longed for it) and they were standing beside a child of about six to eight years old. She was laying on the floor and grabbing her stomach which appeared to be bleeding as the blood stained her shirt and fingers. She was in a state between pain and fatigue, but she struggled to stay awake long enough to look back at him with eyes eerily similar to his own. For one crucial second Benjamin saw his wife in her features–the same freckles, same nose, and even her messy hair reminded him of Edith.

“Da...ddy?” Her voice was barely a wheeze.

George and Harold’s panic increased when they saw the realization in Benjamin’s eyes. When Watermelon Tourmaline noticed that the child was still present, he made a very horrible, stupid mistake on his behalf when he yelled:

“How is his disguise still present?! I thought it’d go away when I took the gem out!”

The deathly calm that fell was a moment of sheer terror for George and Harold.

The moment the zircon and the sapphire saw that the diamond figured out that the child was his own daughter and what had happened to her, they knew something horrible was about to happen.

The fire that began to erupt in Benjamin’s eyes was all too familiar to George and Harold, but they knew this was not the usual kind of anger he had–this kind was the one that was all too rare and far more terrifying. They watched as his body began to tense up and he turned towards the robot and the tourmaline inside it. His clueless other half was still completely lost, but even he saw that the diamond was about to do something unpleasant.

The diamond got up and his body began to flash with light and expand until a split second later a gigantic version of Red Diamond reached the robot and grabbed it. He was not quite at his original full height for some reason, but his form had regained its fire red hue–overcoming the almost human like pink skin tone that he had as Red Quartz and had kept when he originally shedded his original name for good.

They could only watch as Red Diamond tore into the robot. He punched at it and tore its parts off like a wild animal and even the way he was yelling sounded monstrous. The tourmaline inside the robot was screaming in fear for his life and tried to escape out of the robot, but the door was jammed and he couldn’t pull it free.

“Oh this isn’t good!” Harold pulled at his hair.

“Hey we got them all!” Rainbow Kyanite (the fusion of Bo the Bismuth and Gooch the Pink Tourmaline) managed to catch up to them while carrying the easily winded Melvin. Then they saw what was happening, they could only stare in shock.

“What do we do?!” Harold asked George.

“I don’t know, but we got to stop him!” George had no idea what would happen to Red Diamond while he was angry with only a broken gem, but it wasn’t going to be good. Both he and Harold didn’t see Red Quartz looking at Alexandra in confusion (she looked a little familiar to him, but unlike his other half he had no clue who she was or why she was hurt).

“Hey guys, what’s going on?!” The worried Red Quartz pleaded. “Why’s Red Diamond still alive?!”

“Not now!” George snapped as Harold readied his weapon. “Get Alexandra out of here!” He commanded to Rainbow Kyanite. “Melvin, we’ll need your help with this!”

“Right!” The fusion could only respond before letting go of Melvin and carefully picking up Alexandra before he hurried away as fast as possible. At the same time, George and Harold began their own fusion.

Meanwhile Red Diamond continued to viciously tear into the robot as he tried to get to the Watermelon Tourmaline. It had been so long since he felt such anger but this time it was so much worse and he barely registered anything else besides a buzzing in his head, the red in his vision, and the slight pain in his midsection. He didn’t notice his gem not only cracking a little or the angry white and orangish lightning like lines that were starting to flare up across his body.

Just when Red Diamond finally managed to brake the robot into a shapeless mess and was about to reach for the terrified Watermelon Tourmaline, Carnelian quickly grabbed his arm with all four of his arms.

“STOP!” The fusion of George and Harold yelled. While he was taller than the young gems, he was still shorter than the giant Red Diamond to the point that it was like a child trying to stop an adult.

“DON’T STOP ME!” Red Diamond screamed at them, with fangs for teeth and eyes burning an anger. He was oblivious to the beginning of a corruption slowly spreading from his gem–the lines creeping across his stomach and up his arms as he tried to pull free. When he finally managed to knock Carnelian away, he was soon met with a giant yo-yo that wrapped around his body and pinned his arms against his sides.

Melvin readied his arm canon as Red Quartz watched on. He was alarmed at the hatred in Red Diamond’s face–too similar to his own–as the large gem roared and tried to pull free. Why was Red Diamond trying to attack Watermelon Tourmaline? Why was Carnelian trying to stop him?

While Red Diamond was too focused on struggling to get free and snarling at Carnelian, Melvin built up enough energy in his arm canon. The orange peridot took aim and a huge blast of energy struck the diamond in the chest. Without any protective covering to shield himself, the energy blast exploded and the large gem bursted into light.

This time Carnelian was able to catch the broken diamond when it fell and he made sure to quickly bubble it.

Carnelian let out a huge sigh as Watermelon Tourmaline scrambled to get out of the wreckage of his robot. When he was able to pull himself free, he tried to escape, only to find himself hoisted up into the air by Red Quartz himself.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but you must have something to do with this.” Red Quartz frowned at the short gem.

“Me?!” Watermelon Tourmaline spat. “What about you?! Why was Red Diamond fused with you?! Why did he attack me?! Why–?!”

The Watermelon Tourmaline was shot by another blast from Melvin’s canon. He reverted back into his gem form, which fell to the floor, but unlike the red diamond, it didn’t shatter.

“I’ll take that, thank you.” Melvin grabbed the tourmaline and bubbled it as he resumed his usual air of arrogance as a way to mask his own confusion. Red Quartz stared at him, wondering why a gem that normally allied with Watermelon Tourmaline was helping George and Harold instead.

Carnelian unfused and George and Harold reappeared while holding the bubble that contained Benjamin’s half of the gem. It already had a few cracks on it from his rampage on Watermelon Tourmaline.

“What do we do now?” Harold asked, knowing full well that letting Benjamin reform anytime soon would be a bad idea. (He knew what both he and George were in for the next time they’d see him again).

“I honestly don’t know.” George admitted.

“Guys?” The two looked up to see Red Quartz. He gave them a shaky wave before asking “Can you tell me what’s going on now?”

To be continued

#captain underpants #cu gem au #red diamond aau #cu fan child #involves heavy spoilers from the SU cartoon

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