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snailor-bee · 2 years

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Songfics Part Five

I finished my last batch and a few of my lovely friends (who already got them) wanted more?! Whattt, ya’ll are to nice to me. ;u; This was for the amazing @ah-scheisse-its-you whom I love and appreciate very much. It’s Buggy, Rosinante, and Brook

GN!Reader / SFW / 3.5k Warnings: Angst-y (For Cora) and Age Difference/Angst? for Brook.

Song: About You – Caravan Palace

Walking into ‘Buggytown’ your nose wrinkled. It was loud and flashy, pirates milling about everywhere. You were doing a brief stop, a quick exchange for some gold. You would have liked to head out immediately but the crew you were traveling with for the time being wanted to stop and party. With no alternatives you walked through the numerous circus-style tents. At one point you saw the warlord Buggy, huge and bright red standing above the crowd, his balloon-like body making you grimace. You had seen his bounty posters before he’d become a warlord, apparently safety had made him larger, bigger, and you weren’t sure you liked the change. Although the clown thing might be…strange you had found you liked it in his old posters from the East Blue. Found him a little attractive, much to the chagrin of your friends. But it was nothing more than a passing fancy.

Regardless it didn’t matter now, as you drank at some intensely lit bar. Soon enough though, the blinding-colored lights were giving you a headache so you chugged the rest of your drink before slipping out the back. The front was wayyy too busy to bother with. As you made your way down the alley, familiar bouncing pigtails from a pirate’s hat made you squint your eyes in the dim light.

“Captain Buggy?” You couldn’t help but ask into the dark, slightly tipsy and you immediately wanted to slap yourself. It was probably some fan of Buggy’s, why did you call out in the first place?! The man jumped about two feet in the air squealing before his torso twisted, leaving his legs facing forward. Your eyebrows rose, slightly impressed as he started yelling at you.

You tilted your head. Well it was obviously the real Buggy although his signature blue hair was now blonde. “What happened to your hair?” You asked, ignoring whatever nonsense he was screaming about. He cut himself off suddenly before he swept a hand through a pigtail other hand on his hip as he struck a pose.

“I’m undercover!” You blinked a few times before you started laughing. “WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?!” He demanded angrily.

“I don’t think just making your hair blonde is enough, your makeup is still the same?? Not to mention your hat and stuff,” you wheezed out between laughs as he frowned. His legs reattached themselves and he approached you quickly, which made your laughter cut off. Fear beat through you as you took a few steps back. Silly or not, he was still a well-known pirate and probably dangerous.

“What do you know!” He said as he pointed a finger into your face. “It works all the time!”

“Does it?” You asked, disbelief clear in your tone. He huffed.

“Here! I’ll show you,” he grabbed your wrist and started leading you down the alley, complaining as he went.

Buggy never asked your name, but that was fine. He ended up leading you to nightclub, the pounding music could be heard clear across the street. As the two of you cut to the front of the line, the bouncers quickly let you in—which you felt helped your argument more than his—but Buggy didn’t even seem to notice as he dragged you further inside. He still hadn’t let go of your wrist.

“Gyahahahaha, see! No one even knows it’s me! My disguise is perfect!” He announced to you loudly, finally dropping your wrist as he leaned against the bar arms outspread against the wood, legs crossed over each other on the seat. His voice cut easily over the loud music somehow. A promptly dropped drink by his elbow seemed to dispel that belief but again he barely seemed to notice as he grabbed it and took a long drink. You rolled your eyes. Maybe it would be better to agree, since he seemed blind to the alternative.

“Well then hotshot, maybe you could get me a drink too?” You ventured to ask and his red lips brightened into a large smile before he snapped his fingers at the bartender. The song blaring over the speakers changed right as the bartender clicked down your drink.

Well, I'm a big girl with cash and wheels I'm taller than you when I don't wear heels And I don't give a damn, don't give a damn about you You will never know how to deal with me Big trouble I ain't subtle when I hit that spot I like to hangout late down my block And I don't give a damn, don't give a damn about you

As you reached out for your drink, Buggy suddenly jumped to his feet. “Come on!” Wrapping a stronger than expected arm around your waist, he led you out to the dance floor. Mournfully you watched your drink get further and further away. When you were in the center, he spun you out and away from him. You froze when you realized people had moved away to create a large center for the two of you to dance in.

Still will you love me? Will you let me over? 'Cause your high heels take me higher So your talk won't take me under Ooh can you give me One night to keep me over? So I can take you higher As the world goes up in fire?

Buggy grinned as he started dancing, legs reaching much higher than you would have thought possible. Awkwardly you did a little wiggle, eyes scanning the crowd as you thought about how you might escape. Suddenly two gloved hands were on yours and you startled, Buggy hadn’t moved but his hands pulled at you, pulling one arm up high and making you spin. When you came out of it, he was suddenly there, tugging you down into a dip. Blue eyes shone with triumph and your pride bristled. You didn’t want to look like a scared little cat. When he straightened you up, you immediately wrapped an arm around his neck and shoulders and he laughed loudly as he began to lead you around the dance floor.

Well I'm a tough girl don't need anybody Not a gold digger, not a sugar baby I don't give a damn, don't give a damn about you You will never know how to deal with me Still wanna play the game I won't be the loser Everyone knows I would never chose you I don't give a damn, don't give a damn about you You can't find a proper way to please me

Buggy was a good dancer, you were pleased to note after you finally relaxed enough that he could lead you. Judging by the song, which was a little more remix-y but still had the obvious influence of swing to it, you had gotten in close to his ear. “I can dance swing,” you told him. Buggy’s smile made something within you quicken as his leading got more assured and the two of you started to find a perfect rhythm together.

The crowd went wild as he twisted and pulled you, both of your feet bouncing. He was just as eager to let to take control, when once or twice you made him duck or dive under your arms.

(Can you help me?) And if the car comes equipped with a moon roof Then the stars will surely help with the mood we're in now (I can't help the way I feel) 'Cause I never said that my hand was fool proof But you know that I know you love me too, now

You laughed, breathing heavy as you fought to keep up. Buggy might have let a few of his limbs loose at some point, you couldn’t even tell, the noise of the crowd all but lost to you. This was so fun, you hadn’t danced like this in ages, especially with a new partner. Buggy was assured, his hands always knew exactly how to move you, nothing light or gentle in the touch. Just firm and strong, and you trusted him even as he would kick you up in a rotating spin around his arm while the crowd ‘oooh’d’ from somewhere beyond you. But they were nothing, all you could see was Buggy, his makeup just a little runny under the sweat as he smiled and laughed with you.

'Cause you're high heels take me higher So your talk won't take me under Can you give one night to get me over? So I can take you higher As the world goes up in fire?

All to soon the song ended and Buggy held your hand as the two of you bowed to the crowd who went wild with their hollering and clapping. He began tugging at your hand to led you again past the crowd and back towards the bar when you ripped your hand out of his grasp. Buggy turned to look at you over his shoulder, confusion written across his features.

“I don’t need to be led around like an animal!” You said with a huff. He rolled his eyes.

“It’s the best way so we don’t get separated you moron!” He grabbed up your hand again. “Unless you wanted to dip?” Buggy asked, slightly more hesitant. You blinked with surprise. Did he want to spend more time with you? You figured it was just a dance and that’s it. A good time and the two of you would go your separate ways. You smiled and intertwined your fingers with his, giving his gloved hand a squeeze.

“I guess not. I never got that drink right?” Immediately Buggy swelled as he began walking again, confidence already back in place, as if his momentary hesitation had never happened.

“Gyahahahaha! Suppose not. Say, what’s your name again?”

Honorable Song Mention: Primadonna – MARINA

When Angel said ‘Buggy’ I was kinda like: ‘oh fuck’. I wanted a fun song for him but what was kinda…difficult. I really liked Primadonna since it was fun and bouncy but I remembered this one and went “ah yeah that suits better.” Not as upbeat but I like the swing remix more for a clown I think. This was fun though! And much longer than my other ones I believe? I had to set up more for myself because I couldn’t think of a way to have the reader met Buggy without…explaining I guess.

Song: In My Time of Dying – The Be Good Tanyas

Well in my time of dying I don't want nobody to mourn All I want my friends to do Come and fold my dying arms

Rosinante held a den den mushi in his hands. Tempted, he was so tempted to call you. But it wasn’t a good idea; dangerous even. On the run from both his brother and the marines, contacting you now would only bring more problems if someone happened to overhear the call.

But oh how he wanted too. Wanted to hear your sweet voice, comforting him, reaffirming that what he was doing was right. Although he knew it was. It would just be nice to hear it from someone else. Law deserved more than him. A double-crossing brother (not that Doffy didn’t deserve it and more) and a trailer to the marines both. But Law…he didn’t deserve what had happened to him. How the World Government treated the City of Florence, it made him sick to his stomach.

And with each hospital that they visited and seeing the fear in the doctor’s faces, while Law became more and more withdrawn; well. He could use the pick-me-up.

Well, well, well so I can die easy Jesus gonna make up my dying bed

Pressing in the number he knew so well, Rosinante noticed his hand was shaking ever so slightly. Law was asleep behind him, the fire a pitiful warm spot against his lower back. The cold air of the night otherwise making his breath fog and it wasn’t just the smoke from his cigarette either.

As it rang, he wondered if you were asleep. Most likely. Should he hang up? He didn’t want to wake you. Before thought could turn into action, the snail clicked, and your voice rang through the quiet night.

“Hello?” Immediately warmth rushed through him upon hearing your familiar voice. He missed you, terribly.

“Thank you for a lovely weekend,” he said and heard you gasp.

“They tell me it rained,” you finished. It was the code phrase the two of you used. “Oh Rosi, are you okay?”

“Fine, fine. I’m with Law.” He hadn’t gotten to update you overly much, being undercover made that difficult. But you knew who Law was and what he was sick with. “I took him away, trying to get him treated. It’s…not as easy as I would have hoped.”

You sighed. “I’m sorry but I’m not surprised. People are terrible aren’t they?”

“He’s a child,” Rosinante fumed, the first time in a long time that he’d been able too. “I don’t know why no one will help us!” The echo of his voice shocked him, and he quickly turned to make sure he hadn’t woken Law up. Quieting down he whispered, “I think I might have found an alternative though.”

“Oh?” You asked.

Won't you meet me Jesus, meet me Won't you meet me in the middle of the air And if these wings should fail me, Lord Won't you meet me with another pair

After he explained, you were apprehensive. To be honest, so was he. He knew that Doffy wanted that fruit, badly. But this was the only way.

“Just be safe, okay Rosi? Come home to me,” you said at last. He hesitated. Rosinante had never wanted to lie to you, about anything. You were the one person he could be completely honest with.

Well, well, won't you meet me Jesus Jesus gonna make up my dying bed

He whispered your name like a prayer. “I…I don’t know how this’ll turn out. I’m going to do everything in my power to save Law. If…if something happens to me…” he trailed off, as your breath hitched.

You sniffed loudly and it felt like a needle pierced his heart. “I understand…just do your best. That’s all I ask.”

“I will,” he vowed. “Just…don’t wait for me.”

I'm going on down to the river Stick my sword up in the sand Gonna shout my troubles over Lord I done made it to the promised land

Now with snow falling on his face, melting on his smile he felt a little hollow that he wouldn’t be able to keep that promise. Still, it was worth it. Law protected, the devil fruit out of Doffy’s hands. He did what he wanted to do. Even if he couldn’t do everything he wanted, go home to you, see your sweet face again. He knew you’d understand.

Well, well, well I done crossed over Jesus gonna make up my dying bed

Closing his eyes, Rosinante waited as long as he could as he sensed Doffy walk away. Waited even more, as his warm blood cooled in the snow falling heavily around him. Until he could hold on no more and his quiet around Law faded. He hoped it was enough. I love you, he thought with a smile. Meaning Law, meaning you, meaning anyone. He did it, he did it, he did it…

Ever since I've done acquainted with Jesus We haven't been a minute apart He placed the receiver in my ear Threw religion in my heart Well, well, well I can ring up my Jesus Jesus gonna make up my dying bed

Honorable Song Mention: Beyond the Sea – Kina Grannis

I asked if Angel wanted pain or sweet and she chose pain! I was kinda second guessing the song a bit but decided to just run with it. I wouldn’t normally put in a song that mentions Jesus in a One Piece story but since it wasn’t a song that Rosinante could actually hear I figured it would be okay. Also it was fun doing Rosi’s POV for the first time ever! The “Thank you for the lovely weekend. They tell me it rained.” is from the book ‘An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness’ and it is the MOST romantic thing I’ve ever read in my entire life. Like…just so into someone that you spend all weekend with them and don’t even NOTICE it rains until you go to work and someone brings it up. JUST OUCH MY HEART. Happy I was able to include it in this!

Song: Superstar – Tennis

Long ago and oh so far away I fell in love with you Before the second show Your guitar, it sounds so sweet and clear But you're not really here It's just the radio

In almost a sort of dazed disbelief you listened to the radio snail while clutching a bounty poster in your hands. Although it may as well be a band poster, for all the bring colors and funky text; so unlike most bounty posters. You couldn’t help your shaking, but whether that was from the shock or your age it was hard to say, and your eyes filled with tears.

It was him, it was really him. Brook from so long ago. It almost felt like a lifetime had passed. And maybe it had. You were barely in your 20s at the time, so fresh and eager when the Rumbar Pirates had come into town.

Brook had caught your eye immediately, taller than anyone else on the crew and oh so handsome. A bright smile and even brighter sense of humor. (Even if some of his jokes weren’t always…good, they never failed to make you laugh.)

Don't you remember you told me you loved me baby You said you'd be coming back this way again baby Baby, baby, baby, baby, oh, baby I love you, I really do

They stopped by your little port town frequently enough. Each time you loved to listen to Brook play and tell you all about his adventures. When they mentioned leaving for the Grand Line you were scared. It was so dangerous, you felt like you’d never see him again.

And well, you were partly right. They had left and you never heard from them again. Sailed right out of your life and disappeared, like so many pirates who travel to the Grand Line.

Loneliness is a such a sad affair And I can hardly wait to be with you again What to say to make you come again Come back to me again And play your sad guitar

Seeing his bounty poster now though, it shocked the hell out of you, to be frank. Well past the age of keeping up with pirates, you hadn’t heard much about the Straw Hats before you saw his newest poster, when they suddenly exploded after two years of silence. After seeing it, you did some more digging and discovered Brook had been touring before that. Touring. It felt unreal. And yet, a secret part of you was thankful all his concerts had been to far away for you to even think about going.

If you had been close enough and missed it, you feared the disappointment might be too great.

Don't you remember you told me you loved me baby You said you'd be coming back this way again baby Baby, baby, baby, baby, oh, baby I love you, I really do

Besides what were you hoping for? You were old. So was he, but as you listened to the cheering of the crowd as he played and sang, you felt it was a little different. Skeletons didn’t ‘age’, not like you had. What would you even say to him?

You’d lived your life. Grown up, had your own adventures. It was just like the past had suddenly shot its way into your life, bringing with it all the regrets you had thought you’d long since buried.

Don't you remember you told me you loved me baby You said you'd be coming back this way again baby Baby, baby, baby, baby, oh, baby I love you, I really do

“Yohohohoho~” hearing his familiar laugh brought you out of your thoughts and you finally snapped the snail off. The past was the past, even if Brook was suddenly back that didn’t mean a thing to you. Wiping away your tears with wrinkled hands you got up from the chair.

How long had you been sitting there, dwelling on the past? You weren’t sure but as you put away his bounty poster into a drawer you felt oddly heavy yet at the same time, light? On one hand, it was bittersweet to see Brook again after all this time. But then again, you were happy for him. You hoped he could achieve his dreams at last. Maybe you’d never see him again in person, but you always had the memory of your time together.

Honorable Song Mention: Lost in the Rhythm – Jamie Berry

I love Tennis and their cover of this song and so when I got Brook I was like HELL YEAH LET’S DO THIS. Kinda…had to do an age difference to make it believable for the reader to…still be alive…(although now that I think about it, I think I’ve read somewhere that humans in the OP world’s lifespan is like…120 or something? Hm.) Regardless I thought it was an interesting idea. ;w;

#bee writes #one piece #one piece x reader #songfics #brook x reader #donquixote corazon #brook #buggy #donquixote rosinante #rosinante x reader #buggy x reader

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beelieveinfandom · 3 years

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Convo from the 18+ discord about a very silly star wars crossover I wanted to share.

gremgeous the gem pillar Just had a GREAT idea for a star wars crossover Just dipper visiting the star wars universe for whatever reason (multiverse vacation maybe? Idk. Dipper maybe dusted off that old portal in a fit of nostalgia or smth) and palpatine finds him and tries to tempt alcor to his side by offering him power Standard stuff for the sith really Except Well If you offer a demon unspecified power, in what form are they going to take it if not in the one who is offering's soul? Biggest and best tasting power boost there is, really! And then maybe he takes over the empty shell of a body afterwards which may or may not grant him force acess and alcor has a grand old time making a mess out of running the republic (or at least running lose in the senate) This is like... early prequals or pre-preauals era maybe. When palpafucker is still undercover and being all covert and unsuspicious and stuff I call this.... "palpatines penechance for grand speeches and unspecific ominous statements to try and seem all powerful and cool and dramatic fuck him over" Or in shorter terms ... . "There's a demon lose in the senate" And it basically runs like that one john mullaney bit With a side dashing of that one journak 3 thing where bill posesses a guy, messes with a roman army and then makes a guys head explode Also like nobody knows who alcor is or that hes even there bc theres no demons or dream demons in star wars (that i know of) so he gets the run of the place Even moreso than back home in gravity falls bc no one knows magic, its all "force this" and "force that" Dippered probably spends a lot of time nerding out over the different alien species since they dont have those back in his dimension (theyve got aliens but theyre different kinds) and also about the laser swords (just like the one Grunkle Ford made for them all (Ford, Dipper, Mabel, Stan, Soos, Grenda, Candy, Grendas boyfriend, Pacifica, and even waddles and gompers) back in 2017! Good times, good times.)

swbeeworm oh this sounds like fun

gremgeous the gem pillar Right???

swbeeworm if i was familiar enough with the star wars universe to write anything in it i'd give this a shot

gremgeous the gem pillar right???

swbeeworm like i know star wars?? but i don't know star wars n i have to know something to be confident in writing it

gremgeous the gem pillar Sadly everything i know comes from time travel fixit and semi-salty pro-jedi meta

swbeeworm but just.... the sheer chaotic potential of this...

gremgeous the gem pillar Gosh yes....... Oh its be so good..........

swbeeworm oh mood it would be

gremgeous the gem pillar @Abigor u like star wars too gimme ur thooooughts When ur awake and have them to give

swbeeworm ugh i should. probably not be awake, i have stuff to do tomorrow n i have a headache but this is fun to think about

gremgeous the gem pillar I had another thing thats fun to think abt too Clone wars era, alcors there and everyon thinks hes a brand new sith player b/c gold eyes

swbeeworm just the shenanigans. the bullshittery. the sheer what-le-fuck reactions of everyone from the senate to the jedi to the people ooooooooo

gremgeous the gem pillar YES!!! Exactly.

gremgeous the gem pillar Oooooh jedi can do mind things i wonder what alcor wpuld feel like to them

swbeeworm my first instinctive responses were: 1) constant Screaming and a whirlwind mishmash of colors/concepts/etc that makes everyone who 'looks' too long start bleeding thru the nose/eyes 2) wii music on loop and these are VERY different prompts to have back to back but that's what i got

gremgeous the gem pillar AKDHSGGSHD I LOVE IT Oh what if its both at the same time Ajdhegdhdj what rven is the music like in star wars anyway

swbeeworm the fkin,,,, cantina music

gremgeous the gem pillar Like how would they react when confronted w wii music

swbeeworm is the equivalent i would think

gremgeous the gem pillar Do they even have the same sorts of instruments do they even know what electronic music is

swbeeworm just. that spawned another Thought imagine that the cantina music from That One Scene is the sw-equivalent of the wii music and just. just imagine that same scene playing but with wii music on loop in the background

gremgeous the gem pillar Gosh "wii music on loop" i love it AODHDHSHSJD

swbeeworm it would probably FIT they have the same vibe

gremgeous the gem pillar Im crying Mits so good

swbeeworm sdjlksdafj i saw a post the other day that was talking abt the music there n how it kept playing on loop n the poster joked that it might have been like,, the john mulaney salt-pepper-diner-story situation which is only tangentially related to this topic but i had to recall it

gremgeous the gem pillar AJSHH i love that Gosh ok i feel like take 1 would fit with the new sith in town scenario And take 2 fits with theres a demon lose in the senate

swbeeworm sfsdkfjh yES

gremgeous the gem pillar But how FUCKING HILARIOUS would it be if in the senate story its the former, and in the oh so serious sith story its the wii music on loop im akdhsjdvsjdhsjbd

swbeeworm ASLDJSLKFJ plEASE take 1: gritty, serious, angst, deadly miscommunications--and fucking wii music on loop take 2: lighthearted, cracky, shenanigans and bullshittery--and fucking bleeding out the eyes if you try n read the guy talk about dissonance

gremgeous the gem pillar "Big scary sith! Look at the yellow eyes! What dastardly plots cpuld he be thinking/partaking in....." [Hard cut to alcor pov/inside alcors head] wii music plays as he stares off into space during a supposedly very important meeting

gremgeous the gem pillar OH I DO LOVE THE DISSONANCE Gsjdgysgsvsjgd wheeze its so good i love it

swbeeworm me tooooo .....for the sith one. would ppl see blue fire n think lightning

gremgeous the gem pillar Theyd probably think its some other secret sith technique

swbeeworm fair enough

gremgeous the gem pillar Everyone thinks one of the other sith lines that was supposedly wiped out had it since this sith deffs aint the line of bane- even the cirrent sith wanna know where alcors popped in from "Lightning was the bane line specialty.... guess where ever this kids guys from fire was theirs"

swbeeworm= adjlsdfkjlfkjf the shenanigans n bullshittery one imagine alcor-as-palpatine just. going incorporeal, still visible but not able to be touched, and the jedi go from "what the fuck is going on" to "why the fuck is he a force ghost"

gremgeous the gem pillar AJSGSHSGSHSA

swbeeworm alcor, who'd done it only bc his ~ornate robes~ had got so caught/tangled on something he could only get free by phasing through it: ??????

gremgeous the gem pillar wheeze Alcor: how the fuck did this guy move around in these AJDHSGDH ALCOR NOT KNOWING ABOUT THE SITH- SHOWS UP TO THE SENATE IN THE SITH ROBES

swbeeworm asdlkjsfkjsdfdf

gremgeous the gem pillar CALLS IT A "FASHION STATEMENT" WHEN CALLED OUT ON IT

swbeeworm a fASHION STATEMENT YES alcor: :blobsweats: alcor: what the FUCK is a sith alcor: and why do they have better style than the jedi

gremgeous the gem pillar WHEEZE He doesnt know jack shit abt the jedi or anything hes just vibing!!!!!!

swbeeworm yesssssss

gremgeous the gem pillar AJDGSGGDJS YOU KNOW WHATVWPUKD BE EVEN BETTER ALCOR THINKS THE SITH LOOK IS TACKY AF

swbeeworm alcor: no listen. listen. i picked these space robes out of my space wardrobe because they looked cool, not because i'm part of some. some space cult ljflskdajfslkdfjsd

gremgeous the gem pillar BUT HE STILL THINKS ITS BETTER THAN THE JEDI

swbeeworm that's even better

gremgeous the gem pillar space cult im HOWLING

swbeeworm you KNOW he'd be so excited at being in space this DORK

gremgeous the gem pillar Ph gosh imagine it starts out all dark and serious and angsty and creepy in the whole beginning exchange But as soon as the day after alcor takes up palps role hits it takes a sharp turn into crack terriotry

gremgeous the gem pillar OH HE WOULD

swbeeworm yESSSS

gremgeous the gem pillar Alcor takes one look at dooku and is like "youre the only one aroynd here with any sort of fashion sense" "And its HORRIBLE"

swbeeworm sljflskdjfsd

gremgeous the gem pillar Just roasts him And by extension everyone else too

swbeeworm dooku has NO IDEA what's going on but at this point ""palpatine"" or whatever's taken over him is ten minutes into a rant abt the layers on layers of boring robes jedi wear and at this point he'll take the backhanded compliment about his own style

gremgeous the gem pillar Akehdsjfssksgsjd

swbeeworm just to shut him up

gremgeous the gem pillar AKDHDJDGDJDHD Alco goes on a 30 minute rant on why suits are SO much more professional

swbeeworm snaps "palpatine" into a suit and goes "...except maybe for this guy idk if anything could make him look good"

gremgeous the gem pillar And its more of a backhanded insukt than a backhanded compliment but anything to shut the guy up, right?

swbeeworm how much we roasting palpatine here

gremgeous the gem pillar To a blackened crisp

swbeeworm as it should be

gremgeous the gem pillar Its better than his wrinkly old rasin look anyday

swbeeworm lskjdlsakjfdf agreed

gremgeous the gem pillar Be hard NOT to improve on that honestly But the dude sinks so low i bet hed somehow manage it

swbeeworm --alcor getting fed up w palpatine's body and just. showing up to the senate meetings, full alcor, eyes n his normal face n everything, in palpatine's robes, and when someone rightfully asks him who the hell is he, he just deadpans "i'd think by this point you'd recognize your own chancellor" and just straight insists he's palpatine (and has the knowledge to back it up) every time someone sputters

gremgeous the gem pillar Also i included the bit abt the journal 3 thing bc my saga of alcor repeating bill's patterns, behaviors, and ideas unknowlingly and without awareness that that is what he is doing shall continue >:3c

gremgeous the gem pillar AODHAJDBAKWJHEVEJDJDHSHSHSJWOWKJEHEE I LOVE IT OH HOW I LOVE OT ALSOWHSKJDISOSOAJAIW Oh gosh what if he fuckin

swbeeworm because at this point it's less about blending in and more about trolling the whole senate and being as distracting as possible because with everyone paying attention to his trolling theyre less likely to notice the bills for clone rights n abolishing slavery n such that he's pushing thru in the background misdirection at its finest

gremgeous the gem pillar I was gonna say a thing abt alcor replacing palps b4 the election and so they did elect alcor to chancelorhoood But it might be funnier if he took him over AFTER abd still says that bit abt recognizing their own chancellor Oh gosh in that secind scenario it would be hilarious if the jedi are all :blobglare: @alcor except for obi-wan who is all like "i am looking away" bc at least THIS guy (whiever the hell he is) has stopped being such a creep abt anakin

swbeeworm the jedi are sent in to figure out wtf is going on and. they, unfortunately, bewilderingly, confirm that this is the same person as the chancellor who'd been showing up recently??? same wii music/bleeding effect??

swbeeworm alcor, finding appointments with some random jedi kid on palpatine's calendar: wtf why is this creep trying to meet with a kid alone, yeah how about i cancel that

gremgeous the gem pillar AKDJDJD Alcor, looking at palpatibes planner: "every day i am more and more glad that i ate thig guys soul" "Like i knew it was oily but im suprised i havent got an upset stomach from it yet"

swbeeworm sjlskdfjsdf alcor the next day, after finding stuff abt the order 66 chip things, gagging: "i spoke too soon"

gremgeous the gem pillar Obi-wan to the council: hmm? Yes this is totally the chancellor, i know this because of all the previous meetings and close relationship he has had with my padawan which you allowed and helped facillitate- "Palpatine":[has a completley different body type, height, and face. Plus he actually has hair and is maybe even floating a little but its hard to be sure in those black and gold robes- and with a completely different voice] oh, yeah, totally, Im the chancellor and i totally know who this guy and that kid is yup yup yup-

gremgeous the gem pillar [UGLY LAUGHTER] AkdjskkdkdjsysAODJSJEUEIEIIEF

swbeeworm ASDKAFDF "palpatine": [grins with very sharp teeth at a nervous senator] council: "okay that is NOT normal" obi-wan, deadpan: "i'm sorry, it sounds like you're discriminating against non-human beings? that's not very jedi of you now is it"

gremgeous the gem pillar ALDHDJDHD Wait wait no what if its "This is completely normal behavior. I, as a human, know this for certain" "I can do this too, but i dont, because it is impolite, but hes the chancellor he can do whatever he wants"

swbeeworm asldksajflksdfjsdf;jsdf yes yes beautiful

gremgeous the gem pillar Alcor and obi-wan team up to be passive agressive at everyone who allowed palps and anakin to hang out ABOUT them letting an unsupervised minor chill w a suoer duper old guy Shoulda had a chaperone at LEAST Butalso

swbeeworm the other humans on the council: "uh, actually-" obi-wan: [manages to sip tea (which he shouldn't even have access to in a council meeting btw) with an aggressively polite smile and silent Threat] the other humans: "....um."

gremgeous the gem pillar "Thats not very jedi of you now is it" AODHSJSIDHALSVD IM HOWLING I LOVE IT THE SASS wheeze*

swbeeworm i live for obi-wan sass it gives me LIFE

gremgeous the gem pillar SAME oh its so good Love that one post where obj-wan is on tatooine and calls all the force ghosts to view his powperpoint presentation about how letting palps have acess to analin was a bad idea as hed been saying all along-

swbeeworm u need to know i wrote this with the "that's not very plus ultra of you" meme, which is a bnha offshoot of the "that's not very cash money of you" meme, in my head on repeat

gremgeous the gem pillar Ph him terrorizing all the people palpatine had in his pocket...... Ok this is veering into even MORE crack territory but at some poibt alcor replaces, uh, whats the dudes name, palps second in command - mess something-or-other? - with a nightmare Not just ANY nightmare But a DIFFERENT nightmare each day

swbeeworm ASDLSDFKLDJF PLEASE

gremgeous the gem pillar They took it upon themselves to go on rotation They couldn't decide who should go when alcor proposed the idea so its everyone One at a time They dont even look REMOTELY human Or like anything the galaxy has ever known or seen And theres no "secretive supernatural species" excuse for them to fall back on here lmao

swbeeworm random dude: "what is that???" alcor, cheerful: "that's my assistant" rd: "is that--is that supposed to be a sheep?" alcor: "no they're my assistant" nightmare: [sound that, if you ignore the reverb and microphone-screeching and kazoo effects, might be a "baaa"] alcor: [smiles aggressively wider with sharp teeth] rd: [sweats nervously]

gremgeous the gem pillar ALDJDKSIEJEHAJWJWHEI Obi-wan: i am still l :eyes:king away Anakin: oooh, the wool is so soft master. Come feel it! Obi-wan: really? Ooh youre right The council: ....

swbeeworm rd: "okay but this is a DIFFERENT one than yesterday right?? right???" alcor: "i have absolutely no idea what you're talking about :)" obi-wan, still with tea he should not have, this time with space whiskey mixed in: "sir i think you might be seeing things, they are clearly the same individual as yesterday"

gremgeous the gem pillar Mace: ...hrm it is quite soft- The rest of the council: ??? When did he get-

gremgeous the gem pillar AKDJDJDHDHD JUST LYING THROUGH HIS TEETH ALDJDHFJF

swbeeworm obi-wan looking mace dead in the eye and chugging his spiked tea which is more whiskey than tea at this point: "how dare you accuse me of lying. me, after everything i've done for this council. i am betrayed. heartbroken. never shall trust again. i am leaving until i recover" -and promptly fucks off on a vacation with anakin

gremgeous the gem pillar The jedi start getting a LOT more missions about busting slave rings and giving aid in the outer rim - plus some more dimplomacy docused ones in regards to solving teeaties instead of putting down rebellions

-alcor shows up on the vacation with zero explanation and obi-wan at this point is like "fuck it why not" -a nightmare takes his place in palpatine's robes in the senate for the week they're gone

gremgeous the gem pillar ALSJSHDJDJSKDHEE Weirdly enough some of the more corrupt senators go missing after that week No one knows what hapoebed to them but the robes the "chancellor" wore that week have some awfully suspicious stains WAIT WAIT WHAT IF ITS NOT A NIGHTMARE WHAT IF ITS GOMPERS alcor didn't even ASK gompers to be there he was planning to not even warn anyone n just vanish but gompers just SHOWED UP the nightmares were the ones who put the robes on him

gremgeous the gem pillar Alcor doesn't even KNOW gomoers is there He gets back after the week and is like "what the heck" The nightmares are pretty proud of themselves for that one

swbeeworm the nightmares, collectively: "this is gonna be HILARIOUS" alcor, halfway across the galaxy, sees a newsfeed of a senate meeting with gompers in the robes in his place, and spits his drink clear across the room

he's only mad because he didn't think of it in the first place

gremgeous the gem pillar wheeze Hes proud of them

swbeeworm he IS

gremgeous the gem pillar Its so HILARIOUS

swbeeworm i pity anyone trying to read this mess later but i hope we at least make them laugh once

gremgeous the gem pillar Same Its such a joy Alcor teaches anakin the secret to mabel juice

swbeeworm oh no

gremgeous the gem pillar Only the children thank him The minders.... not so much

swbeeworm alcor: "okay so what i'm hearing is, the adult jedi have been making Stupid Decisions and not paying as much attention to the kids, as evidenced by them letting that one kid have meetings one on one with the creepy older guy i stopped putting effort into impersonating a month ago. so, clearly what needs to happen is something that forces the adults to pay attention to the kids and start keeping a closer eye on them, but it can't be something that actually hurts the kids because then i'd feel bad" alcor: "...." alcor: :blobamused:

gremgeous the gem pillar akdhdjsgshsjhdsjdjdj

swbeeworm alcor in a totally not suspicious trench coat and sunglasses: "hey. hey, kid. you wanna try some mabel juice?"

gremgeous the gem pillar AKDJDJDJDLFKFIFJIF WHEEZE "With the creepy older guy i stopped putting effort into impersonating a month ago" ALDJDBDJDJDDHDHDJDJDJDJDJDJDJSJDJEJEJE

gremgeous the gem pillar AKSJSHDJDJF

swbeeworm star wars kids: "mr chancellor why are you wearing that" alcor: "because i think it's funny" kids: "it isn't" alcor: "look do you want the juice or not"

gremgeous the gem pillar I LOVE ALL OF THAT LOOK DO YOU WANT THE JUICE OR NOT

swbeeworm i am having WAY too much fun with this ldjsldkfjdsf;

gremgeous the gem pillar "Were not supposed to take drugs from strangersl" "Its not- just take it!"

Hooooh man thats so funny Oh gosh Alcor uses a different time/date system

Than the star wars one

swbeeworm ooooooo yes

gremgeous the gem pillar Nit super sure where im going with this but.... Pretty sure he woukdnt know the star wars one At all Maybe the in-umuverse knockoff calendar maybe Hes wnough of a nerd to have that memorized But the star wars proper one

No, no i dont think he knows that one

swbeeworm nope no chance

gremgeous the gem pillar Omg yes

gremgeous the gem pillar Well its a good thing we have this..... and the mistaken sith version too :blobamused:

WAIT WAIT QAIT FLASH OF INSPIRATION ALCOR GIVING ANAKIN THE STRANGER DANGER PPT

swbeeworm i have 1 scene i can think of that actually almost made my friend cry and i have 1 au scene of a different au of mine where a character who canonically dies and gets brought back to life...doesn't come back (which is extra angst bc this is a Ghost Seeing Fic) and both of these i wrote at like 3-4am

swbeeworm SDFJKSDLFSJf YES :blobamused:

gremgeous the gem pillar Alcor: "you know, i usually save this one for the kids who followed the stranger with the nice candy into the alleyway and end up as sacrifices but I feel like you could benefit from it too"

swbeeworm alcor: "no talking to suspicious ppl" anakin: "except you right?" alcor: "....in any other situation i'd say no but if i say that you're just gonna up and leave (i see that grin thanks very much) so in this one singular personal case it is fine that you trust my very suspicious self"

gremgeous the gem pillar AKSJSJDJJD "My very suspicious self" Aksjdhdd

swbeeworm obi-wan, straight up knocking back shots now: "the man has a point anakin"

gremgeous the gem pillar Haha nice Obi-wan is taking notes Hes also re-inventing alcoholic mabel juice He weaseled the recipie out of the kids

swbeeworm asldfkjsdlkfjd imagine if somehow SIDIOUS CAME BACK and tries to take back over the senate but everyone at this point is used to alcor and one of two things happens: 1) they assume this is alcor messing with them with a clone/double (they don't know how he'd do it but at this point given his "assistants", the goat that somehow made more eloquent speeches than the "human", and the other things involved, they wouldn't put it past him) and just ignore him 2) they look between the real palpatine who'd been pushing thru some very sketchy bills, and between alcor who's been sneaking through law after law protecting all kinds of sentients, and they turn back to palpatine and go "how dare you impersonate the chancellor" and kick him out

swbeeworm at this point he deserves it tbh

gremgeous the gem pillar AKDJDJDHFDJDJDJD Ok i preffer him dead and gone and forgotten in favor of alcor (its what he deserves) but oh those are hilarious

swbeeworm agreed to both counts alsdjalsdk

gremgeous the gem pillar ESPECIALLY if the senate chooses to keep alcor over palps XD Ph man we can work that into him being dead and gone too- alcor starts dispersing the power and the other half of the senate w bail and padme are like "yeah seems legit" along w obi-wan The jedi only put like, a token effort into investigating and are more put out by trying to figure out what happened to the real palpatine and all his past shady dealings than exposing the current "palpatine" for a fake

swbeeworm palpatine: "excuse me?? i am the chancellor of this republic" councilmembers, with the same deadpan as alcor's been pulling on them all year: "sir, i think you're confused. this is the chancellor" [points to alcor, in palpatine's robes from his closet, making no attempt to hide his lack of resemblance to palpatine, with a nightmare at his side wearing a small top hat that proclaims its position as "chancellor's assistant"] palpatine: [screams of frustration]

gremgeous the gem pillar Once they reaize the shift in mission assignments can be attributed to new palp

gremgeous the gem pillar AKDJDJDJSJSJSBEJSJSJSHSJSKS

swbeeworm yesss this

gremgeous the gem pillar I wanna say maul gets the joy and pleasure of offibg palpatine the second time in that version

swbeeworm FINALLY they get a chance to pull one back over on someone, pass along the suffering a little bit

swbeeworm oh definitely

oh shit we've been at this for an hour

gremgeous the gem pillar Maul comes back and offs palps and evrryone is jist like "Maul!!! How?!?" And completley ignore the palpatibe corpse 2.0 Ajdhhd so we have Niiiight book

Also from a tumblr post the phrase "your pal friendpatine" is hilarious and i think yall shoukd enjoy it too As is "SOMEHOW... MAUL RETURNS" Both taken from the same post lol Okokok so switchibg tracks for a bit Revisiting Some groundwork for the mistaken sith version Alcor is there..... because al-v was there first, made friends with the droid army mid clone war, and caled his dad in to help Which puts alcors initial point of contact as the separost foot soldiers

gremgeous the gem pillar No matter what the dominant language alcor has most recently been using OH OH OH ALCOR WITH ACESS TO OTHER UNIVERSE SLANG CONFUSING ALL THE SENATE WITH HIS NONSENSICAL PHRASES AND IDIOMS AND SLANG/PROFANITY LIKE "over the moon" AND "hot belgian waffles" AND "fuck" "Palpatine": [drops paperwork he JUST spent so much time disorganizing (as in putting in a dissaray)] FUCK Senator: .... sir, what is a 'fuck' "Palpatine": ......... im not explaining that to you Or conversley he makes smth up Alcor, upon realizing the most common swear word is "kriff': yeaht hats stupid im not saying that Alcor mercilessly roasting the star wars profanity And how stupid they all sound. This one is great for the al-v and alcor make friend w a droid army and maybe-sorta steal them while massivelt confusing and mystifying everyone along the way, bc why not add a language barrier on top of all the other assumptions and misunderstandings >:D But also at the same time it would make sense for him to have got thw local language in an infodump somewhere along the line (maybe an older version) if its located in a different galaxy but the same universe........... but also what if theyre just suoer far away so he didnt get priority acess...... or even if he traveled back in time ............. [Shrug] idk Mwanwhile inexplicably having the same language is hilarious in the demon lose in the senate ons but also imagine alcor pretending to be palpatine while unable to speak the common tongue lolol I know it wouldnt work (he has to be able to understand palpatine on some level to take MASSIVE advantage of him and eat his soul) but it is hilarious to think abt the shenanigans............ OH GOSH ALCOR TAKING CONTROL OF THE SENAT BUT BEING UNABLE TO R E A D AKDBSKSKJFF Okokok Imagine the basic/english language inexplicably being the same structure w a few different words and concepts...... when spoken And completley different when written down SO ALCOR CAN SPEAK BUT HE CANT READ Meanwhile in mistaken for a sith land alcor either doesnt have any knowledge of the local language or else gets a SUPER OLD AND POSSIBLE DEAD LANGUAGE in an infodump (to help feed the misunderstandings and rumors and future clashes w the sith and the jedi hehhehheh) bc semi-omniscience is not total omniscience and so is not everything and, once again, is not very helpful But ill leave off for tonight on the thought of alcor, lose in the senate, in the seat of the chancellor, lord of all paperwork for the galactic republic....... and able to read NONE of it And barely understands it too (demons are not ones for politics, Brian the Organ Duck and his 200 year sucessful presidency run aside) (his is soemthing of the exception, not the rule.) Meanwhile all those humanitarian aid bills and the like are all being passed by bail and padmes group all over the place bc their strange and inexplicable source of resistance was devoured like, a week ago Not ones to look a gift horse in ths mouth until AFTER they get what they want the group passes a ton of bills without delay - and manages to break up a few monopolies along the way Now im not saying that "palpatine" suddenly acting off and the bills facing a lot less resistance is a noticeable coincidence...... and around the same time he stops asking after anakin ............... but im totally saying they notice it and realize its probably, absolutely, not a coincidence and theyre not going to say anything bc they like this new "palpatine" better. Despite all the other mindbending weirdness and mindfuckery going on there The jedi are only mad abt alcor bc a few of their own started bleeding from the eyes nose and ears when they tried to investigate initially so theyre a little ticked off abt that, which, fair.

Also the blantant lying and lack of trying on alcors part is a little insulting to them as a whole ("does he think we'll really fall for that") and is slightly concerning to them ("who the heck is this, someone is inpersonating the chancellor of the ENTIRE REPUBLIC-" Which is, admittedly, a little concern worthy) but if the council is honest (or some of the council anyway) with themselves its pretty much the darn best entertainmnt theyve had in a good long while, headaches aside, sot ehyll focus more on the okd palpatines dissapernace and dealings than the new "palpatine" so long as he doesnt start doing anything ACTIVELY damaging to the republic. A little mischief doesnt technically count as harm- and hey theys preffer to find the og chancellor b4 upsetting and potnetially causing the new one to do smth drastic by attsmpting to out him (not that alcor would, its so much funnier to deny everything to their faces while blatantly lying but they dont know that. So caution (and stress) it is)

#Transcendence AU #Discord Convo

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peanuts-and-pickles · 3 years

Text

Caves and Dust

A/N: Thanks to @severyna-7 for this great request! I hope you like the fic.

Pairing: Agatha x Tedros

Summery: When Sophie gets herself into trouble, its up to Agatha, Tedros, and The Coven to rescue her. Of course, things don’t go to plan.

Warnings: Ummm Claustrophobia? Caves? Being trapped maybe? Some fluff at the end. Kissing. Head wounds, I guess. Me trying to remember the difference between stalagmites and stalactites (Mites live on the ground, tites hang from above), possibly bad writing, depending on your style

Agatha lifted the lantern in her hand, illuminating the dark cave. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, dangling just above the group’s heads. Tedros came up beside her.

“Why are we doing this again?” He asked, accidentally walking into a stalagmite.

“Because Sophie’s in here somewhere, and we need to rescue her.” Agatha kicked a rock out of her way.

“Does she really deserve rescuing?” Tedros complained, glaring at the stalagmite.

“I agree with Pretty Boy.” Hester butted in. “We could just… let her figure it out herself. Might be easier.” Anadil nodded next to her in agreement.

“No. We need to help her. She would do the same for us.” Agatha glanced around nervously. The cave was dark, even with the low blue glow of the lantern. Sophie had left a note on Agatha’s dresser. She said she was going to the Arguian Caves to get a crystal that, once crushed, would supposedly “Do wonders for the skin” and “make it glow better than cucumbers”. Unfortunately, Sophie wasn’t privy to the rumors that circled this place. Rumors that would make any sane person turn back. Sophie had tried to hire someone to retrieve the crystal for her, but after everyone refused, she entered the cave on her own.

“Sophie?” Agatha called. Her voice bounced off the walls, echoing into the deep cave.

“Maybe we should go back,” Tedros said, taking a step closer to Agatha.

“No.” But even Agatha was creeped out by this place. They just need to find Sophie, and then they could get out of here, she told herself.

The cave split into two paths, one going left, and one right. Agatha turned to the group.

Tedros saw the look on her face and shook his head. “Don’t say it.”

“We need to split up.” Agatha confirmed. Silence. The coven exchanged glances. “We’ll go right.” Hester finally decided.

Agatha nodded and turned to Tedros. “So we go left. Come on.” She grabbed his hand and led him down the left tunnel. She turned back, “Yell if you find her!” She called to the witches. Dot just waved her hand.

“I don’t like this Agatha,” Tedros stared down the black mouth of the tunnel. “I just- get a bad feeling.”

“We’ll be fine.”

The pair started down the path, weaving around rocks and stalagmites and ducking under stalactites.

Suddenly, the cave rumbled. Rocks and dust rained from the ceiling and a stalactite fell and almost impaled Tedros. Agatha yanked him out of the way just in time. Just as quickly as it started, the cave stood still again. “What was that?” Tedros yelled, pressing himself against the tunnel wall.

“I'm sure it's just... a ground tremor or… something.” Agatha glanced around.

“A ground tremor?” Tedros asked sarcastically. “Nope. Nope nope nope.” He shook his head vigorously. Agatha rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

They continued for what felt like an hour. They walked in silence, except when one of them called out to Sophie. The tunnel got smaller and smaller. It seemed the walls were getting narrower and narrower, and the roof getting closer and closer to their heads. It was becoming apparent that the cave wasn’t stable. Occasionally, small rocks would fall from the ceiling, or a rumble would shake the ground. Beside her, Tedros’s breathing was starting to get shaky.

“Did I mention I'm claustrophobic?” He asked, taking a step closer to Agatha.

She glanced up at him with concern. “Really? You never told me that.” She squeezed his hand gently. “Let's just go a little farther, and then we can turn back, ok?”

He nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Can we just stop for a bit?” He asked.

“Sure.” Tedros leaned against a wall, closing his eyes briefly. “Why did Sophie need to come here?” He asked Agatha. She looked up. “Oh, something about a rare crystal that's good for your skin.”

“Right. I'm going to kill her when we get out of here, you know.” He grinned at Agatha.

She smiled and crossed to him. She leaned in and kissed him, her lips softly pressing against his own. His hands landed on her waist, and he leaned into her kiss. One of Agatha’s hands tangled in Tedros’s golden hair, the other on his back. The kiss grew more heated, and he moved her back, pushing off the wall. He pressed her against a stalactite, his hand gripping the skin of her waist under her shirt. But the combined pressure of the two of them leaning on the thin stalactite was too much for the cave. There was a crash, and then the stalactite snapped, and all hell broke loose.

Rocks tumbled around them and Agatha screamed, leaping back. She slammed into a stalagmite and fell, hitting her forehead against the cool stone. She watched in horror as the cave collapsed, cutting her off from Tedros. She closed her eyes, and bit in another scream. She curled into herself and waited for it to be over, every nerve in her body aflame with fear.

Eventually the rocks stopped tumbling and the cave stopped shaking. Agatha opened her eyes, and held in a sob. She got to her feet, and ran to the new wall of rocks between her and Tedros. She pressed her hands against and screamed his name. Silence on the other end. She pounded her fists against it and screamed in frustration.

“A-agatha?” Tedros’s weak voice asked from the other side of the rock pile.

“Tedros!” Agatha sobbed in relief. “Are you alright?” She asked, pressing closer to the rock pile.

“I- I don’t like small spaces Agatha-” Tedros’s voice broke.

“I know. I know. Its ok. We’re gonna be just fine.” Agatha tried to calm her voice for him. “We need to move these rocks. Ok?”

“I- I can’t breathe.” His voice was shaky.

“Just take deep breaths, ok?” Agatha asked. If Tedros couldn’t help her, she didn’t know if she could get them out of this situation.

“I- how do I help?” He asked after a bit of silence.

Agatha smiled in relief. “Ok. Can you make your finger glow?”

“Its already glowing.” Tedros answered hesitantly.

Agatha looked down, hers was too. “Great. Ok. So when I count to three, we are gonna direct our finger blasts at the rock pile, and then run for cover, ok?”

“Yeah Yeah- I can do that.”

“Ok.” Agatha positioned herself, ready to run. “I love you,” She called.

“One, two, three!” She blasted the rocks with the strongest light she could conjure. A golden glow the same color erupted from the other side, from Tedros finger.

Agatha ran and then dove, rolling behind a boulder, shielding her head. There was a crash, the sound of rocks tumbling down. The cave shook dangerously, but didn’t collapse, thank god. She peeked her head over the boulder to scan the damage. The pile of rocks had collapsed, leaving a huge plume of dust in its place. She ran towards it, calling out Tedros’s name. She covered her mouth with her sleeve and coughed, waving the dust away from her face. There was a form lying limp behind a stalagmite, completely still. Agatha ran to him, crouching next to Tedros. His eyes were closed, his dusty eyelashes soft against his cheeks. A trickle of blood dripped down his face. Agatha tested his neck for a pulse. There was a moment of stillness, as if Tedros’s fate was wobbling on the edge of a cliff. Then Agatha felt a heartbeat beneath her fingers, and his fate was restored. She cried out and hugged him tightly. She heard a wheeze and pulled back, to see Tedros' eyelashes flutter. He grinned at her sleepily, and horsley whispered “I love you too.”

When the witches heard the commotion from the other tunnel, they ran back to the junction.

“Maybe they're dead,” Anadil muttered to Hester.

“Maybe.”

“Guys!” Dot pointed at two figures appearing out of the dust cloud. Agatha limped along, Tedros’s arm around her shoulder for support. The coven ran to them, and checked them for injuries. “Are you hurt?” Dot asked. “What happened?” Anadill butted in. “Did you find Sophie?” Hester said loudly.

“No, not badly at least, and the tunnel collapsed,” Agatha told Dot and Anadil. “And for her sake, I hope we never find Sophie,” Tedros growled.

Suddenly there was a commotion coming from the main tunnel.

“Agatha, Darling, there you are!” Sophie walked towards them briskly, grinning at her best friend. “Why are you covered in dust?”

“Sophie!” Agatha cried in relief. “You're ok.”

“Of course I'm ok, silly. Why wouldn’t I be?” She wrinkled her nose at Tedros. “Teddy, you really ought to keep yourself cleaner,” She brushed some dust from his shoulder.

“We thought you went into the tunnel and got yourself killed!” Agatha yelled. “Some of us were hoping for it,” Tedros snarled. “Oh, I went shopping first. I needed adventure gear!” She laughed lightly. “I'm just on my way in now. Did you happen to see any good crystals while you were in there?”

The witches grabbed Sophie by each arm and started leading her out of the cave. “Remind me to never help you again,” Hester growled at her.

“What- Wait! Aggie, help me!” Sophie shrieked as she was led away.

Agatha turned to Tedros with concern. “Are you ok?” She asked softly. “Yeah.” Tedros smiled at her. “With you, always.”

Agatha snorted. “Its when you say stuff like that that makes me question whether or not I love you.” But she was blushing.

“Come on,” Tedros said, starting towards the light at the end of the cave. “I need to get out of here, and I think we could both use a good bath.”

. . .

Hope you enjoyed! I always love feedback.

#The School for Good and Evil #sge #sge movie #Agatha of Woods Beyond #tedros of camelot #agatha x tedros

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judediangelo75 · 3 years

Text

Hair Raising Situations

Hello everyone!

So this one is gonna be a bit different.

1) I’m featuring my best friend in this one, because the whole “Judith Harris” development started between us two (She has her own MC of course and a Bill fan, Billiam being on her ship names).

2) It’s not connected to anything I’ve previously written, just a funny little story.

3) It’s not just TalbottxJudith. Shocker I know. Judith isn’t dating anyone but it would go in the order of who she interested in (from most to least). So it could be looked at as multiple ships and you’ll see her attitude to each person she interacts with.

4) Judith’s hair is straightened here, but when... what happened happens, it would be the same hair cut as Orion’s.

5) We did give Skye a twin brother, his name is Hermes. Get it lol?

Anyways, I hope you like this silly little story. Enjoy!

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

(Brooke Brown) (Age: 16)

I was currently hiding out in the Courtyard in my Animagus form. Why, you may ask?

Because my best friend/sister is out to kill me.

Let's rewind, shall we?

-A little while earlier-

"I can't wait to prank someone with this Fanged Frisbee. Thanks for buying it for me, Brooke," Tonks cheered gleefully as we walked on the Training Grounds. I smiled at the pink haired Hufflepuff.

"Of course. You plan on scaring Filch and Miss Norris with it like last time," I asked. Tonks frowned.

"As much as I love to prank those two, I think I need a change of victims..." The girl trailed off as someone caught her eye. I looked up to find Judith practicing her broom surfing. I glanced back at Tonks and saw the impish smile spread on her face.

Oh no...

"Tonks, I know that look. Don't even think about," I quickly reprimanded the infamous prankster.

"Oh don't be such a spoil sport, Brooke. Her reaction is going to absolutely priceless," Tonks waved off, preparing to throw the Fanged Frisbee.

"Tonks, no-" I watched in horror as the prank item whirled at my best friend.

"JUDITH, LOOK OUT!" Luckily that caught her attention as she was able to evade the frisbee. But she didn't get a chance to rest as the Fanged Frisbee came whistling back round, giving chase.

Judith looked semi-scared as she did her best to shake off the frisbee as she flew around on her broom.

Tonks and I readied our wands to put a stop to the fanged prank item before our friend could get seriously hurt, expect we were have a hard time actually hitting the frisbee.

Tonks and I could only watch as the Fanged Frisbee closed in on her from behind.

"Judith, dive," I shouted. Judith didn't waste a second as she dove down. Judith was able to evade the fanged terror... somewhat.

The sound of fanged teeth cutting through hair felt impossibly loud. I couldn't help but to gape in horror as my best friend's hip-length hair was cut semi-choppily and fell to the ground. Tonks managed to cast Immobulous on the Fanged Frisbee but Judith didn't seem to notice. She stared at the ground where her hair fell while raising a shaking hand to her head.

Uh oh.

I immediately transformed into my red-tailed hawk and flew off. Not before hearing the scream that damn near shook the entire castle.

"BROOKE, TONKS! YOU'RE SO DEAD!"

---

So now I've resorted to hiding until, hopefully, Judith cooled off.

I've been watching the doors that lead to the Courtyard just in case she comes here looking to rip my tail feathers off...

I was so caught up in my inner turmoil, I nearly fell out of the tree I was in when a giant Golden Eagle landed right next to me. Talbott and I transformed back into our human forms for a moment.

"What did you do this time," Talbott asked bluntly. I gave my fellow Ravenclaw an innocent look.

"What are you talking about? I didn't do anything," I said, doing my best to hide my nervous laughter. Talbott raised a sharp brow at me.

"And I'm sure Judith was yelling that she was gonna kill you and Tonks for kicks," he said. I shuddered in fear. Talbott sighed.

"Brooke-" I clapped my hand over his mouth, looking around in fear.

"SHHH! She'll be listening for my name for all I know," I hissed at the eagle Animagus. He stared at me, completely unamused.

"Whatever you did can't be-"

"BROOKE KELLY BROWN! YOU BETTER BE READY FOR AN ASS WHOOPING YOU’LL NEVER FORGET!" I let out a shriek, transforming back in my bird form and hiding behind a startled Talbott.

Judith stormed out in the Courtyard, a fire dancing in her pale gold eyes.

Oh Talbott if you love me as a friend, please for all that good and holy, do not tell her where I am...

-----

(Talbott Winger)

After meeting the "Cursed Children of Hogwarts", I knew my life will never be normal.

I was just thankful for meeting Judith first. Even though she and Brooke were just as persistent on being my friend, she was the much calmer one. Brooke tended to be more mischievous and can easily talk my ear off if I let her.

When I heard Judith's cry of pure fury earlier, all the way from the Library mind you, I knew Brooke and Tonks must've been up to no good. Judith isn't the type to explode or get mad easily, so whatever they did must've been a prank.

When the normally calm Hufflepuff stormed into the Courtyard with a glare sharp enough to kill a man, I instantly had an idea what they did. And couldn't help but blush at the difference.

Judith has been growing her hair out over the years. Her thick long curly mane would reach her mid-back in its natural state. But when it was straighten, it would reach her shapely hips.

I secretly thought she looked beautiful with long hair, silently wishing to play with her long locks. But now, said mane was now cut short. It was a bit choppy, but not in a bad way. She looked cute with short hair...

Her gold eyes scanned the Courtyard for her fearful best friend who was now taking refuge in my hood. Her eyes landed on me and her angry expression melted into something akin to shy embarrassment. She walked up to me slowly.

"H-hey Tal-Talbott," she quietly greeted me. I rose a brow.

The fact that she can switch from rage to shyness nearly gave me whiplash.

"Hello Judith," I replied. The girl crossed her arms staring at her feet. I couldn't help but find her adorable right now.

She was wearing her semi-casual class outfit. A black sweater over her white button-down collar and yellow and black tie, a black skirt that reached her knees, dark gray long socks, and her shiny ballet flats. With her short hair, it made seem so much sweeter...

I jumped down, feeling Brooke squirm before quickly settling in my hood. I took a few steps forward until I was standing in front of the cute Hufflepuff.

"Have you seen Brooke around," she quietly asked.

I felt a nervous twitch on my back.

Deciding to cover for my fellow Ravenclaw, I shook my head. Silence ensued between the two of us, as Judith still has yet to meet my gaze.

"New haircut," I inquired in an attempt to break the silence. The girl flinched.

"Not by choice. It looks bad, I know," she grumbled. As much as I love her with long hair, I love seeing her like this as well. It brought out her face more, and she looks cuter with the fact it wasn't completely even.

"Who said anything about it looking bad. I think you look rather cute with it," I whispered, twirling a strand between my fingers. Judith looked at me surprised, a hint of color appearing on her face.

"I- um... uh..." I felt a small smile grow on my face.

"Thank you," she squeaked, coming out more like a question rather than a statement.

Too cute.

I dropped my hand, silently chuckling.

"D-do me a favor and tell Brooke that we have Quidditch practice l-later, please," she stumbled over her words. I gave her a small smile.

"Sure, anything for you, little bird," I said softly. The girl's blush grew worse as she tucked a couple of loose strands behind her ear.

"Th-Thanks, Talbott. I'll see you later," she mumbled before quickly leaving the Courtyard. A few moments later, Brooke came out of hiding and transformed back into her human form. She pulled me into a tight hug.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!" I felt her squeeze me tighter with each thank you and quickly patted her back, wheezing that she'll break me in half if she hugged me any tighter.

The Ravenclaw girl released me, giving me a sheepish smile.

"Oh, how I wish I could have you around all the time, Talbott. You managed to disarm her without even trying," she sighed in relief. I rolled my eyes at that. Not that I was looking to in the first place, but I did manage to calm the angry Hufflepuff down quite a bit.

"I don't feel like being your human shield every time you get her mad, Brooke. Remember, you have Quidditch practice with her soon so eventually, you'll be on your own," I pointed out. Brooke paled at that and whimpered. I would love to see how she wriggles her way out of that one...

———

(Orion Amari)

McNully, the Parkin twins, and I awaited our two teammates so we can start practice. Though I sense there might be some minor conflict that could cause a shift of imbalance during today's practice.

If Judith's yell from earlier was an indication...

Judith and I connect very well.

She may have the strength that Skype prefers and the tactic that appeals to McNully but I noticed she gravitated more on my lessons on balance above everything else. She didn't bat an eye at my methods, whether it be for us to talk as equals by balancing on our broomsticks or even when I taught her how to Inspired Broom Surfing.

She seems to enjoy not only the challenge but the peace it seems to bring her.

I don't know much about the Curse Vaults but I know it brings her much stress. Helping her clear her mind is definitely something I would gladly do for her whenever she wants.

"OY! Where the hell is Harris and Brown?! They should've been here by now," Skye grumbled, tapping her foot impatiently. Her twin, Hermes, smirked.

"What's the matter, Sky? Eager to get your pasty ass handed to you so soon? Especially after being the Hospital Wing for so long?" The Hufflepuff snarled at her Ravenclaw brother.

"Put a sock in it, will ya?! Now that I'm recovered, I'm gonna mop the floor with you," Skye hissed. McNully simply shook his head at the Parkin Chasers.

"I give it a 98.9% chance this has to do with Judith's death threat earlier," he told me.

"And what could you think to be the reason," I asked the Quidditch commentator. He shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Beats me."

"S-sorry we-we're late, everyone..." came a slightly timid apology. We all turned to find the Ravenclaw Chaser and Hufflepuff Beater in their respected practice uniforms. Brooke, who voiced this apology, was looking away and Judith silently glared daggers at her best friend.

I blinked in surprise as I took in my Beater.

Judith's hair has been cut drastically short, very similar to my own in fact. I'd always found the Hufflepuff to be alluring with her long, thick mane. Especially when the wind would blow, toying with her locks as she meditated with me or when we simply practicing flying on our brooms together.

Her short hair didn't dampen her beauty but simply changed it in a different light. Her facial features were brought out more due to the cut. Her big gold eyes, her soft cheeks, her slightly sharp jawline...

"Tch, nice haircut Harris," Hermes snorted. The girl shifted her glare over to him, making him slightly flinched.

"We don't have time for a bloody makeover, Judith, we had a Quidditch title to defend," Skye chided.

"Oh, can it both of you! It's not like I asked for a bad hair day," Judith snapped, sending a side-eye to a timid Brooke.

"May I asked what happened exactly," McNully asked politely. Judith sighed, refusing to say anything. Brooke tried not to twitch under her hard stare.

"Let's just say a Fanged Frisbee gone wrong," Brooke vaguely summarized. I let out a hum of understanding as I studied the Hufflepuff Beater. A few strands landed in front of her face. Before Judith could do anything, I carefully brushed her hair behind her ear, allowing my fingertips to lightly caress her cheek.

The girl blinked at me in surprise, a blush coloring her face.

"I see nothing wrong with it. I think short hair suits you," I said with a smile. The girl couldn't find any words to say after I complimented her.

"S-so, le-let's get to practicing, ye-yeah," the Hufflepuff Beater offered. I silently chuckled at her attempt to change the subject but appeased her nonetheless.

It didn't escape my attention however when Brooke shot me a grateful look.

———

"Oh boy, definitely need a Wiggenweld Potion," Brooke winced as practice concluded.

Judith showed no mercy, hitting Bludgers with deadly accuracy. She managed to nail Hermes and Brooke quite a number of times, much to Skye's delight, but I can still sense some level of unbalance coming from her.

"Judith, may I speak with you. Alone," I called out to her. Murphy and Skye shrugged, Brooke looked relieved (more or less running out of the stadium, despite her injuries) and Hermes smirked making kissing noises in our direction. Judith looked very peeved, as well as a bit flustered, at that and looked ready to jump the male but I held her back with a steady hand on her shoulder.

"Come now, it wouldn't be long. I promise," I whispered gently to her. Her face did a funny little spasm as her blush grew worse, but she relented. When the others cleared out, I turned Judith so she could face me. The girl stubbornly looked at my chest. I let out a sigh and tilted her chin up so she could look at me.

"Something troubles you. What's wrong," I softly asked.

"It's stupid. One of the few days I actually could relax, I get chased by a rogue Fanged Frisbee thanks to Tonks and Brooke and now I have a haircut that makes me look more like a boy. I'm already insecure about myself as is, this just put me in a foul mood," the girl admitted.

My gaze softened at the Hufflepuff witch.

Tentatively, I cupped her cheek, brushing my thumb under her eye.

"Long or short, your hair doesn't define your beauty, Judith. I'm not speaking to you out of concern a captain has for his teammate, but simply as a wizard expressing himself to a witch. I truly mean when I say you're an alluring girl," I whispered to her. I leaned in pressed a small kiss on her hairline. I heard her let out a shaky breath. Pulling away, her eyes were closed and the blush darkened.

Her gold eyes fluttered open to meet my dark brown ones. She gave me a shy smile.

"Th-Thank you, Orion," she said quietly. I hummed softly and stepped back to give her some space. She asked if she could leave now and I gave her a smile and nodded, saying I'll see her around. She gifted me with one last small smile before walking out of the stadium. I heard the grass being crunched under a set of wheels.

"You seriously could've made the poor girl faint you know," I heard McNully say. I turned to him with a guileless smile.

"You know that I have no shame expressing how I feel. I feel a connection towards the girl, simple as that," I said. The commentator rolled his eyes and chuckled.

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

(Andre Egwu)

I was in the Ravenclaw Common Room studying one of Murphy's playbooks. I really want to be a better Seeker so I can actually play on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. I want to make my grandmother proud... and Judith as well.

The witch never had to reach out to help me, especially since she's on the Hufflepuff team. But she helped introduced me to Murphy so I can learn and strategy wizard himself. I was actually surprised how friendly those two were with each other, which means they've been working closely for quite a while. I remember the kind smile she sent my way when she promised that this is will help me become a better Seeker.

She had such a beautiful smile. Among a lot of features.

Her smooth chocolate skin.

Her delicately sculpted face.

Her athletically fit (and slightly curvy) body.

Her bright gold eyes.

Her long dark hair.

I sighed dreamily.

"Whatcha sighing about, Andre?" A very familiar voice spoke. I jumped to find Judith standing close to the couch I resided on. I blinked in surprise.

Judith blew a strand of her now short hair from her face as she looked at me curiously. Suddenly her battle cry from earlier today makes so much more sense...

Along with Brooke's frantic running in and out (with a bunch of snacks and candy in hand) of the Common Room, yelling if anyone needed her she'll be in the Gryffindor Common Room...

I can understand Judith's anger, but...

It's not as bad as she thinks it is...

"Andre?" I snapped back to reality as the Hufflepuff rose a brow at me. I blushed.

"Sorry, sorry... I was caught up in studying these playbooks," I partially lied through the skin of my teeth. I felt my entire face grow hot. She let out a soft hum.

"Alright," she finally said. I let out a soft sigh of relief. I stood to take a closer look at the girl.

"Cute haircut, whose your stylist," I commented, ruffling her hair playfully. The girl stared at me, surprise overtaking her features.

"I was half expecting you to find this bad," she said, running through her fingers through the choppy cut to fix it. I shook my head.

"You looked good with how your hair was before, but you look very cute with this cut," I said honestly. The Hufflepuff Prefect chuckled and hugged me around the waist. I blushed and wrapped my arms around her. The sweet smell of her shampoo wafted up my nose. Mmm... cocoa butter and coconuts...

I felt a dopey grin spread on my face.

Dear Gods if this is a dream, don't wake me up...

Unfortunately, the girl pulled away.

"I wanted to ask you something," she said. The warmth of her hug and the sweet smell still left me in a slight delirious euphoria. So I didn't hesitate to answer.

"Sure, anything..."

"Do you by any chance know where Brooke is?"

"She went to the Gryffindor Common Room," I said, unknowingly ratting Brooke out to her possibly vengeful best friend. Said best friend gave me a giant smile and another hug.

"Thank you, Andre," she said, and was there a slight purr in her voice? She turned on her heel and walked out of the room, leaving me alone once again.

Sighs... so worth it...

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

(Brooke Brown)

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Once I get my hands on Egwu, I'm gonna clobber him!

...Assuming I survive my best friend's wrath...

I glanced at Bill, who was basically yeeted across the room to keep Judith from entering the room. He ended up hitting an armchair, which toppled backward. I forgot how strong my best friend was...

I silently whimpered at the sight of Judith smirking down at me.

"L-l-let's not do-do anything drastic n-now...! I-I'm sure we can t-talk about this, haha haha haha pleasedon'thurtme," I said as I shrunk into the couch. Judith remained quiet for a moment before chuckling. I shut my eyes.

Oh no...

Goodbye world, it was nice knowing you...

"Relax, will ya? I'm not gonna hurt you..." I cracked open one eye.

"Really," I asked quietly.

"Well not really..." Not helping!

"You can say that the short hair kinda grew on me, so I'm gonna spare you from anything drastic," she said.

"Wha-But-How-" The short Hufflepuff gave me a small smile with a slight blush on her face.

"You can say I received some votes of confidence today," she said softly, brushing a few strands behind her ear. I thought back. Talbott. Orion. Andre.

I smirked and snickered.

Apparently, that was the wrong move as Judith's eyes sharpened into a glare. I 'eeped' as she leaned in close to my face.

"Even so, I'm not spending x amount of years just to regrow my hair. You gonna find a way to help me grow it back or else. Got it," she whispered. I nodded frantically. She gave me a lazy smirk.

"Good. See ya at dinner, bestie," she said, pulling away and walking out of the room. Once she was gone, I went over to check to make sure that Bill was okay while mentally wondering how can I convince Penny to brew me some kind of hair potion...

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frauleinjustice · 3 years

Text

Birthday Present for Ray: Oumota!!

A BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR MY CATTO RAY @detectiveseapancake !!! 🎉 🍰 I wanted to surprise him with some oumota fluff this time~! I hope that you will love it lots and enjoy it once u read it Ray, and that it can make for a great gift for you!

Summary: Kaito was egged on by Kokichi, as per usual; this time, to brave through a horror movie as they have an impromptu sleepover over at Kaito’s dorm room. Of course, Kaito still screamed his lungs out, which made for very entertaining reactions for the surpeme leader to see. After teasing him about it, Kaito starts chasing Kokichi around the room, which leads to him glomping the boy down on the bed, and, from there: soft, intimate moments between the two, as they secretly harbor feelings for one another...

So yeah, I wanted to go for something silly, but soft and cute! And to try my hand at writing some oumota cause I don’t believe I have before, nor as Kaito at least as like... one of the main characters in a one-shot: so this was honestly really fun to write and that it’ll put a smile on your face, Ray! You always deserve to have one... ilu~! and once more, I hope you’ll enjoy... ❤️ and if anyone else gives this a read, thank you! May you enjoy, too!!

A sleepover with Kokichi, watching a horror movie: never the sequence of events Kaito Momota expected. Earlier that day, Kokichi had been egging him on, teasing him about the fact that he ‘wouldn’t have the balls’ to sit through a horror movie in its entirety. Kaito, being the very hardheaded man that he is, took the bait as always, accepted his challenge. Granted, the ‘sleepover’ part was slyly slipped in by Kokichi, who practically invited himself to stay over in Kaito’s dorm room for the night. Kaito let it slide, though: since he oddly... didn’t mind the thought of Kokichi spending the night over in his dorm room; but he still regretted the stupid decision to watch a horror movie, though. ‘It’s said to be so scary, you’ll want to sleep with the light on for days!!!’ So declared the supreme leader, though Kaito hopes to god he was just lying.

Now here he was, trying not to look as distressed as he is as Kokichi starts setting up the DVD player. He had even brought snacks, popcorn, and drinks to Kaito’s room once he arrived. He had already arrived in his pajamas, which was a simple loose white t shirt and checkerboard pajama pants. His hair looked messier as usual... and while Kaito did tease that he looks more like a disheveled rat... he’d never admit that, for a second... he found him kind of cute. Kaito himself was wearing a NASA tank shirt with black loungepants. His hair wasn’t even up in his usual style, wearing it down. It wasn’t often Kokichi had seen it like that. He teased in turn that Kaito looked like a nerd, but: he thinks he actually looks really attractive with his hair down, too. But just like Kaito: Kokichi would die before he’d ever admit that.

“It’s starting, Momota-chaaan...” Ominously muses Kokichi with a sneery smile, a finger up to his lips. “And like I told you before; if you even think of trying to fly out of this room... I’ll strap you to a chair and torture you!” Which was clearly a lie, but he really wouldn’t allow Kaito to chicken out.

Clicking his tongue, Kaito rests his arms on the back of his head while his back leans against the side of his bed. “Whatever. I told you I’m not gonna do that! No stupid horror movie can faze the luminary of the stars!” Which he wish he could’ve said with more confidence, if not for the slight hesitation in his voice giving it away. Even if it was obvious as day to literally everyone, Kaito still refuses to admit how terrified he is of paranormal things. He just hopes he seriously won’t have the urge to fly out of the room, or he’d never be able to live it down.

“Yeahhh, whatever you say.” Once the movie began, the two grew silent. The beginning of the movie starts off normal, nothing bad or eventful happening quite yet. Even then, Kaito couldn’t say he was exactly relaxed: he’s just anticipating the moment where things go south real fast. And unfortunately for him: barely 30 minutes into the movie and things were already starting to get much more creepier and ominous. A lightly shaking hand goes to shovel more popcorn into his mouth, bracing himself for what he’s sure will be an eventual jumpscare any moment. As he was snacking on his konpeito and sipping his panta, Kokichi occasionally glanced over at him to read his expressions, snickering to himself. He just knows he’s going to get some very great and funny ones. In fact, he slowly brings wriggling fingers closer to Kaito’s waist, the unsuspecting man not even paying attention to him as he was so focused on mentally preparing himself to get scared. One his hands were close enough, Kokichi firmly clasps his sides while yelling out a sharp: “HAH!!”

“GGHGHKK-?!” Kaito jumped so badly in his spot that some of the popcorn flew out of the bucket, most of it hitting the floor. "Wh-What?! Wh-OUMA!" Snarling, he slams the popcorn bucket down on the table. "Don't fucking DO that, you little cu-" But seconds later, the actual jumpscare in the movie happens, the face of a scary looking ghost suddenly popping onto the screen with a screeching wail. "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!"

"PFFTT, hahaha!!!" Kokichi starts bursting out laughing, nearly choking on his panta as he had to quickly stop drinking it. "H-Heheh, aww, did the Big Cweepy Ghost scaaare you, Momo-cha-HURK!" His wheezing laughter was cut off by bigger arms suddenly wrapping around his waist and squeezing the smaller boy tightly, nearly squeezing the oxygen out of him. "M-Momota....cha..?!"

"IT'S THE SPIRIT OF THE VENGEFUL LITTLE GIIIIIIRL!!!" And squeezes Kokichi even tighter, not even noticing he had grabbed him yet.

A choked gasp, he starts trying to pull Kaito off of him, wheezing out: LET ME GO, YOU IDIOT!"

"Ah-" Now realizing he had been clinging onto Kokichi. He instantly lets go of him, huffing as he rubs the back of his head an embarrassed blush on his face. "S...Sorry..."

"Geez..." Huffs Kokichi with a childish pout. He quickly darts his face away to hide the light tinge of pink on it. While he didn't appreciate having his lungs practically squeezed out; the fact that Kaito would instinctively cling onto even him, made him oddly happy inside... As the movie progressed, Kaito tried to endure the scarier scenes, sometimes being able to stifle a scream, but most of the time still screaming his lungs out. He had Kokichi continue to laugh so hard, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, albeit at the cost of being clung onto very tightly at times. "Nishishi, Momo-chan looks like he's gonna pee his pants!"

"N-No I'm fucking NOT-GYAAAAAAH!!" A jumpscare from a creepy haunted doll made him cup Kokichi's hand, squeezing it very tightly. "That laugh is so damn creepy!!!"

Kokichi winced a bit from how tightly he squeezed his hand, chortling as an amused smile widened on his face. "Aww, does Momota-chan want me to protect hiiim~?"

Giving a flustered grumble, Kaito instantly snatches his hand away. "G-Go fuck yourself!!"

"Fuck me yourself, coward!"

"Shut upppp!!"

Despite the several near heart attacks he had, Kaito surprisingly made no attempts to fly out of the room. It honestly impressed Kokichi, who was highly expecting him to do so at some point. Funny as it would’ve been to see him do so... he admittedly would’ve been disappointed. The dare he gave Kaito aside... he really did want to have a sleepover with him. Something about Kaito truly just interested the supreme leader. While he still did find him a big, loud idiot a lot of the time; he was so fun to tease, and always went along with Kokichi’s antics, even if it because he was easily egged on most of the time. When they have their petty arguments, Kaito’s chasing him down a hall or even the rare times they actually just talk casually without being at each other’s throats: Kokichi finds it fun. Maybe that’s why he found himself being drawn to Kaito, wanting to find excuses to spend alone time with him. The astronaut made him giddy in a way most others couldn’t.

Eventually, the movie finally comes to an end. Kokichi starts applauding as if it was the best movie he’s ever seen. “Hooraaay! What a great movie that was! Simply moving! Right, Momota-chan?”

“Uuuuugghghhhhhhhhh.....” Meanwhile, Kaito looks as pale as the ghosts in the film, slumped against the edge of the bed with a grim look on his face. It was a shock to even himself that he didn’t damage all his vocal chords from how much he screamed, now even more grateful Kokichi was going to sleep over tonight: there was no way he’d be able to get some sleep otherwise... though the fact Kokichi being here with him eases his paranoia a bit, was honestly embarrassing. “Simply moving”, my ass...” He groans, voice sounding noticeably hoarse. “But h.....ha! Didn’t I tell you? I wasn’t going to run out of the room: that movie was nothing! I only pretended to be as “scared” as I actually was-WASN’T!” He quickly ‘corrects’ himself as he points a finger at Kokichi in declaration.

“...............”

“D-Don’t look at me like that! I still won the damn challenge, didn’t I?!”

“Mmmn... I guess so. How boring... I was so waiting for you to fly out of that door, so I could torture you..” He sighs, looking so dissatisfied.. until a smile instantly lights back up on his face. “But that’s a lie! I truly would have been disappointed if you did run out the room. I guess even Momota-chan can break my expectations every once in a while, hmm?”

“Heh... is that so? Are you finally admitting that you find me cool?” Quips Kaito with a playfully arrogant smirk on his face as he throws his arm around Kokichi’s shoulders. “You always talking shit, thinking you alllways have me figured out... but I’m not as easy as you think I am! Try harder next time.”

Kokichi was actually stunned for a moment. Kaito, who usually just gets irritated with him: looked not only amused by what he said, but even had the nerve to playfully tease him back with that cocky smirk on his face. “Wh... h-hmph!! Momo-chan’s getting awfully cocky, isn’t he?!” He huffs, balling his fists as a notable blush creeps onto his cheeks. “Geez! After I actually bothered to say something nice about you for once.”

"Heheh...” Kaito noticed the blush on Kokichi’s face this time: cute, he thinks to himself. It felt nice to be the one to tease the other for once, when it was usually the other way around. Kaito didn’t know why he suddenly found himself wanting to do that more often: to seep reactions out of the supreme leader that he normally doesn’t show. Just like how Kokichi found himself having fun with Kaito... deep down, Kaito felt the same with the supreme leader. While he still found him to be an ‘irritating little shit’.... it was starting to be a fond way, now.

Wanting to wipe that smirk off Kaito’s face, and to hide his own flustered one: Kokichi suddenly snakes his hands into Kaito’s shirt to lightly tickle his sides. “Coochy coooo~!”

“H-Heheeeek-?!” Kaito jumps from the ticklish feel of fingers dancing along his bare skin. He instantly clasps a hand over his mouth as he scurries away from the boy, cheeks red in embarrassment from the noise he emitted. “Y-You motherfu-!”

“Nishishi! Ehhh, what did I dooo? What a cute noise you made just now, Momo-chan~!” He giggles, being finding himself suddenly dodging a pillow that was thrown at him. “Oop! Haha, missed meeee!”

“You little-!!” And with that, Kaito started to chase Kokichi around the room, the shorter boy laughing heartily as he avoids being grabbed by the other at each attempt.

“Catch me, catch meee~!”

“I’ll get ya, Ouma!!” And yet; Kaito wasn’t even trying to hide the smile that widens on his face, looking as if he’s having the time of his life trying to chase the boy down in the small room. Unlike when he usually chased him, it was completely in a playful sense, finding himself laughing along with Kokichi as he tried reaching for the boy. Kokichi had even jumped on top of the bed, making mocking expressions at Kaito as he taunts him.

“Over here, over here~!” And just as he was about to hop right off the bed when Kaito came closer-”Ah-!” Kokichi lost his balance, landing on his butt on the bed.

“Gotcha-!” Kaito took that perfect opportunity to literally lunge at and pin the boy down onto the bed. While he made sure not to grip his wrists too tightly, he still had a slightly firm hold on him as he smirks down at the boy triumphantly. “Hah! You were saying, Ouma?”

“..............” But instead of pouting, whining, or acting like a sore loser: Kokichi just.... stares up at him wide-eyed. Here he was, pinned down to the bed by Kaito. Purple eyes looking up at similar purple ones, faces close to each other. “Ahh....”

“?” Oblivious to his unusually quiet reaction, Kaito’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as he tilts his head. “...What? What’s with up with y...ah.” But once he registers the position that they are in, now he understands. “U...Uhhh....”

“M....M-Momo-chan....” Cheeks turn a dark shade of red as he feels unable to look away from the boy, eyes half-lidded. He purses his lips, feeling his heart pounding hard in his chest. "A-Are you gonna... lean down and kiss me, now? Like in those cheesy shoujo mangas...? A-Ahh, I’m not mentally prepared...” He whines, shyly darting his eyes away. And just as it looks as if he was being serious... “...SIIIIIIIIIIIKE!” A shit-eating grin instantly widens on his face, cackling as he looks back at him. “How was my ‘hopeless romantic shoujo girl’ impression, hmm? Did you fall for it, did you fall for it?!”

“Wha-wha.....wh....” Kaito’s own heart was pounding at the major shift of the mood so quickly. Thinking that Kokichi was being serious for a moment- “...Huh.” And then just stares at him when he pulled that ‘it was a joke!’ card at the last minute. “.....A....A-As if.....” Clenching his teeth, now his face was really red as he instantly flies off of the boy, crossing his arms as he turns his head away. “A-As if anyone w-w-would wanna kiss YOU! O-Of course I wasn’t going to do that!!!”

“Nishishi...~!” Despite his little act, the blush on his face was certainly real. And the rapid pounding of his heart at that very moment, too. “Mmnn that’s because Momota-chan wouldn’t dare kiss me.”

“Huh?!” Kaito instantly looks back his way, balling his fist as he retaliates: “You callin’ me a coward?! I so could if I wanted to!”

“Ohhh?” A sharp inhale, Kokichi dares to say: “Then do it: I dare you.”

“.....!” Kaito Momota was one who was very easily baited into doing dares whenever he felt himself being mocked or taunted; but even he’d have more than enough common sense than to do something as intimate as kissing someone just because they egged him on. If he didn’t like the person or straight up would not feel comfortable or okay with kissing them, he’d refuse to do so, not caring if it’d seemed he was ‘chickening out.’ And yet, with Kokichi... he didn’t want to say ‘no.’ In a way, it was as if he wanted to use stubborn tendencies as an excuse to not back down. Why was that, he wonders...? Or maybe the answer wasn’t an confusing as he likes to think it is. Gulping, Kaito finally gives him a response... in the form of a confident nod. “F-Fine. I’ll show you that Kaito Momota ain’t no chicken!”

“.....” For a second, genuine surprise showed on Kokichi’s face. He absolutely did not expect Kaito to actually go through with it. Was it only because he dared him? Would Kaito do this with just anyone if they taunted him like Kokichi did? He didn’t want to think about that, burying the self-doubt that he may not be a special exception. No, he wanted to think he was: that only he would be someone Kaito was willing to kiss. “...Well?” Smiling, Kokichi crawls closer to him. “I’m waitiiiing~!”

Despite agreeing to do this, Kaito honestly couldn’t believe this was actually happening. One moment, they were watching a moment together; and now, he was about to kiss the supreme leader. For some reason, an unfamiliar kind of nervousness started to bubble up in him. Why was he so nervous, he thinks to himself. It’s just a kiss! Just give him one kiss and it’s over with: but he wasn’t thinking like that. Rather... he didn’t want to mess this up. Didn’t want to give him a half-assed kiss, as it’d have no feeling to it. Quickly shaking his head of such ‘sappy’ thoughts, a hand slowly goes to cup the other’s chin. “Y...You’re gonna get a kiss from the Luminary of the Stars, himself! You’d better feel lucky!” He declares, trying to joke around to hopefully shake off some of the nervousness and rapid pounding of his heart.

His heart thumps hard in his chest when Kaito cups his chin like that. He’s almost happy he made that ridiculous declaration, chortling to help distract himself from how nervous he was. “Whatever you say, Momota-chan. Now come onnn....” He impatiently whines as he closes his eyes. “Do it alreadyyyy....”

“Alright, alright...” Taking a deep exhale, Kaito starts to lean his face in more. Wriggling lips are forced to keep steady as their faces become closer and closer. He can hear the soft breathing of the other, their bangs brushing against each other’s. With lips so close, they are barely brushing together... if he leans in any closer, their lips will surely meet. Kokichi could also feel just how much closer Kaito was, stifling a muffled whine. Any minute, their lips were going to meet. He was going to be kissed by Kaito... the already lack of patience was making the anticipation kill him, almost tempted to whine to him again to hurry up... until he finally feels lips softly press against his.

“Mmn...” Kokichi feels his heart flutter in his chest, slowly processing this very moment. He jokingly expected a rough or sloppy kiss, considering it was Kaito; and yet, it felt so soft, so gentle... as if Kaito wanted to make sure he was careful. A quiet hum vibrating through him, Kokichi already found himself indulging in the nice feeling of his lips, pressing his own against Kaito’s more firmly, ever so slightly.

Kaito also found himself loving the feeling of Kokichi’s soft lips... the hand he was using to cup Kokichi’s chin, he finds himself stroking it gently with his thumb. He felt Kokichi press his lips firmer against his, making a quiet sigh leave him as he dares to do the same. Even if he did this under the excuse of being ‘dared’ to... he didn’t want it to end. He wanted to kiss him for as long as he could before it would have to end. And once it did, when he eventually has to pull away so they could breathe... their heated faces are still so close.

“M...Momo-chan...” His voice is barely above a whisper. As much as he wanted to tease him about the fact that he definitely used this dare as an excuse to kiss him... right now, he just wanted to indulge in that feeling again. So before he knew it, arms would go to link around Kaito’s neck as he nestles himself in his lap. Nuzzling their foreheads together, he utters: “....One more...”

Maybe it was the heat of the moment; or maybe it was the boy not caring to deny how badly he truly was crushing on the supreme leader, with the other secretly returning those feelings... that Kaito doesn’t have to think twice about it. Arms going to immediately wrap around the smaller boy’s waist, he nods and gives a simple: “Yeah...” Before he leans in once more, Kokichi meeting him halfway as they close the distance in a kiss. One that’s still soft, but even firmer as they both quickly deepen it. Soft sighs and hums emit from them, Kokichi occasionally giving Kaito’s lips quick pecks in between the kiss. It makes a low, content hum seep from Kaito, who presses deeper and slower pecks to Kokichi’s lips in turn.

And even once that kiss is over, they still did not want to stop: but they did need to catch their breath, and the thought of their kisses growing even more passionate was a bit much for them to handle right now, when their hearts already felt like they could burst out of their chests. So simply giving each one last quick peck, they break away from the kisses for good. “N...Nishishi....” He breathes out a soft giggle in between pants. “Momo-chan’s.... not so bad to kiss. And that isn’t a lie...”

“Y...Y-Yeah, well: you’re not so bad yourself, Ouma...” He also utters in between deep pants. His face felt like it was on fire, only having a bit of solace when seeing how deeply red Kokichi’s own face was. “Can’t believe I really just... fucking kissed you because you taunted me. And that... I wanted to do it again: on my own will. U-Ugh....just saying this is embarrassing...”

“Hehehe.... Momo-chan’s such a sap...” Though he doesn’t say it in a mocking tone; rather a fond one as he suddenly leans back real far, so that he brings Kaito down with him as they’re now plopped down on the bed.

“Who you callin’ a sap-oh...!” He let out a small yelp in surprise when Kokichi brings them both down, rolling his eyes with a chortle as he wildly ruffles his hair. “Lil shit...” He playfully quips with just as much fondness in his tone, giving Kokichi a warm smile: one that held a special kind of warmth he normally doesn’t give others.

Giggling at the hair ruffles and his playful remark, Kokichi gives Kaito a beaming smile in return. “Momo-chan~!” Oh how he adored that smile... and his beloved astronaut. He rolls right into Kaito’s arms, smaller arms wrapping Kaito as he buries his face into his chest.

“Woah!” He blinks in surprise from the sudden cuddly embrace, trying to stifle a chuckle when feeling Kokichi nuzzle his face into his chest. “You havin’ fun down there?” Not that Kaito minds this at all, surprisingly enough. In fact, one arm would go to wrap around Kokichi’s waist, while his other hand rests on top of his head, patting it softly. “You know, Ouma... I know I always talk a lot of shit to you, too, but... you’re actually not so bad. I don’t, uh... hate you, or anything: is what I’m trying to say. I never did, really.”

A happy hum at the head pats, a soft gasp leaves his lips when he hears him say that. “Momota-chan...” He wasn’t so bad... he never actually hated him. Something about that... made Kokichi feel warm inside. An indescribable amount of happiness was bubbling up in him, hoping that his face wasn’t too visible as the widest, genuinely happiest smile appears on Kokichi’s face as he still keeps it buried partially in Kaito’s chest. He was always going to remember those words. “That’s so cheesy....nishishi... but...” A shaky exhale, Kokichi moves his head back just enough to look up at Kaito. There’s a tinge of warmth to that bright and happy smile still on his face. “...It makes me happy to hear that. And I guess I...never hated you, either. ....I could never grow to hate my beloved Momo-chan, anyway...”

“...!” His eyes widen. “Your....beloved...?” No one’s ever called him their beloved before.... and hearing that Kokichi also never hated him-nor could he-makes a flustered whine leave him. “Th-The hell, man... you’ll kill me if you say shit like that so straight-forwardly. I mean, well- not that I’m complaining: I’m glad... to hear that, too. And I don’t....mind....being called that....b-but only if it’s just us around, okay! I’d never live it down if Shuichi or Harumaki heard you calling me that!!”

Snickering, Kokichi gives him a reassuring nod. “O-kaaaaay! Whatever helps my beloved feel more comfortable~!” Being called it again makes Kaito’s heart giddily beat in his chest. He’d be far too embarrassed to ever such intimate words himself, but he’s sure that Kokichi knows that he thinks of him as his beloved supreme leader, too.

Kaito now wraps both arms around Kokichi, the two indulging in each other’s warmth as they cuddle softly. Kokichi really was like a cuddly pillow in his arms, while Kaito felt like a snug blanket in his. It really was funny... having Kokichi nestled up in his arms like this, cuddling him, kissed him... all the things Kaito in the beginning would never dream of doing with Kokichi. And now here they were, after growing much closer and only fell harder and harder for each other tonight. As they feel the sleepiness start to catch up to them, Kaito was already looking forward to tomorrow morning, almost already forgetting how scared that movie had made him earlier. Rather, he thought much more about how nice it’ll be to wake up with the smaller boy all nestled in his arms like this; and in turn, Kokichi not being able to wait waking up in Kaito’s arms. “G’night, Ouma...” He softly yawns, giving him a soft squeeze in the hold. “That stupid movie that I totally handled well aside... tonight was fun.”

“Oh my god, whatever. Big dork...” He chortles, giving him a gentle squeeze in turn. “I had fun, too, Momo-chan... it’s never boring with you. Let’s play together even more tomorrow; g’nighttttt....”

“Heheh.. and thanks. I’m glad it never is. ...Yeah: let’s do that...” After gazing into each other’s eyes one last time, spilling with warmth and love for the other... eventually drift off to sleep. All of this happened tonight, because Kokichi simply egged the other on: that was going to be a choice Kokichi will always be happy that he made.

#Kokichi Ouma #Kaito Momota #oumota #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #detectiveseapancake #Kay's writings #sorry that's a bit belated babby but: may it be a nice present for you all the same I hope~!#and one last time... Happy Birthday: I'm so happy you had a great one!!!

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abizarreyodelingincident · 4 years

Text

Our Nightly Confidant 4

War Games

Warriors needs fresh air.

The hand resting in the crook of his elbow is soft, but its grip is threatening to cut off the blood circulation to his hand. The pain has steadily numbed as the ladies exchange thinly veiled insults about this or that province and this or that financial ruin.

He used to like this.

The attention, the admiration, the glory! When did it start to taste like ash in his mouth?

If his queen heard that thought, she'd have another one of her brutal truths for him. 'When war stopped being a game and became a duty.'

When he realized that not even being the Chosen Hero of Courage would shield him from the game. That it made him twice the target every other soldier was. When the bodies of fallen comrades couldn't go past the numb exhaustion that took him every evening.

“Lady Farosh, Lady Ordonas, if you'll excuse me for a second...” he says, flashing them his flashiest smile.

Lady Ordonas brings out her fan to hide her rosy cheeks and agrees with an obvious giggle. Lady Farosh, whose fingernails are on the verge of piercing skin, delays her reply by the barely polite amount of time.

“Oh, Captain Link, you cannot abandon me so swiftly,” she tries, eyes flickering to her father, an esteemed general in discussion with Impa.

“But of course not, only a second to freshen up.”

The instant she releases him, he pulls away and bows. Though, despite his instincts screaming at him, he doesn't run a straight line for the glass doors of the Queen's ballroom. Lady Farosh would take it as an insult. He weaves through conversations, dropping the minimum expected of him here and there, snarks at a Legend that looks ready to murder Lord Lonnayru (and Warriors wishes him to succeed), never touches a drink or bite offered that he did not pick for himself, and eventually reaches freedom.

The cool night air is a balm on his skin as it strokes his hair and face.

Even the small, military tents he's slept in during the campaign didn't feel half as stifling as that ballroom. And some of the tents, he couldn't even stand up inside!

Above, the moon shines its silvery glow down to the garden's fountain. With the ball in full swing inside, no one walks the peaceful path of stone amidst the roses and the arches. Shame. It's a beautiful place. His first stroll there had been a pleasant experience, though not his first conversation with his queen. Impa had chased away the rest of the escort and glared the patrolling guards into submission. Any attempt to bargain had been met with stony silence and a dare to prove themselves worthier of the Queen's protection than her Sheikah general and mentor.

Warriors stops by the hedgerow. If he focuses, he can see the spot where Zelda sat down, where she picked a rose for him, and pinned it on his breastplate.

They had had hopes for the future. Have. He still has hopes. Don't get him wrong. But he's a little more tired than he used to be. Where had the time gone?

'Captain Link, I must introduce you to my daughter.'

Must. Must. Must. Always a 'must', never a 'may'. Duty traps him and the wild beasts know it. They sniffed his blood long ago, and he can only ever bandage the wound so much before it becomes infected.

Traipsing around with the heroes of previous eras is a blessing and a reward that Hylia offered him. A thank you, he feels, and perhaps the beginning of an apology.

“You shouldn't be out there on your own, Captain Link.”

Those are normal words, spoken with careful reverence. Nothing about them should bring his walls up this quickly. But Warriors is no longer accosted by the common soldiers. Hasn't in a long time.

The cracks on his heart spread just a little further. Deeper.

“Someone might try to hurt you, sir.”

The reverence is gone.

And the spear points straight at his chest.

He doesn't have time to bring out his sword.

A snarling mass of fur tackles the traitor, and by the time Warriors can react, the cry of fear stops abruptly. In its stead is a steady gurgle, a fading wheeze. A limb that thuds against the garden grounds.

Warriors doesn't flinch. He's seen worse.

Once his prey has been deemed sufficiently mauled, Wolfie turns to him, muzzle dark with blood, and worry clear in his eyes.

“Good boy,” he says, absentminded, a hand ruffling through the beast's sinfully soft fur.

It's a testament to his companion's state of mind that no warning growl responds to the familiarity. Warriors doubt he would hear it anyway. He's staring at the dead body.

The guard was young. Maybe... Hyrule's age. He must have hated the war, if he'd gone to the front lines. Hell is hardly enough of a description for the dance of bodies and hacked limbs. He had probably lost a brother or a father or a cousin to the fighting, if he was earning his keep in the Queen's castle at that age. Maybe Impa had taken pity on him.

“Simple-minded fools who can't resist basic mind magic,” Warriors repeats, a wobbly chuckle in his voice.

Wolfie noses his hand, and the little shock of cold and wet jolts enough that he can avert his eyes from the traitor. Defeated, the events of the night all playing on loop, he drags himself to a secluded spot by the hedgerow. One from which he can see people coming, with his back to the branches. Wolfie plops down next to him.

“Mind magic. What I wouldn't give for that to be the case,” he confesses to the wolf-like companion. “Hylia. I'd take cowards over this. I'm not asking them to fight my battles for me. Not even fight by me. Just...”

His fingers curl into his scarf. Holds onto the lifeline.

“I just want to be able to turn my back on the people I protect. Is that really so much to ask for?”

Soft fur fills his sight. He ought to resist the urge. An officer must be strong. Cannot let the soldiers down. Fear spreads like wildfire. One spark, and the whole army goes up in flame.

He knows this.

He knows, and he sobs anyway. Farore, please, just for an instant, allow him to be weak.

He buries his face in Wolfie's shoulder, relishes the warmth and protection that comes from the sacred beast. It doesn't matter that some blood splatters might stain his official knight armors. It doesn't matter that for a split second, he doesn't scan his surroundings for exits, potential ambushes and traps. He gives the taut ropes of tension inside him just enough relief.

Until he pulls back.

Sniffs twice, wipes his face once and plasters the charmer smile.

“I'm alright, Wolfie... I'm alright.”

Wolfie doesn't buy it. Makes an inquisitive little whine. A question.

His hand trembles in the fur. “I am. I will be.”

Wolfie turns, quick not to notice one's tears. Strange for a wolf, but he doesn't pounce on their weaknesses. They trust he never will.

Silly as it sounds, there's more than a few noble daughters in that ballroom that could take lessons in civility from Wolfie. At least, in his presence, he doesn't feel like a bloody piece of meat dangling in front of a pack of wolves. Now, that's irony.

“You know... you kind of make me miss Midna.”

Warriors jumped back when Wolfie suddenly straightened, his eyes laser focused.

“Yeah, I know her,” he said, feeling a hint of a real smile. “We have a statue for her in the Temple of Souls. Hell of a woman.”

His hands went to his sword the second his ears picked up a low growling noise, only to realize it had come from Wolfie. Was... was their canine companion protective of the Twilight Princess? Or, Hylia forbid, jealous? Goddess, that was too cute.

“Shh, don't alert the others,” Warriors said, hands held in front of him in mock surrender.

Wolfie, with very Hylian-like intelligence, puts a paw first on his muzzle, then scratches one of his ears. It's a good point. He'd know first.

Warriors relents before Wolfie starts nipping. He remembers Time's mud bath. “She mentioned you too. Called you her favorite pet.”

He hadn't know what disgruntled looked like on a wolf before, but now he had the perfect picture. No wonder Midna had loved to tease him.

“She went into battle with this shadow spell. Wolf-companions.”

Wolfie's interest shifts into disguised wariness. There are hints that he might like to pull back a bit, but Warriors' hand remains firm on the back of the wolf's neck.

“Called her main one Rinku,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows. “Reminds you of something, huh?”

Wolfie blinks. Then blinks some more. He's almost completely frozen, like he has no clue what to make of that information. Or is trying to choose the right way to react. And when he does, Warriors bites down on a burst of laughter.

The puppy eyes. The good boy smile. It's worrying how they almost work.

Almost.

Warriors keeps a sly grin on his face and waits. He's in no hurry to return inside the palace.

It takes another change of beat in the music coming from the ballroom before Wolfie gives, and shadows swallow him.

“Since when?” Twilight says, sighing.

Warriors' smirk is immensely punchable, he's aware. He loves to live dangerously.

“Are you implying that I would deliberately play dumb so that one of my fellow Hero of Courage would act like a dog when he doesn't need to? That I knew from the very beginning and asked Wild to take pictures for posterity? For shame, Twilight.”

A vein twitched under Twilight's jaw. “No, I wasn't implying that. I was saying you're an asshole, Wars!”

Warriors fails to dodge the lunge, half-paralyzed by muffled chuckles. The momentum throws them on the grass, and there's a split second of disorientation before his back hits the ground, and a weight lands on his chest. A heavy weight. Goddesses be good, the farmer lifestyle paid, huh?

“Twilight, move your fat ass.”

The mullish expression on his brother's face would have made a raging moblin sweat. “No. We're still doing this. I have a great track record, and I'm not letting you narcissistic goatfiddler break it by being your usual self. Talk.”

His eyes widen in alarm. “Really? This is the setup? Me, suffocating, and you, thinking of a place to hide my body. What is this, a deathbed confession?”

“You could have had the amazing emotional support of everyone's favorite wolf. But noooo, you're too good for that, so spill. Better be fast, because I had double serving of Wild's chili. Gives me gaz like thunder.”

“You. Wouldn't. Dare.”

The silent glare he receives is all Time.

Warriors squirming renews. “Farmhand, I will skewer you on the Master Sword myself if you don't-”

“Why would you go off on your own like that? We were all in the ballroom. You could have gotten any of us.”

“Let's not reverse the roles here,” Warriors hisses, one eyebrow raised. “I'm not the one playing double-life around our group. You can't talk about trust when you constantly hide in plain sight. You want trust? You tell me why.”

The boyish, almost light air between them breaks. Guilt blooms on Twilight's face. He can't meet Warriors' gaze and doesn't even try.

“... It's Dark Magic.”

“I couldn't care less. I've fought amongst noble fighters with dark magic and against monsters with the opposite. Next.”

Twilight's ears droop slightly. It's dog-like, and amusingly fitting for a moment of hesitation. Every second that passes without a word hammer the fact that 'dark magic' is the surface excuse for Twilight's shifty dealings about their group. Warriors tries not to be angry. Twilight did just save his life with that very secret.

“I've had...” Lips mull the words for a few seconds. “Mixed reactions.”

Warriors feels himself frown. “Mixed how?”

“You know me, the country boy, raised in the small farmer village lost in the woods. Country bumpkins, the lot of us... You ever heard what they think of wolves?”

His breath hitches. Slow dread creeps on him. He hates the ease with which images come to him. He's never seen Twilight's hometown, never met any of his family, but he's suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of a mob of pitchforks and pickaxes held high, of dogs barking through the woods as a grey wolf scampers. Narrowly avoids a bear trap snapping its deadly maw on thin air instead of a limb. Overhears angry grumbling about making a pelt out of his skin.

They should be farmers, but he sees old faces instead. Soldiers. Commanders. Officers. Brothers-in-arms he's long trusted. Thought he could trust.

“W-what do they know about those majestic beasts?” he says, jokingly because he's afraid to let the mask slip an inch. (It'd fall a mile, shatter too hard for him to ever glue back the pieces.)

“My father threatened to skewer me,” comes the quiet admission, less than a whisper.

Warriors' heart squeezes. “Twilight.”

“Didn't know it was me though,” Twilight adds, failing at even a small smile. “To him, I was just this wild animal circling the village right after most of the children had been stolen. He... he only threatened me. Just words. Nothing like what you had to deal with.”

“The words are the worst part for me,” Warriors hears himself say. “I hear them in my nightmares, even if I forget what they tried to do. Couldn't tell you who came at me with a spear, with a sword, with a dagger. But I see their eyes in the mirror, the hate as they died.”

“The fear. The 'Get back, beast!' and the screams.”

“'It's your fault!'” Warriors repeat, the same tone that echoed in his head. “'You should have died instead!'”

Twilight's face twists, and there's a split second when Warriors thinks his heart will give out. Even the shadows of Twili magic can't compare to the darkness that covers the blue of his eyes. But Twilight turns his head to the side and spits in disgust.

It hits the traitor's cooling corpse.

“Bastards,” he says, venom lacing his tongue. “Should have made that last.”

He says, with blood all over his face , Warriors thinks dryly.

It's a sharp contrast, that violence on him. Twilight has always had that air of earnest, straightforward honesty. One look at him and strangers will put their trust in him without hesitation. He lacks the battleworn scars (at least where it's visible), is old enough to be taken seriously and his bumpkin accent breeds familiarity with most commoners they meet. Warriors himself has to deploy all his charms to get the same results, and he's still being glared at by a lot of the men.

They peg him a charmer, and not without reason.

“I don't like it either,” Warriors says, quiet.

“What?” Twilight replies, an eyebrow raised.

“The knight act, you know.” And before Twilight's mouth can drop – “At least, some of it. The game. The doublespeak. The mask. It all feels pointless sometimes.”

“I... really?” Twilight's baffled words hurt, just a little.

Warriors scoffs. “Yes, really. I'm not meant to play knaves and daggers. I'm a soldier. An officer. I'm meant to be out there, defending the kingdom I love. Inspiring the people to fight back against darkness, to stand up for their lives. To be at the front of an army, to lead as one amongst the great... it's incredible. It's what I was born to do, I know it in my bones. The act is necessary. But by the Goddesses do I wish I could live without it.”

He sees the way his meaning worms itself past Twilight's gaze, understanding dawning on him. “No matter where one goes, huh?” Sheepish ruffle of his own hair. “Is it something in the water?”

“Like they'd lower themselves to drinking water,” Warriors sneers, a smirk hidden underneath. “Wine only, my good sir. And only the finest year, from the finest yard. Vintage, my good peasant, it's all the vintage that shows breeding.”

“They do know that for everyone else, breeding is something you check for your horses and your dogs, right?”

“I... couldn't tell. I've stopped listening a while ago. I just nod and play my handsome part. It is the only use for a Hero once the King of Evil has been defeated, it looks like. I don't know if I even should call myself a knight anymore.”

“Wild was touched, y'know?” Twilight says, looking up to the moon. “When you called him an honorable knight,” he adds with a sigh. “He's always associated his life before the Calamity to knighthood, to that incredible soldier that had trained for a decade before facing his destiny. Someone whose shadow he chased for months, not realizing it's his own. You might have been the first to call his current self a knight.”

“He is!” Warriors near jumps to his feet. “Wild may be unorthodox, but he is a loyal, devoted man that served Hyrule to the best of his ability despite having lost everything but his life to the cause. Most generals in my army could not even measure up to his standard.”

“Should have seen the look in his eyes when I mentioned it.” There's a hint of sadness beyond the pride and joy of this memory.

He hates the curdling feeling that brings forth. “Remind me to knock a couple of heads together next time we visit his Hyrule, would you?”

Twilight's chuckle is fond, gentle. “Yeah, that's what I meant. I never thought to tell him in those words. To me, he was always good enough. But you saw that side of him too. You know what it's like to want it. I can't relate that well to this, but... well, anyone under your command has to look up to a guy like you.”

Hands ball into fists. Eyes drift to the corpse. “Not everyone does. Obviously.”

Twilight bumps shoulders with him. “I'm sorry, pretty boy. I'm sorry these assholes think they have any right to blame you. To resent you. You're an amazing leader. Much better than me. I... I honestly admire you and your skill.”

Warmth settles in his stomach. He can't... For a second, he needs to blink away tears.

“So he admits it.”

There's a wry, wolfish quality to Twilight's grin. “You speak a word of it, and you'll meet an unfortunate fate, Captain.”

“As if anyone but my Queen could make me fall in battle,” he laughs, pushing Twilight's shoulder, hard.

“Careful there.” His brother's grin sharpens, and the returning shove almost sends Warriors crashing into a bush. “You might touch my cursed stone, and then you'd be stuck as your true self. What would your queen think if she saw a plague-ridden rat try to command her armies?”

Laughter bubbles in his chest. “Be happy to send the rat to infect the goat-loving hillbillies before they spread out of their mudholes! Imagine the half-goat, half-hylians that would invade Hyrule!”

Twilight's gauntlets fall to the ground. Knuckles are cracked. “A'right. Someone needs an asswhooping.”

He could not stop smirking if the Goddesses ordered him to. “Bring it, dog-boy. I'll put a collar on you.”

Taunts, past this point, become superfluous. The breath they would waste could be better utilized trying not to die (lose) against this moblin (his brother) and his freakish strength (no, really, he pushes giant metal crates on ice, the goron-born idiot). The honor of Hyrule rests on his victory.

At some point, they roll over in the fountain.

This does not, in fact, stop their roughhousing.

***

“Should I ask why you both have black eyes and split lips when no one noticed any monster for miles?” Time wonders at his seconds-in-command. “While we were attending a ball?”

“No,” they growl with a ferocity to chill bones.

“Not fair!” Wind protests, to the nodding of most. “Why did they get to have all the fun?”

Ah, youth.

#Linked Universe #Linkeduniverse #LU Twilight #LU Warriors #LU Wolfie

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98prilla · 4 years

Text

Falling Apart: Part 1

Part 5 of the Dark Side Logan series.

Roman goes for a walk in the imagination to try and clear his head. Things do not go well.

Ao3

He's in the imagination. Where else would he be, after all?

Not his room, where his thoughts spiral out into fantasies and daydreams, not the commons, waiting for a splash of blue that's never coming, not even his own side of the imagination, where everything is too bright and cheery.

No. It's darkness and quiet and solitude he needs, so he's crossed the boundary lines into Remus's territory.

The trees’ spindly limbs stretch up and up, tangling together in the canopy. Dark eyes seem to glow, staring from hollows and underbrush, soft cackles and rustles echoing from nowhere in particular. An owl hoots ominously, and he shakes his head with a fond smile.

If the others think he is one for clichés and exaggerations, then they don’t know Remus. He prides himself on his work, maybe more than he himself does, every detail must be perfect down to a T. He wonders how long was spent writing his song, how many times did he rehearse it, perform it, force Deceit to listen to it, until he was sure it was ready?

Oh, Remus may be darker than him, sure, and much more impulsive, with much more dangerous ideas, but he is still Creativity, still takes pride in every being and mote of dust he conjures, still thrives on other's approval.

Something he was guilty of denying him far too many times. How long has it been, since Remus barged into his room, face aglow, hands gesturing wildly as he spouted off his newest genius idea, because he just had to share it, right that instant? When did he stop smiling fondly, asking questions, instead of being cold and dismissive? And why? Why did he change in the first place?

Just another crime to add to his list, he supposes, wincing.

It's his own ego, or rather, lack of one, he supposes. All flaunt and flounce, no actual substance. Always afraid, of being disliked, of being unneeded, of being unwanted, of not being good enough. His own insecurities making him lash out at Remus, for fear of being replaced.

Lash out at Logan. For fear of being found irrelevant.

He winces again, replaying every snide remark, every mocking nickname, every time he shut Logan down or pushed him out, or pushed him away.

They had moments, sure, good memories, among the bad, discussing poetry, the rap battle, their shared appreciation of literature. But even he wasn’t fool enough to think the good outweighed the bad.

And that’s the crux of it all, isn’t it?

He knows the dark sides aren’t bad, or evil. He knows this intimately, because of Remus. Because Remus isn’t bad, and Remus had told him how Deceit takes care of him when he’s overwhelmed, how he used to soothe Virgil, kept the emo sane at all, when he was new and barely in control. And he knows Ambition is so far from evil, is so far in the right that he could never be bad.

If anyone is bad, it is him. He's been a bad brother, a bad friend, a bad family member. A bad person.

His shoulders drop even more at that thought, because it's true, and he deserves to be left behind, left alone, with his grief. It should be Remus's turn in the spotlight, he can imagine how his twin would thrive and glow off being center stage. It's not like Remus would be able to fuck up any harder than he already had.

He hears a hiss, and he freezes. He hasn’t been watching where he was going, merely wandering absently. Usually, creatures in the imagination left him alone unless he was actively questing. But this wasn’t his side, and it was the outskirts of Remus's. Any creatures here would be impossible for him to control, and nearly as hard for Remus to influence.

He steels himself and slowly reaches for his sword, pretending to be looking at his shoe. In one fluid motion, he draws his sword, holding it before him in a ready stance, eyes flashing with his blade as he looks up, assessing his foe.

And that is his first and only mistake he needs to make for his foe to hold all the cards.

Instantly, he is frozen in paralysis, ruby glimmering eyes all he can see, filling his entire world. His grip on his sword tightens, his knuckles going white with the effort of keeping it raised, keeping his stance, it takes all his will not to break under those eyes.

It is a Cockatrice. A feathered serpent. It trails poison in its wake, in its breath, in its being. Its eyes are hypnotizing, deadly, in some cases. This one appears to have a pointed stinger on its tail, venom dripping from its talons, its bright plumage screaming of danger, as it snaps its beak at him, hissing and stretching its wings.

They are a mesmerizing rainbow of color. They shimmer, flowing from fiery reds to deep ocean blues, enchanting and enticing, somehow promising everything he's ever wanted. He can see himself being lauded, being loved, Thomas being a star, and it brings tears to his eyes, how much it aches, stings, hurts, inside.

His sword has fallen from his hand, thumping softly into the underbrush. Distantly, he knows this is a mistake, he knows he should be fighting, but this warmth, this… hope is something he hasn’t felt in so, so, long.

Faster than his groggy mind can decipher, the wings flare shut. He stumbles, tries to dodge, but the beast is faster as the tail nicks his cheek.

He rolls, grabbing his sword, eyes averted as he swings, but is balance is wrong, his grip sweaty, and the beast screeches, making him clap his hands over his ears, it is deafening, echoing in his skull, staggering. Then there are talons pinning him to the ground, puncturing through his body, and he hisses, wriggles, but they just push him harder into the ground.

He gasps, vision flaring white, spasming as fire flares through his veins, burning him alive, from the inside out. He reaches up, scratching the talons, tearing at the feathers, at anything he can reach, feeling his own hands tearing into his skin, trying anything, everything, to get away, to get out, to make it stop, stop, STOP!

How funny, how silly, how utterly perfect, that he can’t do anything right, including saving himself from dying now. Maybe it’s better off this way, maybe they’ll all be better off this way. He can’t breathe, can’t even flail anymore, as he feels the cockatrice bite into his shoulder. His vision goes black and he screams, writhing and fighting and choking on bile before his throat closes up and everything stops.

…

Remus nearly screams, crumpling in two, hands clutching at his hair, the wash of agony is like nothing he’s ever felt, and it doesn’t take him even a second to know where it’s coming from. It vanishes as quick as it came, leaving nothing but a phantom ache behind.

“Remus.” Deceit is supporting him, keeping him from face planting on the ground as he regains his balance. He lurches to his feet, barely aware of Deceit asking him what’s wrong, of Cygnus placing a hand on his shoulder, having come in from the living room at the commotion he’d made nearly falling.

Instead he shoves past the two of them, sprinting to his room. He throws the door open hard enough it must dent the wall behind it, add a new crack to the wood, and he doesn’t even blink as he runs through the mirror that leads to his side of the imagination.

It’s stronger here, and he nearly keels over again, it staggers him, and he can barely breathe for a moment, before his vision clears. His mirror leads to his bedroom in his castle, and he runs, throwing open the balcony door. He’s not surprised to see her waiting.

“Hyacinth.” He gasps out, looking into the eyes of one of his closest friends, Roman’s favorite sparring partner, the Dragon Witch. Her eyes glitter like emeralds, two sets of leathery wings sprouting from her back, wearing a dark dress of glittering scales, knee high black boots.

“You feel it, too.” She states, and he nods, panic welling in his throat, any second he is going to scream, it is going to overwhelm him, it is going to crush him, because Roman is in trouble, Roman is hurt, Roman is hurt very badly and he cannot, will not, lose him.

“Find him. Please, we need to find him, I need to find him, I need to, have to…” He trails off, words becoming choked, vision becoming blurry, tears stinging his eyes.

“I know. All my dragons are out searching. Both your kingdom and his. As soon as they find anything-“ Her words are cut off by a distant roar. Her head snaps up, and she grabs his hand, vaulting over the balcony with him, onto the back of a dragon. He doesn’t protest, just holds tight to the spine spikes of the silver beast, almost numb, at this point, with fear.

They touch down what could be minutes or hours later, time has lost all meaning. He’s focusing too hard on his bond to Roman, which he can feel slowly growing weaker, which is bad, bad, bad. He’s begging him, pleading with him, bargaining with him, to hold on, keep holding on, please.

He’s across the space in moments, freezing as his heart leaps to his throat.

In the clearing is an orange ombre dragon, curled protectively around something on the ground. A bloodied, feathery mess is flung across, into the trees, barely recognizable as a cockatrice and his heart sinks to his feet.

“roman.” He gasps out, lurching into motion once again, the dragon uncurling slightly, allowing him entry, and he falls to his knees as he pulls Roman onto his lap, eyes roving over every inch of his twin, there’s blood, so much blood, too much blood, to be coming from Roman.

He can see where the beast pierced its talons deep into his flesh, can see the deep gashes across his chest where the creature must have raked him, there’s a chunk of flesh taken out of his shoulder, and saliva is foaming at his mouth, his face is drawn and pale, cheeks flushed, beads of sweat on his brow. His breathing is labored and shallow, he can hear him wheezing in, his chest barely moving up and down.

Oh, this is bad, bad, bad.

…

It’s cold.

That’s all he knows.

It is dark. It is cold. He is alone.

He deserves it.

That’s all he knows.

“roman.” Something. It jolts something in him, he knows that voice, but he isn’t used to it sounding so desperate, so afraid. He’s used to it being loud and proud and boisterous. Used to it laughing and cackling and spewing whatever words it can to make him blush like a tomato.

He feels something. Wind? Wind. Flying. Ah.

Hyacinth.

Remus? Remus.

It burns. Everything burns. Acid, eating him from the inside out, his blood corroding him, the air choking him, fire tracing itself across his skin, and he is shaking again, a choked sound escaping from his lips, as he coughs violently. He feels someone cradle him into a sitting position, feels something warm dripping down his chin.

“Roman. Roman, please. Please, please, please. Roman.” Remus. Something twinges in him at that, and he forces his eyes open, forces himself to look up, barely able to make out green eyes and white streaked hair.

“R… re…” He struggles out, choking on more blood, breathing feels unbearably impossible.

“heal yourself, Ro, come on, use your stupid Disney kids power, no blood allowed, right? No guts and fluids and… and death, right, Ro? You know I can’t heal, you know I would if I could but I can’t, so just snap those fingers and poof, back to normal!” His voice is frantic, bubbling with anxiety.

“C-an’t. N-not s-strong en-ough.” He forces out, eyes slipping closed. Everything is pain, every moment is pure anguish, and just wants it to end. “S-o-orry.” He gasps, barely feeling Remus’s arms hold him tighter.

“NO! You don’t have anything to be sorry for, don’t be sorry, don’t give up on me, and you don’t have to be sorry.”

His awareness slips away.

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imaginedisish · 5 years

Text

Happy Together (Five Hargreeves x Reader) (The Umbrella Academy)

A/N: OOOOHHH MY GOOODNESS HELLO EVERYONE!!! So before y’all read...lemme say that Five is not 13/14/15 in this imagine!!!! He is a normal 20 something year old human...and so is the reader!!! This is kinda like an alternative universe sorta thing...idk...it was a request. (also my 17 year old self has a huge crush on Aidan Gallagher now uwu...he’s turning 16 this year...and we’re like a year apart so ITS OKAY YALL CHILLLLLLLL) I love The Umbrella Academy...and more imagines will be coming. ALSO THANK YOU FOR 900 FOLLOWERS AHHHHH!!!! Okay...now enjoy :)

Summary: After altering the timeline to save your life, Number Five gets in some trouble with The Commission...which prompts a not-so-welcomed visit from The Handler.

Warnings: LANGUAGE, angst, blood, fighting, implied violence/murder, FLUFFFFFFFFF

Word Count: 2,413 holy shit i went IN LADIES AND GENTS

Rays of sun reach their fingertips through the ancient curtains above you. The dust particles that had accumulated upon the books surrounding you glow as each individual spec basks in the light. To your right, sitting properly next to you on the plush couch, was a well-read copy of The Great Gatsby, your favorite novel.

You look down at the coffee that rested between your hands, the steam radiating off of it slowly dissipating, cueing you to finally take a sip of the bitter liquid. Grace hums a tune as she passes through the dark library, duster in hand.

“Grace,” You call out, and Grace immediately stops to face you, “Do you know where Five is?” Just as Grace opens her mouth to answer your question, a loud clanging sound erupts from above you.

“Goddamn it!” A familiar voice shouts, followed by the violent thumping of footsteps down the stairs.

The footsteps continue, the sound of the dress shoes against the cold tile echoes throughout the academy, until finally Five appears in front of you. He looks disheveled, exhausted, and incredibly angry. You hadn’t seen him like this since you saved the world together. He looked so distraught, something was clearly wrong.

Five begins to pace back and forth, his hands traveling to rub his eyes every now and then. You want to say something, but you know he’s far too lost in thought to answer. Finally, Five stops, and walks towards the bar at the end of the library.

You hear Five rummaging through the bottles of liquor. You turn around to see an expensive bottle of whiskey in his right hand. With his left, he grabs a short, crystal glass, and he begins to pour away.

“F-five, is everything okay?” You ask quietly. Five stops his pouring, and slams the bottle of whiskey on the counter.

He looks up at you, a vulnerable haze of fear presents itself across Five’s face before once again masking itself in an angry and distant gaze. “Everything is just golden,” Five remarks sarcastically, taking a generous swig of alcohol from his glass.

You decide to ignore his tone as to not start a fight with him, and instead stand up from the couch and walk over to him. You pull out a stool, and sit down. Five remains where he is, on the other side.

“Are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to make it come out of you?” You ask, jokingly. That was your power, you had the ability to make people tell the truth. You could also read minds and freeze time, which made you a perfect foil to Five, who could move through it.

“It’s The Commission…” Five trails off, taking another sip of his whiskey. “They know what we did.” Your jaw drops. How the hell did they find out so quickly? You think to yourself.

A month ago, you and Five had altered the timeline. To be more specific, Five had altered the timeline in order to save your life. While searching for Five, who had saved the world from the apocalypse once and for all, the Commission came across you. They knew that you were important to Five, and decided to kidnap and torture you.

When Five had found you, it was far too late. But, that was a thing of a past. It was a memory that you were never able to experience, since Five took it upon himself to change the timeline and save your life.

You two had grown close since Five had met you, since he had helped you learn to use your powers. But, you didn’t realize how much you meant to him. He risked so much by altering the timeline, and that was becoming increasingly evident.

“Look, things can’t be that bad,” You say reassuringly. “There has to be some sort of way to fix th-,”

Five cuts you off. “No, things aren’t bad, they’re terrible. They’re going to kill me,” Five’s voice is firm and filled with anger. “Or worse…” His voice is soft as he trails off, his eyes drifting down to the glass of whiskey on the counter.

“Or worse, what?” You ask as you search Five’s dark brown eyes for some sort of an answer.

But he gives you none, shaking his head in contempt, refusing to say a thing. He picks his drink up, and begins to walk towards the other side of the room. Just as you think he’s about to stop, the pacing begins again. You roll your eyes.

“Five, stop, let’s talk about-,”

Five cuts you off a second time. “There’s nothing to talk about, (Y/N)!” Five shouts, his eyes widening. “Things are going to absolute shit!” He knocks back a final, generous swig of whiskey before violently slamming the empty glass on the end table to his left. Five darts back towards you. “We lost! Don’t you get it? They’ve won! They’re going to find me, or you, a-and, a-and…”

You shake your head. “You’re being ridiculous, Five,” You pause for a second, collecting your thoughts before continuing. “You just need to calm down, we haven’t lost just yet, we haven’t even started fighting.”

“And there’s no point in fighting back to begin with. They know you’re here, they know everything, (Y/N),” Five says, swallowing harshly as he closes his eyes tightly. “And don’t tell me to calm down.”

You scoff. “I’m just trying to help. We can fix this-,”

“Stop! No we can’t! I’m going to lose you. Don’t you understand that?” Five yells, his voice booming throughout the library. Silence looms over the room. You don’t know what to say. “I can’t lose you…not again. I just can’t,” Five finally croaks.

Your heart flutters in your chest at his words. “Five you aren’t going to lose me,” You say, your voice is soft and sweet as a smile stretches across your face.

“On the contrary, darling, I think he just might!” A sarcastic, shrill voice rings from the opposite end of the room. You look to where the voice came from. A tall, gray haired woman stands near the fireplace, holding a gun in her hand. “Hello, Number Five. Long time no see.” Her smile is wide, almost reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat.

“I swear to god if you touch her,” Five points a finger in the woman’s direction, “I won’t hesitate to take you down, for real. In fact I thought Hazel already did that for me,” Five taunts.

The woman cackles loudly. “Oh Five!” She slaps her knee. “God you crack me up! You know silly stuff like bullets, or grenades,” She raises an eyebrow, “can’t kill me. But it can kill you, or her.” The woman nods her head towards you, aiming her gun at your chest.

A shot rings out, and a flash of light appears in front of you as Five pops in front of the woman, pulling his arm back to punch her in the face. But, before anything happens, you close your eyes tightly, clutching both hands into fists. Suddenly, time freezes. You walk forward towards Five. The bullet is inches away from his chest, suspended in thin air. You push it to the right, making sure that when time starts up again, it won’t even have the chance to hit him.

The woman scoffs, surprised at your abilities. “Who the hell are you?” She asks, staring you down.

“(Y/N), Number 8, also known as Eon, and you’re about to be so fucked,” You stare deeply into her eyes as you begin to search the woman’s mind. Her alias is The Handler, she’s killed thousands of people, and she isn’t one bit scared of you in this moment.

Well, that’s about to change completely, You think to yourself. You tighten your hold on her mind, and you watch as the Handler winces in pain.

Part of your mind reading ability was to allow the person you were reading to relive the memories you came across as you searched his or her mind. In this case, you went for the traumatic experiences; for instance, murders, attacks, and other crimes The Handler committed, watched, or experienced. You had found through previous ventures that making someone relive the past was overwhelming and draining, to the point of death.

God I hope this works, You think to yourself, taking a deep breath as you swallow harshly. You had one shot, one chance to make this work. You begin to search through her mind, picking out memories that seemed horrendous, even to you.

“Wh-what the hell are you d-doing?” She stutters, her fingertips reaching up to either side of her head. You force her to see each and every person she’s ever killed, which slowly but surely begins to have an impact on her. “S-stop,” The Handler pleads. “I-It h-hurts.”

But regardless of her pleas, you don’t let go. The gun in The Handler’s hand falls to the ground as she begins to tremble. You don’t know how much longer you can stay where you are. Your grasp on time begins to weaken, and things slowly start to move again. You’re losing energy.

“F-fuck,” You whimper, trying your best to stay strong. You search deeper into The Handler’s mind, seeing even more murders, more traumatic experiences, forcing her to relive each and every one.

The Handler screams out in pain. “Shit!” She screeches, collapsing down to the ground. She wheezes, and coughs roughly. Her breathing weakens, just as you thought it would.

“How does it feel?” You manage to shout, regardless of the fact that it feels as though every ounce of energy has been drained from your body. You continue on nonetheless.

“I-I c-can’t b-breathe,” The Handler chokes, grabbing her throat. “S-stop…” Her eyes flutter shut. “I-I’ll l-let y-you l-live…” She struggles to speak as her eyes open up again.

“Bullshit,” You say firmly, walking closer to her. “Any last words?” You question, going deeper into The Handler’s mind one final time. Her body seems to tense up, and she writhes in pain one last time.

“I-I’ll b-be b-back, k-kid…t-trust m-me….I always e-end up c-coming b-back…” She trails off, her eyes shutting tightly. Then, the writhing stops. The tension in The Handler’s body seemingly disappears. Her body goes completely limp. You did it. It was all over. She was gone.

You let go of your hold on The Handler, since there was no longer anything to see or do in her mind. It was blank, a black hole if you will. You let go of time, and things begin to move yet again. You collapse to your knees, absolutely exhausted.

“(Y/N)?” Five calls out, and you hear the bullet you had directed away from Five hit into the wall. “What the hell happened?” Five chuckles a bit. You feel his hand rub up and down against your back.

“I-I took care of things…” You say, breathing heavily. “You don’t have to worry about her anymore, or at least I don’t think you will.” You look up at Five, a confused expression spread across his face.

“How did you…” Five doesn’t know what to say as his eyes frantically search yours for some sort of an answer.

“I made her relive every shitty thing she ever did, or experienced. It wasn’t a silly thing, that did the bitch in,” You explain nonchalantly. “It was natural causes, in a sense. She did it herself.”

Five smiles widely, his brown eyes catching rays of light. Just as quickly as his smile appeared, it slips away. “They could still come after us…” Five trails off nervously, standing up and walking towards the bar.

You shake your head, gathering your strength and following behind him. “Don’t worry about that, okay? With The Handler gone, things will be easier. We can take down whoever stands in our way.” Your voice is calm and reassuring.

Five stops in his tracks, his eyes studying your face thoroughly. “All I can do is worry. Just because she’s gone doesn’t mean I won’t lose you,” Five says, his voice firm, yet still laced with fear. “I care about you too much to lose you again. Last time, my heart…it…” Five can’t seem to finish his sentence as his voice becomes shaky. His eyes become glossy, and he turns around so you can’t see his face.

“You can talk to me Five. Please, just tell me what happened,” You beg, walking closer to him, extending a hand out towards his, your fingers colliding with Five’s.

He turns around to face you. “Fuck I hate feelings…” Five complains before continuing on. He takes a deep breath. “My heart felt like it stopped beating. I-I sobbed over y-you…” Five tightly closes his eyes shut, a single tear falling down is cheek. He wipes it away with his free hand. “I can’t go through that again. I won’t, I refuse to. I care far too much about you…I-I…” Five looks down at the ground and back up towards you. He steps closer to you, the gap between you and he closing. His eyes drift back and forth between your eyes and your lips.

Suddenly, a pair of soft, warm lips come crashing down on yours. The kiss is slow and languid. You can’t help but smile against Five’s lips. This was something you had wanted for such a long time.

You’re left wanting more as Five’s lips part from yours. He smiles widely as he steps back from you. You’re almost a bit shocked, as Five rarely ever shows affection to anyone.

“I didn’t know how to say how I’ve been feeling,” Five explains. “You know I’m terrible at emotional shit, but (Y/N), you make things seems so natural. I’m happy when I’m with you.”

A smile stretches across your face. “So let’s be happy together, then. You don’t have to hide things. We can be a team.”

Five nods, grinning as he closes the gap between you two once more. “Happy…together…two words that I’d never thought I’d use to describe my life.”

“Well I suppose you’ll just have to expand your vocabulary, then Five,” You say sarcastically, giggling lightly.

“I suppose so, (Y/N).”

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ineffablegame · 4 years

Note

hey for the prompt thing: a/c 43 taking care when the other one's sick?

I hope this doesn’t feel like I phoned it in! :o

Also available on my Ao3.

In Crawly’s defense, he hadn’t meant to get mixed up in Legion’s nonsense.

He hadn’t even wanted to be in Gerasa. He’d been shooting for Pella, intent on meeting Aziraphale for evening drinks at a tavern of some repute, but he’d bungled the miracle and sent himself too far east. He’s been in Gerasa not five minutes before Legion streaks past, clad in the body of an emaciated human and nothing else. Stupid with shock, Crawly is helpless against Legion’s pull; it sucks him in, as powerful as gravity, and he is trapped inside the pinwheeling pandemonium of the human’s mind before he can so much as blink.

Legion is a well-known party animal in the bowels of Hell. Sometimes, they make for a roaring good time. Whenever the ruling class of Hell looks away long enough for the lesser demons to drum up a party, Legion is always the first on the dance floor, badly-boogying their little heart out.

This would all have been tolerable – fun, even – if that were the end of it. But Legion is the sort of obnoxious partier that inspires frat boys ‘round the world to get spectacularly shitfaced, ratchet up the decibels of their bellowing with each successive drink, and plague every woman in a fifty-yard radius with atrocious pick-up lines and beer-rank breath.

They are, in short, an unholy pain in the arse. And Crawly’s just been forced to share some poor sod’s body with them.

“Crawly!” they exclaim. Their voice is a cataclysm of shrieks and squeals and wrenching moans, impossible for the human larynx to replicate. Crawly winces as pain lances through the man’s throat. “How you doin’, buddy?”

“Uh, fine,” he replies automatically, because banal pleasantries are the only blessed thing that make sense in the careening carousal of flashing light flickering image dank dark gibbering sobs please let me go let me go let me GO— “Er. Just great.”

“We haven’t seen you since… shit, can’t remember the last time!”

Yes, Crawly thinks, I’d been rather making an effort with that.

“Where are we?” he asks, because the sooner he gets past the basics, the sooner he’ll be able to disentangle himself and escape. “Who are we?”

“Hell’s teeth, I dunno!” Legion bellows.

“So why are we—”

“I was bored! Buddy, am I glad you came along! We’re gonna have so much fun with this stupid human!”

Crawly, inwardly grimacing, resigns himself to be an unwilling guest in the revelry. Legion is an idiot with the attention span of a goldfish; the moment they lose interest and cast the wasted husk of this human body aside, he’ll be free. He only has to wait.

Three days later, Legion hasn’t lost interest. And then Jesus of Nazareth wanders into Gerasa.

“Hello, there,” says Jesus.

Legion may be a fool, but they know the Son of God when they see him. They pull back the man’s lips in a feral snarl. “Dude, fuck off. There’s, like, a ton of us.”

Jesus of Nazareth smiles benignly, head cocked, eyebrows arched. Crawly, crammed inside a body that feels like it’s withering away by the minute, shivers with a soul-deep terror.

“There certainly are a lot of you,” says Jesus. “It’s not right, one person being so many.”

As he speaks, each word uttered with total composure, Crawly becomes aware of the squeals and snorts of pigs nearby. He clambers up to the human’s eyes, elbowing fragments of Legion aside for a look. Over the Son of Man’s shoulder, a boy and his father are guiding their herd of swine toward the scene.

“I think,” Jesus says, quiet menace creeping into his tone, “that you should go back to being separate. Now.”

The change is dizzying in its suddenness. Before Crawly can make sense of what has happened, he is looking up at Mary’s baby boy from an entirely different angle, snorting and snuffling and stamping his trotters in the dirt. He’s been dropped into a bloody pig like a recalcitrant plant that’s outgrown its pot.

The squeals around him reach a frantic pitch and Crawly turns, startled. The other pigs are throwing back their heads with rending screams, eyes rolling, spittle flying from their mouths. A fragment of Legion has been placed inside each one, and the separation is driving them mad with terror. They barrel past the boy and his father, heedless of their staffs, and stampede down the rutted dirt road. It is a narrow road, turning sharply to hug a cliff face overlooking a deep, cold lake.

Jesus blinks.

A thunderous rumbling sound judders over Legion’s screams and the road buckles, crumbles. Crawly watches, relief warring with terror, as each pig topples after the other like chain link following chain link to vanish, shrieking and cursing, over the side of the cliff. The sound of frantic splashing ensues, cut short with preternatural swiftness. Silence descends.

Jesus turns to Crawly, who shrinks into himself inasmuch as a two-hundred and fifty-pound hog can shrink. But the Christ’s smile is no longer menacing; in fact, it’s practically pleasant, warming Crawly from the tip of his snout to the end of his curly tail. His every demonic instinct warns him against that warmth – that his will is being leaned on, manipulated – but it’s difficult to focus when he feels suddenly so content.

“Hello, Crowley,” says Jesus.

“That’s not my name,” Crawly replies. It’s all squealing and snorting, but the Word of Life understands him anyway.

“My mistake,” Jesus says, in the unbothered, smiling way of someone quite certain they aren’t mistaken. “Crawly, is it?”

“Maybe,” Crawly mumbles.

“Sorry about that. The snout, I mean. Legion had quite the hold on you.”

“Um… it’s fine…?”

“I’ll sort you out right now.” Her Only Begotten Son rubs his palms together in a way that, some millennia later, will come to mind when Aziraphale embarks on his one-sided love affair with magic tricks. “Send you off to your friend.”

“My wh—”

Crawly’s vision whites out before he can complete the question. A moment later, blinking dazedly past the haloes branded on the backs of his eyelids, Crawly finds himself seated at a table, back in his own body. Aziraphale, siting opposite of him with a jug raised to his lips, stares in wide-eyed amazement. He lowers the jug.

“Crawly!” he says. “Why, we were supposed to meet three days ago! I was worried sick!”

“I’m—” Crawly pauses, sniffling, and sneezes. He pointedly ignores the offended expression on Aziraphale’s face as he shields the jug from a drizzle of snot. Recovering with an accusatory look around the tavern, he continues, “Glad you were able to overcome your crippling worry and c—” Another sneeze, and this time Aziraphale lifts the jug out of harm’s way. Crawly soldiers on. “Carry on without me.”

Aziraphale has the grace to look guilty. “This is the seasonal menu. It won’t last much longer.”

“Of course. How silly of me.” Crawly points at the jug. “Give me that.”

“It’s mine,” Aziraphale sniffs.

“Angel.” Crawly leans across the table, elbows propped on the gnarled wood. “I’ve been stuck in a human’s body for the last three days with the most annoying demon this side of Creation. After that, I was trapped inside a sodding pig. Give. Me. That. Drink.”

His speech would be more persuasive without a dribble of snot hanging off the end of his nose, but Crawly glares at the angel nonetheless, determined not to be cowed. After a moment of staring, perplexed, Aziraphale passes him the jug.

“You’re leaking,” the angel says petulantly.

“S’fine.” Crawly takes a determined swig. “It’ll pass in a minute, don’t you worry.”

It doesn’t pass. In fact, over the next few days, the sneezing gets worse. With it comes a ridiculous amount of snot, rivers of the stuff, and chills and fevers and stomach upsets that put him entirely off drinking altogether. By the seventh day, he is bedridden, wheezing and certain he’s about to be discorporated with Someone’s inventive new take on the plague.

“Oh, stop being so melodramatic,” Aziraphale says, miracling a square of linen to mop the sweat from his brow. “You’ll be ship-shape in no time.”

“It was the pigs,” Crawly rambles, staring at Aziraphale with glassy eyes. “I’ve… I’ve got a pig illness. A pig flu. A swine flu.”

Aziraphale, cold-hearted nurse that he is, merely scoffs. “What rubbish. ‘Swine flu.’” He chuckles. “I’m sure I’ve never heard such nonsense.”

“Bet it’ll be all the funnier when it kills me,” Crawly moans. “Then you can laugh.”

“Hush.” Aziraphale lays a gentle hand on his brow. There is no miracle at work – only the cool, steady pressure of his touch. Somehow, that is enough. Crawly closes his eyes with a sigh.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #cliche prompts #good omens fanfic #long post #i hope it's okay that jesus is here too?

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bleepblopbloop56 · 4 years

Text

The Murder In The Dressing Room

Chapter 9

Mostly unedited.

Warnings: blood, major character death, guns.

For an update on the situation read this post

"He's so tiny…" Logan laughed lightly, watching as Patton's little hand wrapped around his pinkie, not even closing all the way around it. He tried to pull in his hand to his mouth before Logan tutted and pushed a pacifier in instead. The news that he now had a real human child still hadn’t fully sunk in yet. He was properly accommodated, of course- the apartment was stuffed with cribs, bottles, pacifiers, toys, baby clothes (including Patton’s current light blue onesie dotted with little white cupcakes- which, as a police officer, Logan could say with authority was illegally cute), and diapers galore- but that didn't make it any less terrifying.

"He looks like a baby doll," Virgil commented, playing with his toes. Patton squealed and drooled around his pacifier.

"He is rather perfect, don't you think?" Logan giggled. A lot had happened in the last few months. Roman had cheated on him, his best friend had died giving birth and he’d had to fight to adopt her child as soon as possible… but now he was here, holding Patton in his home for the first time.

"Uh oh, is Detective Grey getting all emotional?" he giggled, tickling Patton lightly. "You hear that? Dadda's getting all emotional over you! Your dadda looovesssss yooooou!" he baby talked, punctuating each sentence with a tickle. Patton kicked his little legs the best he could in fits of giggles.

"He loves you so much Patton! He's gonna be the best dad in the whole world!"

“Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up,” Logan chanted as if it would actually do something as he shot down the road. He had barely had enough time to shout out directions and get his gear before racing down the street like his life depended on it. If Logan had his way, he'd make the forty minute drive in ten or crash trying.

“Yellow?” Emile's typical greeting was as cheerful as ever, despite the obvious grogginess in his voice. That was what he got for being an old man who went to bed at 6 o’clock.

“Patton- where is he?” Logan demanded, taking a turn a little too fast and sliding off the road for a moment before straightening out, mumbling obscenities under his breath all the while. How many traffic laws was he breaking? What would he do if he came across another car on the road? Did it even matter?

“He's in the living room- Logan, what's wrong?” he started sounding more conscious, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Go check on him right now," Logan ordered, “and don't let him leave your sight until I tell you its safe.” Another car swerved around him, nearly hitting him. Distantly, Emile could hear a horn honking and Logan shouting curses in return.

“Logan what's happening?” He shuffled on a robe, pulling himself up and towards the door. A quick peek into the living room verified that the toddler was sleeping peacefully on the baby bed Emile had managed to stuff in his car while picking Patton up. As if he could sense Emile’s gaze, Patton sputtered a bit before rolling over, the picture of peace. “He's fine, fast asleep, but Logan, are you okay?”

“Go get him. Now. Don't let him out of your sight until I say so, okay?” There was only hesitant silence from the phone. “Okay?!”

"Okay," Emile whispered back softly. He picked Patton up with shaking hands, shushing him when he started to wake up. But it was to no avail: despite his best efforts, Patton started to cry on the walk back to Emile’s room. "Logan," he pleaded, "just tell me what's going on."

Hearing the sound of Patton's voice made him slow down significantly. Getting killed in a car crash would only hurt Patton; besides, if Logan was going to die, that son of a bitch would have to kill him himself. Logan wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of doing it without putting in the work.

"There's been a threat... I can't come get him until we know the suspect is in police custody." Logan faltered, his attempt at a neutral voice failing, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. "They got Remy… my partner. We have a significant lead, but that's all I can say. This is all going to be over soon." He didn't mention that by "lead" he meant "I know who killed them and I'm currently speeding to his house to either kill him or get killed."

"What does that mean?" Emile put down Patton on his bed, rubbing his hand through his hair to get him back to sleep. His brother had always told him everything, and him evading the question like this was enough to make him feel as if the world was ending. Logan didn't lie, and he didn't avoid questions. No matter what you asked him, Logan would respond quickly and honestly, even if that answer was I don't know.

"Someone’s made a threat on Patton's life," he said quietly, pointedly not vocalizing "and mine as well.'' "I need you to double check your doors and windows for me, make sure everything's secure, and call 911 if you hear anything at all, okay?"

The other end was silent as Emile struggled to think of a response.

"Please be safe" he settled on. Logan nodded, mumbling an "I will" before hanging up, grip on the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Roman?!" Logan screamed. Distantly, Logan wondered what his colleagues would think if they saw him like this, wild-eyed and hoarse from shouting and breaking down doors in a house he didn’t have a permit to enter. He wasn't clearing rooms, he didn't have his gun in his hand; he was just ransacking the place in a blind panic. All of it went against protocol, and right now he couldn’t care less. "Roman, where are you?!"

His mind jumped back to the text he'd gotten right after he had found Remy’s body. Logan had been standing in his office- the room he worked in nearly every day, defiled by the blood of one of his closest friends- when his phone chimed. He could only stare dully at the words flashing there. 'I can't do this, I'm going home,' they read, and for a second Logan wondered if this was it- if he was going to lose Roman as quickly as he’d gotten him back.

But that hadn’t been Roman. It couldn't have been. Logan wouldn't believe it. And the only thing worse than the idea of Roman leaving was the idea that Roman had left because he was in trouble- that Ethan had gotten to Roman before he could.

Logan froze at the sound of the front door slamming behind him, the noise cutting through even Logan’s shouts. He had known, at the back of his mind, that he was being unforgivably reckless. He had entered Ethan's territory disregarding the fact that he had proven himself more intelligent and capable than any criminal he faced before. But he had still thought that he would get farther than a few rooms into the house before being caught.

And now he was going to die.

"God, this is so fucking sad," a voice hissed, the telltale noise of a gun cocking behind him far too close for comfort. "You couldn't just stay put, could you? I was JUST about to go find you, and now I have to worry about fucking blood stains on my white carpet…"

Logan whipped around, only to freeze again at the sight of the barrel of a gun in his face, Ethan behind the trigger. Ethan kicked him in the stomach before he could reach for his gun, knocking him to the floor. Logan wheezed, desperately trying to regain his breath and get back up, but Ethan loomed over him, pressing his gun to Logan's forehead.

Logan braced himself. He'd been a detective for a long time- he knew what was coming next.

But Ethan only made a tutting noise, wagging his finger disapprovingly. "Silly little detective…" he laughed. "If you behave, I might just kill you the easy way! Let's not make this harder than it has to be…" He traced the gun down Logan's face, the cold metal gazing his eye and cheek before landing on his lips. "Well, let's see how well you roll over for me. Why don't you give it a kiss, huh?" The look in his eyes dared Logan to say no. Like he wanted to see how long he could drag out his little game before either he or Logan snapped.

It would be beyond degrading to kiss the gun that would most likely end him, to look his killer in the eyes when he was on his knees. But between the choice of humiliation and survival… Logan puckered his lips and lightly kissed the gun. If he could just keep Ethan distracted until backup arrived everything would be okay, it had to be…

"Good boy!" The sick feeling in Logan's gut only worsened at Ethan's tone- it was as if he was talking to a dog who had successfully performed a trick rather than a human being he was threatening to murder. "Good boys get treats! You know what your treat is?!" He spoke in high trills, happy hisses filled with poison. Logan noticed Dee had scale tattoos crawling up his arm, starting presumably from underneath his yellow glove. "Your treat is a quick and easy death! Do try to keep it down, we don't want the noise to scare Roman. " Dee traced the gun around his face again before pressing it against his temple. He pushed Logan's head gently with the gun, moving until his cheek pressed against the wall, and Logan could tell instinctively that this time Dee wouldn’t hold back.

"Wait!" Logan shouted, the refrain keep him distracted, keep him distracted running through his head. "I want to have another… treat." Over the blood thundering in his ears, a thought reverberated in his head, slamming like a wave against his brain again and again: This is the lowest moment of my life.

Ethan perked up, happy his little toy was playing his game so easily, but the suspicious glint in his eyes told Logan he didn't have long to talk.

"Let me say goodbye to Roman.." The words ached in his chest. Logan knew he had to play up the pathetic factor to get Ethan to humor him, but they came out too honest and real for him to convince himself it was all for show. Somewhere behind the desperation, it was a legitimate request.

Ethan hesitated like he was thinking about it, clicking his tongue a few times in thought. "I don't know if you've been that good" he said slowly. "I think I'd rather just kill you!" He smiled, and Logan suddenly thought back to the brief personality profile that had been pulled together on him when Roman was deemed a suspect. Everything about Ethan seemed to point to a perfectly friendly, if slightly closed-off, man with a clean record and plenty of friendly acquaintances. Nothing to suggest someone like this..

Logan was out of options, out of time, and he decided if he could just drag this out, just long enough to keep roman alive.. If he could just llay into what ethan wanted from him...

Put on a show…

He hunched his shoulders and began to cry.

"Please," he begged, hoping that Ethan would enjoy seeing Logan in pain enough to let the scene last longer. Maybe not long enough for Logan to come out of this alive, but long enough for the cops to arrive, long enough to save Roman… "I know I took him from you-" appealing to him directly- "and I know that you're angry, but please… Just let me see him one last time."

His shoulders were heaving now, real tears falling to the ground. It wasn't just Roman he was crying about- it was all of them. All of the innocent lives taken simply because they knew the wrong people, caught in a spider web of murders only because they had offered a home to Roman or a helping hand to Logan. He cried for how he had screamed and broke things after finding Virgil in the bedroom until he heard the sirens approaching his apartment. How he'd pulled Roman away from his brother, lying in a pool of red, the one and only time Remus had ever been quiet. How he had said goodbye to Thomas one day and then hadn't visited him again until he had been murdered. How not even an hour before now he had seen his partner, his friend, Remy sitting where he did so often, coffee cold on the desk and glasses broken on the floor. How Patton could be next, and by association Emile.

And Ethan laughed.

"Oh, alright!" he giggled, high-pitched and manic. He pushed Logan's chin up with his gun to look at him. "No need to look so pathetic, little detective! This'll be good for Roman, to see you die."

Logan moved to stand up, but Ethan leaned down and grabbed his hair, shoving him back down.

"Nuh-uh-uh!" Ehtan chirped, bringing the gun up to Logan’s forehead again and pressing down. "Be a good little boy and crawl for me?”

Logan froze, his thoughts from before echoing. But he had no way out, and they both knew it. Ethan grinned like a hunter watching their prey walk into a trap. "Come on, let’s go."

It couldn't have been comfortable for Ethan to pull Logan forward through the whole house, but for the pleasure of humiliating his victim, it was worth it. He dragged Logan all the way to the back of the house until they reached a door so small Logan probably would’ve skipped it while searching for Roman. He flipped open the lock and turned the light on one-handedly before starting down the stairs, allowing Logan to walk while keeping a firm grip on his hair.

"Logan?" Roman's voice was scratchy from crying, but it flooded with disbelief, wonder, hope- until he registered who Logan was with. "Ethan, what are you doing, let him go!" he yelled, scrambling to his feet.

Ethan shoved Logan to his feet, sauntering forward to Roman. "Little Detective Grey here cracked the case, and this is his reward! He wanted to say goodbye to his precious little baby." The fake pout in his voice was somehow more disrespectful than anything he'd done so far. Roman's lip trembled heavily, crying despite having no more tears.

"But I followed the rules!" he pleaded. "I didn't run or yell or call anyone- Ethan, I'm sorry, I'll be good- I followed the rules, please! Please, don't hurt him-" He clutched onto Ethan's shirt, shaking enough to match his stuttering, but Ethan just shoved him off forcefully.

"This is for your own good, Roman," he sneered. "You have sixty seconds to say goodbye. Play nice, boys," He let go of Logan's hair and let him lurch for Roman, like a dog being let off their leash.

"Fifty-eight! Fifty-seven!" Roman began to sob as the countdown started, loud and He started counting down loudly, Logan hushed the apologies and sobs from Roman, trying to get him to quieten down for long enough to hatch a plan.

"Roman, listen to me, he'll be watching my hands. I need you to grab my gun and when I say go I need you to use it," he mumbled quickly in his ear. He was trembling himself despite trying to keep things together for Roman. "It's loaded- all you have to do is pull the trigger, okay?"

"Logan-" he sobbed, hand fighting Logan's as he led it down and on top of the gun.

"It's gonna be okay, Roman… I love you," he said quietly, in the background he could tell they were running out of time by Dee's counting, his numbers getting faster and more gleeful as he counted down.

"I love you too," Roman said through sobs, gun fully slid out of the holster and now in his hand.

"Ready?" Logan asked. Five seconds left…

"3… 2… 1," Logan counted down alongside Dee, jumping out of the way of Roman as he pulled up the gun and pointed it towards Ethan's chest.

It was as if time slowed down to make a frozen tableau- Logan slamming into the hard floor, Roman's shaking hands pulling the trigger, Ethan's expression dropping as he was forced to face the consequences of his actions for the very first time. The noise of the gun was deafening within the small basement, ringing in their ears for what felt like hours after it went off.

One shot, straight to the chest, and Ethan was done, flung backwards by the impact.

Roman dropped the gun after he hit him, flinching at the crash of it hitting the floor and wrapping his arms around himself.

He looked down at the man in front of him, not dead yet but not alive either. In that state of being where Roman assumes you see your life flash before his eyes. Roman wondered what he saw...

"I'm sorry..." He cried, jerking away when Logan touched him, hitting the wall and closing his eyes, sobbing as hard as when he had seen remus, shaking like he had been dunked in ice water and left in the arctic, and breathing as if he never would again.

A door above them bursted open police shouting and flashlights searching every room. "DOWN HERE!" Logan called, flashlights shining in his face when they reached the basement door. Roman raised his hands above his head, now a murderer no better than Ethan.

Taglist

@cataclysm-al @knightinsoftpastels @intruality-fusion @katie-the-noble-fangirl @whizzie72 @grayson-22 @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @winterwonderland7669 @missieluvsmurder @sign-from-god-complex @dragonindigo245 @angryfanboyscreaming @ninja-wizard101 @sombraookami @crystalistrappedintheinternet @imtooaromanticforthis @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @dragon-hair @satanblessi @spookilyfingergunsoutofexistence @skruffy901 @selectivereality @nonbeenary-enbee @imbasicallyshakespear @cats-vetal-miking-vomit @incoherentfangirl @oofmood @nonbinary-pineapple @royalnerd829 @idontgiveafuckaboutshit @magma-llama @chumo-cookie

#the murder in the dressing room #logan sanders #roman sanders #logince #unsympathetic deceit #blood tw #gore tw #guns #major character death

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5eyes · 5 years

Text

Bitter Cold

Summary: The Damien Project has just been uploaded and has brought up a lot of memories that Dark would have preferred stayed in the recesses of his brain. Now he's struggling with separating those memories from who he is now, but thankfully Wilford is there to keep him company, at the very least.

Wilford hesitantly raised his hand to knock on the door. He nearly laughed when he saw that his hand was shaking. He was the last person that he would have expected to get nervous about something as simple as knocking on a door, but then again today really wasn’t what even he would call “normal”. He took a breath and gently rapped his fist again the door.

“Dark? It’s me,”

There was no answer aside from a very faint shuffling sound. Wil grasped the doorknob with a slightly sweaty hand and pushed it open.

“Hey, I just wanted to check on you, make sure you were alright,” he said as he stepped into the office, shutting the door behind him. Now that he could see Dark he was glad that he had gone with the soft approach.

The entity was on the floor, slumped against the wall, legs tucked under him with his head down, and he looked a mess. His jacket was missing and his clothes were rumpled and appeared to be stained with some kind of black substance, the sight of which made Wil’s heart clench in his chest. Even from across the room and through the sounds of his abnormally sluggish aura, he could make out Dark’s pained, shuddery wheezing. He slowly approached the man and sat down in front of him.

“Hey,” he whispered. Dark’s only response was to clench his eyes shut for a moment and swallow back what was most likely blood, judging by the dark stain of it on his lips that appeared to match the spatter down his shirt.

Wilford tilted his head, a worried frown tugging at his lips. He slowly reached his hand up to cup Dark’s cheek, giving the other man time to pull away if he wanted.

Dark leaned weakly into Wil’s touch and closed his eyes again, letting out a pained whimper, just barely audible, even in the unnatural quiet of both the room and his aura. Wil ran his thumb over Dark’s cheek.

“I’m here. It’s okay,” he slowly opened his arms and wrapped them around Dark, humming softly when he felt the entity relax, even though it was only a little. He carefully scooped Dark up so he was more in his lap than on the floor, being careful not to jostle him too much.

Even still, Dark whined through a choked gasp at the movement, pressing himself further against Wilford.

“I’ve got you,” Wil said softly. He brushed his fingers through Dark’s hair, closing his eyes as he felt the man shudder and cough up a little more blood.

“W- Will...” Wilford pretended he couldn’t hear the crack in Dark’s voice or how raspy it was, no doubt from screaming himself hoarse.

“I’m here, Dove, I’m here,”

“Hurts... cold... Will-” he was interrupted by a soft sob bubbling past his lips. Wilford had to fight to keep his grip from tightening protectively around Dark, but he couldn’t stop his sharp intake of breathe at what Dark said next. “Don’t... leave me alone... please... scared...” he buried his face against Wilford’s chest. “Please...”

Wil let out a noise of disbelief. There were hot tears making their way down his cheeks now and he knew he couldn’t stop them if he tried. So instead he shifted so his face was in the crook of Dark’s neck.

“Now, you listen to me, Dove. I’m not going to leave you. You’re not going to be alone again. I don’t care how many times I have to say it, because it will never be any less true. I love you, and I’m not going to let you suffer on your own, never again. I promise,”

Dark suddenly jolted, a small whine escaping him as he tensed up.

“Don’t watch the video. Please, you can’t- I- I can’t-” he was starting to spiral so Wilford cut him off.

“I won’t. I swore I wouldn’t, didn’t I?” He asked.

Dark didn’t answer.

“Dark, what did I tell you when you told me not to look into this project of Mark’s?” He asked again. Dark took a shaky breath.

“Y- You said... you weren’t going to let some- some silly little video dredge up ol- old memories,”

Wil nodded against his shoulder.

“Right, and that stands for both my memories and yours. It’s not gonna be of any help to you if I’m stuck in a past I can’t change. What matters is the man in front of me here and now.” he said firmly, moving to place a gentle kiss to the top of Dark’s head. “And right now I’d much rather be here with you than watching some dingy history film.”

Dark let out a huff that might’ve, at another time, been a laugh.

“Then can we just... can we just sit here... just for a bit?” His voice came out soft, almost gentle in its exhausted brokenness.

“You don’t want to move to the bed? I’m sure it’d be more comfortable than the floor.” Wil said. Dark shook his head, curling further against the larger man.

“No, just here. Just for now,” he pleaded.

After a moment, Wil gave a small sigh, smiling sadly as he cradled Dark in his arms.

“Sure thing, Dove,”

#Darkiplier #Darkstache #Wilford Warfstache #damien project #markiplier egos #ego fanfic #this is a little shorter than my usual fics #Ave's junk drawer #iplr radar #business.demon (Dark)#pretty.in.pink (Wilford)

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megabadbunny · 5 years

Text

no birds sing

an epilogue to la belle dame sans merci, dedicated to @chiaroscuroverse and @elialys and everyone else who inspired me with their wonderful sweet encouragement <3 <3 <3 but first, a warning: heavy angst ahead.

***

A gasp tears out between his teeth and his heart thunders frantically in his throat, hammer-hammer-hammering in time to the shrill squeal of monitors screaming all around him.

“Oh my god, he’s awake!” he hears someone cry out, and the voice is familiar, but he can’t place it, can’t picture the face forming the words, can’t feel the meaning behind them, he can’t—

His eyes fly open to find Jackie Tyler staring down at him.

Jackie positively beams, a grin splitting her face ear-to-ear while a tear trickles its way down her cheek. “Well, it’s about time, you daft wanker!”

The Doctor blinks bright hospital lights out of his eyes (except they’re not bright at all, they’re dim and comfortable, but opening his eyes fucking hurts) and he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out but a dull wheeze.

“Right,” says Jackie, and she scurries into the shadows of his periphery. He can’t see her, and he hasn’t got the energy to follow her with either his head or his gaze, so he listens instead to the telltale sounds of something clinking (hollow, non-crystalline, glass) followed by a hiss and a slosh (grinding, compression, a faucet, water), all of it just barely audible over the quieting beeps and chimes of the hospital equipment around him. A cup full of water enters his field of vision, a well-manicured and many-ringed fist wrapped tightly around it, and he reaches out with a weak and trembling hand. Fortunately, Jackie keeps her hold on the cup, allowing him to guide it to his lips at his leisure, and only a little bit dribbles down his chin.

“There you go, love,” says Jackie, her voice softening into something smooth, as gentle as the Doctor has ever heard it directed at him; it’s the same voice she uses for Tony when he’s sick or hurt. “Been a little while since you had a proper drink, yeah? You’re probably parched, poor thing. And famished, too, I’d wager.”

Gulping down the last of the water, the Doctor tries to speak again, with every intention of saying thank you, followed by the query of how long he’s been unconscious, but something else comes out instead.

“Rose?” he gasps.

Jackie’s smile tightens. “Yeah. She’s here. But, Doctor—”

The creak of the opening door cuts off her words; as if on cue, Rose slips into the room. Silhouetted by the light in the hall, her expression is unreadable, but that doesn’t mean the Doctor’s doesn’t try anyway, his eyes traveling over everything from her hair (a mess) to her shoulders (slumped) to her hands (tense, balled into fists) to her trousers (wrinkled) and everything in-between.

Relief and his heartrate rise in equal measure, spoken into sound by the surrounding monitors chiming erratically around him. God, she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Why don’t I just let you two get to it?” asks Jackie, and she leaves without waiting for an answer.

Rose fidgets in the doorway. The Doctor waits patiently for a moment, but after it becomes apparent that she is not, in fact, going to throw herself into his arms—not that he expected that or anything, not that he secretly hoped for it, certainly not—he pats the empty spot of mattress next to him, the motion weary and faint.

Eyes flickering nervously (and the Doctor wonders at that, what on earth she would have to be nervous about), Rose draws near. “Hey,” she says, her voice quiet as she approaches the Doctor. “Long time, no see.”

Mutely, the Doctor nods. Probably he can speak now, but he doesn’t dare; he isn’t certain he could summon forth anything but a cracking sob. The fact that his brain didn’t trick him after all, that she’s real and she’s here and she stayed, with him, suffuses him with a sort of desperate gladness that he didn’t even know was possible.

Rose sits gingerly on the bed and he just watches her, wonders why she can’t seem to look him in the eye. But maybe she’s just exhausted—he doesn’t know how long he’s been out, after all, or when he was stung, or how long she’s had to worry over him.

“So, erm—” Rose tries to say, but the Doctor has already rallied all of his strength to sit up and pull her into a bruising kiss.

With a jolt, Rose stiffens, but the Doctor just clings harder, grasping her by the upper arm until he’s sure he’ll leave marks behind as his other hand tangles in her hair. I’m so glad you’re here, he wants to tell her, and he thinks maybe he can will her to understand with his lips brushing hers; maybe she’ll hear it in their shared breath. I’m so glad you’re with me, I missed you, I love you—

With a gasp, Rose yanks herself out of his grap, backing away into the wall behind her. Her hand flies up to her mouth and she watches him with eyes wide as saucer plates.

For a moment, the Doctor just stares, bewildered (and, if he’s being honest, just a little hurt), but then he laughs. “Sorry,” he rasps, raking both hands through his sleep-matted hair. “My breath is probably atrocious, isn’t it?”

Rose blinks. “What?”

“Well, I’ve been out for at least a few days, haven’t I?” asks the Doctor. Exploring the landscape of stubble on his cheekbones with tentative fingertips, he winces. “Or longer—a week, maybe close to two. Blimey. Anyway, you don’t have much of a chance to brush your teeth in a Morpheus coma, do you? So that was probably a nasty surprise just now, probably a bit like getting snogged by a Varuvian swamp-monster.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

The Doctor laughs, a little louder this time. “That’s a good one, tell me another.”

When Rose doesn’t reply, just staring at him in utter confusion, the Doctor’s confidence begins to falter, his smile slipping.

“Why wouldn’t I kiss you?” he asks.

Rose wraps her arms around her ribs, closing in on herself. Protecting herself. “You never have before.”

“Of course I have, don’t be silly,” the Doctor says, and he laughs again, but the sound is weaker this time, thinner. “Loads of times, Rose—is something wrong with your memory? Were you stung as well—were you exposed to the Morpheus toxin?”

“No. There’s nothing wrong with my memory. And I wasn’t here for the Morpheus incident—I only read about it in the report.”

(A flash of pain at the base of his neck, burning between his atlas and axis vertebrae, and he remembers the bite of the sting and the burning after, and he remembers that Rose was there and bandaged his wound, and—)

“No,” says the Doctor, slowly. “You were there. I know you were. I remember…”

(He remembers hurt, but she was there to help—wasn’t she?)

“I wasn’t,” Rose says, and she sounds impossibly far away, now. “Doctor, we haven’t seen each other in ages. Not since I left y—not since that second time on Bad Wolf Bay.”

Her words hang in the air long after she says them, and the Doctor’s smile leaves his face like it was never there.

Blood drains from his head in a deafening pump-pump-pump that rushes in his ears and drowns out everything else around him, even the screeching cacophony of the alarms. He clutches the edge of the mattress for support as the room tilts, blurring his vision, closing in, pressing on his chest, tightening around his throat—

“—breathe, Doctor, please!” he hears, or thinks he hears filtering in amongst the rest of the clatter, and thinks he feels the pressure of a familiar hand on his chest, on his cheek, but he can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t think—

(She’s not there, she was never there, there were no kisses, no whispered confessions, no lazy afternoons or too-late nights, no silly movies or ignored phone calls or held hands or stolen glances or too-tight embraces no missions no fights no shared flats no shared beds no them no her no no no no no no please)

The next thing he knows, the room is full, crowded to the corners with physicians and nurses checking monitors and taking notes and taking his pulse and asking dozens or maybe hundreds of questions. Lights shine in his eyes and fingers press against his wrist and the cold press of a stethoscope chills his chest and a needle pinches the inside of his arm, the soft fleshy bit inside his elbow (his antecubital fossa, he thinks dully) and for once, thank god for Jackie because she’s back in the room, answering everything for him, her hand wrapped tightly around his. Before long he feels himself drifting, the tether of his consciousness snapped and released and floating away into a deep, black darkness.

(He can’t make out the words, but he can hear the concern in Jackie’s voice; she squeezes his hand in assurance and he thinks he should squeeze back, but all he can do is wonder why it isn’t Rose holding his hand before the curtains fall and the dark claims him again.)

***

“…you sure, though?”

“Positive. It was the first thing that came out of his mouth.”

The monitors aren’t nearly so loud, this time; now, they’re quiet enough that the Doctor can easily hear the sounds of whispering out in the corridor, swimming in through his muddled senses.

“I don’t know,” says Rose’s voice. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come back.”

“Now that’s bollocks and you know it,” Jackie replies.

“The way he looked at me—he’s never gonna forgive me, Mum.”

“Have you tried asking?”

“That’s just gonna make things worse.”

He can practically hear the sound of Jackie’s jaw setting. “Don’t know if that’s possible, sweetheart.”

A sigh. “Oh, god. Not right now. Please—”

“I’m just saying, he’s not the only one who needs—”

“Can we at least talk about this outside? He’s gonna wake up again.”

“Let him. I’d wager he’s had enough sleep for a while.”

Jackie isn’t wrong, but the Doctor can still feel sleep tugging at him, pulling insistently at his bones. He struggles to open his eyes, fights to keep them from closing again.

“Mum, I don’t know what to do,” Rose admits quietly.

At least they’ve got that in common, the Doctor thinks as he slides back into unconsciousness.

***

Hours later, and he awakes just long enough to see Rose napping on the couch next to his bed.

(She’ll be gone in the morning; he’ll think he could have imagined her presence if it wasn’t for the bare traces of her scent lingering on the air.)

***

“So,” Rose says hesitantly the next day, when everyone else has finally (blessedly) left and it’s just the two of them in his dim little room. “How much do you remember?”

His head falls back on the pillow (a short journey, fortunately, since one of the nurses kindly propped him up; his muscles will recover quickly enough, a side effect of whatever remains of his Time Lord brain chemistry, but they still haven’t moved to speak of for nearly three hundred hours, and they’re bloody tired) and his voice stays silent. He doesn’t want to answer. Doesn’t want to know what other questions his replies will inspire, what other questions and answers will follow, what kind of wearied vicious cycle will eat and regurgitate itself as a result.

“Do you recall anything that happened after we got back from the other universe?”

Of course he does; he recalls late mornings, missions on rooftops, shots downed for courage, the rhythmic pump-pump-pump of the bass in a crowded tiny pub. He recalls that she was there for each of those things, and that she wasn’t, that it’s all a muddy collection of false memories and half-dreams and things-that-could-have-been, but-weren’t. He knows that it feels like she was with him, but she wasn’t.

He closes his eyes. Maybe he can just tell Rose he hasn’t got the energy for this interrogation session. It would be honest enough.

(“Aren’t you tired?” she asks upon awakening in his bed—except she never did, did she?)

“Are you very angry with me?”

At that he opens his eyes so he can look at her, read the emotion flitting across her face as she steels herself for his response. She looks worn, almost as wan as he feels, and that’s saying something.

He doesn’t know if he can bring himself to be honest with her.

“Why did you come back?” he asks instead.

Glancing down at her hands, Rose avoids his gaze, watching her empty fingers curl and unfurl. “There were all these cracks in the walls between universes. Reality sort of split again—something to do with the TARDIS, but it’s all sorted now. I used my dimension-hopper to get through one of the holes left behind.”

The Doctor waits patiently. “Why?” he asks again.

After a moment, Rose meets his gaze. “He heard you,” she tells him. “The Doctor—the other Doctor. He said when all the cracks started opening up, he could hear you across the Void.”

“I never sent any kind of message,” the Doctor says, frowning. “I know that much.”

“It wasn’t like that—he could hear your thoughts. Or your dreams, more like. Like a telepathic connection.”

“What did he hear?”

“He said you were in trouble. Said you were poisoned, trapped in some sort of dream-world. And…”

She swallows. “He said you were calling out my name. Calling for me.”

Something sharp sticks in the Doctor’s chest and now it’s his turn to look away. “Ah,” he says, his voice tight.

“What happened, Doctor? In the dream-world?”

He blinks, and a hundred memories pop behind his eyelids like fireworks—the smell of stew scalding on the stove, the feel of fingers entwining with his, the taste of her skin, damp and salty and sweet.

Fighting to keep his emotions at bay, to push them down and away so his lungs don’t fill and drown with them, he forces his mouth into the shape of a tight smile. “Sorry about that. As I suspected, Morpheus toxins and telepathy don’t mix. I’ll try to keep my nightmares quieter, next time.”

“Nightmares? I thought the toxin made people happy, gave them happy dreams.”

“No.”

Rose falls silent. The air between them is heavy, palpable, swollen with potential words like a raincloud before a storm.

“Doctor,” Rose starts to say, just as the Doctor says, wearily, “I think I’d like a rest, now.”

She looks like she might keep talking anyway, and some part of him wants her to; some part of him wants her to argue, to crinkle her brow and jut out her lower lip and stamp her foot and stand her ground and give him what-for, like she would have done before, in his dreams and back in the other universe. He doesn’t know how to interact with this quiet, almost-shy Rose, who nods silently and goes to the door without so much as a peep or a glance back.

(He wishes she would stay.)

***

Alone in his hospital bed, he thinks and he thinks and he thinks until his skull might split from it, but no matter how he tries, he can’t recall those first few hours back in this universe. He remembers the zeppelin-ride from Norway (where he pulled her close and she snuggled against him even though the armrest dug into both of their ribcages, except she wasn’t there, he just looked at the empty seat next to him and wished she was) and the paperwork he filed upon arriving in England (where she suggested he take the last name Noble, after Donna, and he was touched, except no one mentioned it to him, he thought of it himself) and Pete urging him to find something to do with his spare time (missions for Torchwood, made bearable and even enjoyable by her presence and the times she saved him and he rescued her, except he always went solo). He remembers all of it, up to getting stung in that hazard-zone of a warehouse, and he recalls, with perfect clarity, both versions of everything, both with and without the dreams of her scattered amongst it all. But he can’t remember that second trip to Bad Wolf Bay, no matter how hard he tries.

(She said he didn’t answer, in his dream. But she must have asked, and he must have replied; he’s certain of that. He’s less certain of what his reply may have been.)

***

“Not my problem.”

“It most certainly is your problem, Rose!”

Startling awake, the Doctor turns his head toward the sound of their voices. Probably they think they’re far enough down the corridor that he can’t hear them, but they’re wrong.

A heavy sigh. “It’s obvious he doesn’t want me here, Mum.”

“Now I know you don’t believe that. He loves you, sweetheart. He loves you. Can’t you see that?”

Silence. The Doctor realizes he’s gripping the bedclothes tight enough to tear.

“You don’t want to talk to me? Fine,” says Jackie impatiently. “Talk to him, then.”

The Doctor’s stomach roils at the thought, bubbling queasily. If Rose replies, he doesn’t hear it; the physical therapist has chosen this very moment to enter the room in a clatter of equipment and banging-open doors and cheerful chatter, wallpapering over any other noise. Silently, the Doctor curses the therapist for his terrible timing. (Later, he’ll verbally curse the therapist for popping his back just-so in a flash of surprise hurt, even if it helps with the stiffness and pain. Which, it does help, he will admit. Albeit rather grudgingly.)

***

The physicians and therapists are absolutely delighted (and equally flabbergasted) with the Doctor’s progress. Surprising, they call it, as he recalls facts and figures with pristine clarity, even if one or two of said facts and figures hail from a universe and a lifetime away. Unprecedented, they say of his undiminished capability to problem-solve and compute complex equations in his head, no pencil or paper, ta. Miraculous, they label his ability to execute fine motor skills and walk with only the use of a cane, a mere 43 hours after awakening from his coma.

A bloody nuisance, the Doctor labels it all, and escapes from his attending team at the earliest available opportunity.

Oh, he doesn’t leave the hospital grounds, of course, no matter how much he’d like to. They’d just send a bunch of people after him and it would all be a lot of noise and effort and fuss once they caught up. Besides, as much as he doesn’t like to think about it, he is still awfully tired.

(Not to mention, leaving the hospital means running away from Rose. Or at least it might look that way. Probably a very bad idea, no matter how tempting it may be.)

So the Doctor tries to outrun his thoughts instead, eluding their grasp via laps around the hospital grounds, half-walking, half-hobbling over paths and around trees and garden patches, and he stubbornly does not think about their (his) garden back at their (his) cottage, overflowing with flowers and herbs and weeds and wild rabbits that nibble on everything in sight (except when he returns to the cottage, he won’t find any rabbits, will he, because Rose never planted that little herb garden, because she never got bored one day and decided to half-take up botany for all of a single afternoon, because she was never there). Thus the Doctor’s thoughts prove difficult to outrun, especially at this ungainly and lumbering pace. His energy surrenders far quicker than his torturous thoughts do, and that’s how he finds himself plonked on a bench overlooking a waterfowl pond full of geese (Alopochen aegyptiaca specifically, a gaggle of them, his brain provides helpfully). His muscles whine in faint protest as he sits, his lungs burning and heart thudding sluggishly in his chest. The physicians may all have deemed his recovery thus far as miraculous, but right now, it feels anything but.

He’s been watching the geese on the water for thirty-six minutes and seventeen seconds when he hears her approach. (He is suddenly blisteringly grateful that Jackie brought him pyjamas and a dressing-gown to wear; they may be a little tartan for his tastes, a tad short in the ankles, but he doesn’t much fancy the alternative of Rose seeing him in those unfortunate peekaboo hospital gowns.)

“Would have brought some bread, if I’d known you were here,” Rose says softly, from somewhere close behind him. The Doctor considers telling her she needn’t have bothered, the carbohydrates present in bread makes it a terrible snack for geese’s digestive systems, and besides, the bread from the hospital cafeteria is so bland, even the least discerning of the geese would wrinkle their beaks at it, but he just ends up grunting a noncommittal Mm.

He can hear her fidgeting in the grass. “Would you rather I left you alone?”

Yes, he thinks. Absolutely not, he also thinks. Never again, please.

“Did my flock of dedicated physicians send you looking for me?” he asks instead. “Are you heading the search team?”

“No. It’s just me. I asked them not to send anyone else after you.”

The Doctor glances over his shoulder at her, questioning.

Rose shrugs. “Figured you wouldn’t like it. People fussing over you.”

“Ah,” says the Doctor, nodding even though the movement hurts, likely due to that tight feeling of something twisting in his chest. She’s right, of course--he doesn’t want people fussing over him so much as one person, singular, specific--but he still feels a little disappointed somehow, and worse, he feels stupid for feeling disappointed. “Yes, that would be dreadful, wouldn’t it?” he asks casually, shifting back to watch the geese on the pond. “People fussing over me, caring about where I’ve gone, what I’m doing, how I’m feeling. Who on earth would want something like that?”

A pause, swollen with tension. “Is everything all right?” asks Rose. “Do you--do you want to talk?”

“Who, me? Oh goodness, no,” replies the Doctor. “I’m just here to watch the geese.”

Moments crawl by in silence, the quiet interrupted only by the splashing in the pond in front of them. At least the geese seem to be enjoying themselves, the Doctor thinks morosely. At least they’ve probably all got other geese that care for them, goose-friends and goose-lovers and fucking goose-soulmates that don’t leave each other stranded on stupid beaches in stupid universes all so they can leap right into the arms of other geese just because they think this goose isn’t anything better than a shabby goose-copy, a pale goose-facsimile of their former goose-self, when really, they’re just as much of the same goose as they’ve ever been, right down to the feather patterns and the soft underbellies and the tendency to hiss when cornered.

His thoughts are interrupted by a soft bend in the bench beneath him as Rose sits down, painfully far away, it seems. She sighs. “Look, Doctor--”

“Well, that just about concludes my yard time,” says the Doctor as he springs up from the bench, swaying on his feet only a little bit. He admonishes his body for its unforgivable weakness (surely in his old body, he would have felt better by now) and he refuses to let his head swim. “Time to head back to the plush confines of my cell, shall I? Can’t have you returning to my keepers empty-handed.”

He braces his cane against the ground to stop himself falling over. “All right, Lieutenant Tyler. Tell them I surrendered willingly.”

“Maybe they’ll let you off early for good behavior,” Rose teases with a wan little smile.

“That would be nice for everyone, wouldn’t it?” says the Doctor, hobbling a few halting steps around the bench. “Don’t want to keep the other universe waiting, after all. That would be impolite.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Rose says quietly.

“Of course it is. I’m certain you’re eager to get back to the TARDIS and your life among the stars,” the Doctor replies, and he wills himself not to pant with exertion as he walks away. “Who wouldn’t be?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, and Rose doesn’t offer one, and she doesn’t follow after him. He tells himself he doesn’t care.

***

Maybe it’s just as well Donna isn’t actually here; she wouldn’t tolerate this sort of brooding from him. As it turns out, neither does Jackie.

“Absolutely not,” she says firmly, hands planted on her hips as she glares down at the Doctor in his wheelchair. “You are not going back to that cottage all alone, where you could trip and fall and break your head and no one would know for hours. You’re staying in the mansion, with us, until your physicians give you the all-clear.”

“I’m giving me the all-clear,” the Doctor says impatiently. “I’m fine, Jackie.”

“You’re not. You still need care.”

“And I’ll take care of myself,” says the Doctor, standing up from the wheelchair. Thankfully, he does not sway or waver this time, and he spreads his hands in illustration. “See?” he says, spinning round so he can walk backward over the curb. He sits himself down in Jackie’s town car without even an ounce of (visible) struggle.

Jackie’s gaze narrows. “Fine,” she says. “But if you’re going back to the cottage, you’re going with Rose.”

The Doctor’s throat constricts painfully. “Am I?” he asks, forcing his voice to stay neutral. “I thought she’d be headed back by now.”

“What makes you think that?”

He shrugs. “Stands to reason.”

“What reason?”

“Just seems like there’s nothing keeping her here, now.”

“If you really think that, then you’re a lot stupider than you look.”

The Doctor shoots Jackie a withering glare. She does not, to his disappointment, wither beneath it.

“So if she’s not going back now, then when is she going back?” the Doctor asks.

“God, you’re both hopeless,” Jackie mutters. “What on earth are you asking me for? Ask her. And ask her not to go back at all, while you’re at it.”

“Shall I beg, then?” the Doctor asks mildly.

Jackie scoffs. “‘Scuse me, but did I say that? No. I didn’t. I said you should talk to her.”

“Talking didn’t help before. Can’t imagine it’ll make a difference now.”

To his surprise, Jackie bursts into laughter, shaking her head as she rests a hand on the open car door. “Oh, come off it. You don’t really think that,” she chuckles. “Not you, with that never-resting, never-ending gob of yours.”

“Yes, well,” says the Doctor, disgruntled. “Even I know words can’t solve everything.”

Rolling her eyes, Jackie only reminds him even more of Donna, now, if Donna were blonde and more prone to wearing diamonds and cashmere tracksuits. “You’re full of it,” she says as she shuts the car door on him.

He hates how right she is.

***

(“I stood here. On the worst day of my life,” she says, and the hurt on her face could cut him in half. “You still haven’t finished that sentence.”

It’s not a question, but it demands an answer all the same. And it would be so easy to tell her, so easy to open his mouth and let the words tumble out from where they’ve been pressing behind his teeth, beneath his tongue, just hiding, just waiting--)

He awakens to silence, as usual.

***

The sight of Rose in the cottage, just going about her day-to-day business as if nothing were out of the ordinary, unsettles him; it’s an uncomfortable combination of nostalgia and regret and longing and resentment braiding into a tight, unbudging knot in the Doctor’s gut. So it only make sense, really, to avoid her. Not in an intentional way, of course; certainly not in a traceable way. The Doctor just so happens to prefer his tea in the garden (even if the pollen of some miscreant plant makes him sneeze) and his exercise in the wee hours of the morning (even if that means he has to wake up at 5:30 am, because somehow Rose is a morning person, now) and his meals in his room (because who doesn’t enjoy crumbs in the duvet?). It all seems a very reasonable routine for the approximately thirty-seven hours that Rose puts up with it.

“Because you’re not going to your physical therapy appointments, and I know you’re not following the itinerary on your own, and you won’t unless someone makes you,” says Rose, brandishing the packet provided by the Doctor’s therapist. It outlines, in colorful and quite frankly obnoxious little illustrations, all the exercises he should be doing to fully regain and fine-tune those pesky minor things like strength and endurance and coordination. (The exercises he should be doing, mind, not the exercises he is doing.) Apparently, even if the physicians and therapists are impressed with the Doctor’s recovery (because it is, in fact, impressive), they’re all still determined to stick their noses in the Doctor’s business.

The Doctor glances at the packet, unconvinced. “This mode of therapy is completely obsolete by the beginning of the next century, you know.”

“Yeah, well, we live in this century.”

“Do we?” asks the Doctor under his breath. “Didn’t think we did anything.”

Head tilting, Rose watches him through narrowed eyes, wary and shrewd. “Sure we do. We can do loads of things. For example, we can do therapy, or we can talk. Which’ll it be?”

The Doctor slaps on a tight grin as he swipes the packet from her hand. “Therapy, it is!”

***

“Can’t help but notice that this isn’t on your itinerary yet,” says Rose, jogging alongside the Doctor down the sun-dappled road. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to ease your way into running sometime in the future.”

“Never had a problem with it before,” says the Doctor, studiously ignoring the sweat trickling down his spine as he runs, forcing air in and out of his lungs. “It was good enough then and it should be good enough now.”

“Yeah, but you’re different now.”

“You don’t say,” says the Doctor, panting through gritted teeth.

They pass a few moments in silence, and if it weren’t for the tension mounting in the space between them, the Doctor might allow himself to enjoy being outside right now, with the cool, crisp morning air, the trees casting shadows over the road with a canopy of leaves. The sun twinkles cheekily at him through the tree-branches and amidst the gentle susurrous of crickets chirping cheerfully in the background, he can hear a stream joyfully bubbling and trickling, somewhere. It’s lovely, all of it; there’s nothing quite like a nice little stroll through the English countryside. But he can’t enjoy it, because he can’t stop running.

“You mentioned it before, that you’ve only got one heart now, one life,” replies Rose, and the Doctor envies how freely her words come and go, how obvious it is that she isn’t laboring for breath even in the slightest. “Shouldn’t you take it a little easy, at least try to take care of yourself?”

“I’m doing just fine, ta. But it’s nice that you’re pretending to care.”

Rose shoots him a sharp glance; in his periphery, the Doctor sees her ponytail whipping with the force of her motion. “So you are angry with me,” she says.

“I’m not,” he lies.

“You are though. You’re angry about what happened back in Norway.”

His heart races and his steps lengthen, like his body is trying to escape this conversation. “I thought you were forcing me to do physical therapy right now.”

“This doesn’t count. And besides, we can run and talk at the same time.”

The Doctor is starting to doubt that’s the case, given how much his body is protesting against every movement he makes, his lungs burning and limbs groaning and muscles seizing up in discomfort, but he pushes anyway, jogging faster, pumping harder, because if his body didn’t want this, then his body shouldn’t have lapsed into a coma. This is what his body gets for allowing itself to get so weak, this is what it gets for letting him down.

“You’re angry I didn’t stay,” says Rose, keeping pace with him easily.

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” the Doctor pants.

“Yeah, I did.”

“And now that your business here is concluded, you’ll go back.”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“Since when does it matter what I want?” the Doctor bites back, breaking into a run.

The slap-slap-slap of Rose’s trainers against the asphalt lets him know she’s catching up. “Please,” Rose says, and she’s still breathing far too easily, far too freely, damn her, so the Doctor runs faster. “We have to talk about this!”

Except they don’t have to, the Doctor thinks as he sprints away, gasping for air; she doesn’t have to tell him what really happened at Bad Wolf Bay, she doesn’t have to tell him what stupid horrid thing he said, she doesn’t have to tell him all the reasons why she left, she doesn’t have to tell him about her time in the other universe and her adventures in the TARDIS and her life spent with his other self, the two of them drawing an arc through all of time and space, together. She doesn’t have to say it and he doesn’t have to hear it, he doesn’t have to watch her stupid wonderful beautiful terrible face while the words drip from her lips about all the wretched things that make him unworthy; he doesn’t need to know why she chose the other him. He doesn’t need to know how happy they are together, and he doesn’t need a reminder of how horrendously selfish he is for hating them for it. He doesn’t have to remember the dreams his mind cooked up to stave off the crippling loneliness, he doesn’t have to remember how much he misses her and how much he loves her and how desperately he wants her to stay and he doesn’t have to think about how easy it would be to beg and plead with her not to step back into the other universe, not to rip out his one remaining pathetic heart to keep for herself as some kind of morbid bleeding trophy. He doesn’t have to.

He runs faster.

“Doctor, wait,” says Rose, breaking into a sprint to keep up with him. “You shouldn’t push yourself like this, you’re gonna--”

Blinding pain stabs him in the ribs, gutting him from the side until he stumbles from it. Every gasp for air is a white-hot stabbing knife in his lungs and he falls to the ground, wheezing, knees smacking the pavement with a thwack. Stars swimming in his vision, he doubles over, clutching his side as pain blossoms through his knees and his ribs.

“Doctor!” erupts Rose’s voice behind him, and a matter of milliseconds, she’s crouching by his side, her hand grasping his shoulder. “Doctor, are you--”

“Stop,” the Doctor chokes out, eyes clenched shut.

Rose squeezes his shoulder, her grip bordering on the painful. “What?”

“Just stop, please,” the Doctor wheezes, pushing her hand away. “I don’t need your help.”

“Oh my god, please stop being stupid. Your health is more important than your pride!”

“I don’t need your help and I don’t need you!”

His voice sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet clearing. Still wheezing, the Doctor opens his eyes to find Rose staring at him, hurt evident in the tension of her clenched jaw. “I already knew that, thanks,” she says, her voice curt.

Probably he should apologize (definitely, he should), but instead the Doctor slouches onto the pavement, legs sprawling inelegantly before him. “Why did you come back?” he asks between laboured breaths.

They stare at each other. Rose quirks an eyebrow in confusion. “I already told you, I--”

“No,” snaps the Doctor. “Why?”

Stubbornness flashes in Rose’s eyes, and it’s the most Rose she’s been since she returned. “I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“And why you are still here?”

“Do you want me to go?”

“Why are you still here?”

“Because I missed you, all right?” Rose blurts out, and--and wait, are those tears welling up in her eyes now? “God, I just missed you! Is that really such a shock?”

Somewhere in its mad drumming the Doctor’s heart skips a few beats. But his gaze narrows in suspicion. “Why? You’ve got the other me. You’ve got the better me, arguably. What’s there to miss?”

Wordlessly, Rose thumbs the would-be tears from her eyes, refusing to look at him.

“What, did he regenerate again?” the Doctor presses. “He did, didn’t he? And you don’t like this new Doctor either, but at least you’ve got a convenient backup copy the next universe over?”

“It’s not that,” Rose snaps. “It’s--forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Her mouth twists unhappily as she stares at the ground. “He hasn’t regenerated. He’s still the same, still like you. But he’s…”

The Doctor watches her as she sorts through her words. Concern for his other self flares up briefly; he immediately douses the flame. He’s still too angry for that nonsense.

Rose pushes her hands over her hair, mussing the strands that have slipped free from her ponytail. “It’s just not how I imagined it, reuniting with you. Or him, I mean. I mean--I knew things wouldn’t be exactly as I’d pictured them, I knew I wouldn’t be able to account for everything. And I knew we both would have changed over the years, you with your different companions, me working to get back. But, I dunno. I guess I thought I’d find you, and things would go back to the way they were before, more or less. Even if you didn’t feel exactly the same way about me, that I felt about you, it would be fine. Which isn’t to say--” she stammers, her cheeks growing pink, “--I mean, of course if you did feel exactly the same way about me, that I felt about you, that would be brilliant, but I know you don’t think about that sort of thing like humans do, so...”

Pulse quickening in his ears, the Doctor thinks about opening his mouth to interject an argument, but pride steals his words and his lips stay sealed.

“It’s just different, now,” Rose says, worrying her lip between her teeth. “It’s like he can’t let go of whatever it is that’s keeping him from being happy. Like the walls are back in place, worse than they were before, even. And nothing’s getting through. He won’t let anyone or anything in.”

The Doctor shifts uncomfortably on the ground. He tells himself it’s just because of the asphalt digging into his bum. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” he says. “The whole business with Donna couldn’t have helped things.”

“Not for lack of trying, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, she tried to help, and he just dumped her back off on Earth.”

His gaze snaps up to hers in alarm. “He didn’t take her memory away?”

“No. Talked about it, when Donna started to glitch. But she begged him not to do it, and when he wouldn’t listen, she begged me, so--so I convinced him to try putting her under, slowing her brain functions just long enough that he had the time to go in with a more surgical approach, just taking out the stuff that was hurting her instead of throwing out the baby with the bathwater.” Rose pauses, remembering. “It was pretty touch and go there, for a bit. They were in the medbay for days, him taking out the memories that didn’t belong. Felt like weeks.”

“And--and he was successful?” the Doctor asks.

Rose nods. “Yeah, it worked like magic. Few days later, Donna was back to her old self, no more Doctor in her brain, just her.”

“Oh, but that’s fantastic!” says the Doctor, hope and happiness inflating like a balloon in his chest. “But why’d he take her back home, then? Did she ask him to?”

“Of course not,” Rose scoffs.

“Then, what happened?”

Once again, she can’t look at him. “Donna said she was fine, but he never really believed her. Kept growing more and more distant with her, and with me. Still, he kept Donna around until that whole business with...with Wilf.”

“Donna’s grandfather?”

Rose nods, sniffling, and the Doctor can tell she’s fighting off tears again. “End of the world again, he came along for the ride. And there were these radiation chambers, venting off toxic stuff, and Wilf was in one, and the chambers were flooded, and--”

She swallows. “It was down to Wilf, or someone else. And I couldn’t let him die, Doctor, I just couldn’t. So I ran over to the door, to let him out, and I would take his place.”

“Rose,” says the Doctor, aghast.

“But at the last second, the Doctor stopped me, pulled me away, and I thought for a second he might do it instead, his hand was on the door handle and everything, but then he looked at me, like he couldn’t...and then Wilf was gone.”

The balloon is punctured and hope fizzles out, leaving a sick feeling sinking in the Doctor’s stomach instead. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, even though he knows, with absolute certainty, that he would have done exactly the same thing.

“The horrible thing is, Donna wasn’t even upset. Or, she was, but it was like--like, she was so proud of her grandpa, right? Cos he was a hero, and he died like one. So she was sad, and she missed him, and she was angry he was gone, but she still wanted to stay. Still didn’t want to go home.” Rose’s face hardens. “But next thing we knew, we were landing back on earth, and the Doctor left Donna back at her mum’s, crying and shouting on her doorstep.”

Now the Doctor feels sick for an entirely different reason. The image of Donna, red-faced and pleading with him to stay, even after everything, is almost enough to make him ill.

“It was because of me,” says Rose, shaking. “Because I was there.”

“No, Rose,” says the Doctor. “You can’t--”

“Don’t,” Rose says sharply. “You know it’s true. He didn’t step in for Wilf because I was there. It was something to do with me. If I hadn’t been there, he would have saved Wilf. He would have regenerated, and Wilf would be safe, and Donna would still be with him on the TARDIS, and the Doctor wouldn’t look at me like he can’t stand me anymore, like he’s going to be sick at the sight of me. Like he hates me.”

“It’s not that,” says the Doctor (even as he curses himself, because why the fuck is he defending his other self, again? Whose side is he on, here?). “It’s not because of you, it’s because--”

“He feels guilty.”

Surprised, the Doctor stops, swallows his words. He nods.

“Yeah,” Rose says, her voice flat. “Because of Wilf, and Donna.” She draws in a shaky breath. “Because of me.”

Slowly, hating himself, the Doctor nods again.

Rose issues a grim smile. “See, Donna and Wilf and me, we all know that bad things happen. And you feel bad about them, yeah, but you can’t let that get you down. Not forever. And if something bad happens to the people you care about, that hurts, too, but you help them, however you can. But with the Doctor--with you--it’s like, bad things happen to the people you care about, and instead of trying to help them, you blame yourself, and you shut down. You build these walls out of guilt and you hide behind them and you say you do it all to keep others safe, so you can’t hurt them anymore, but really, you’re just trying to protect yourself. And you’re hurting the people who love you, in the process.”

(“I came all that way, to find you,” he hears, from a beach and a forever away, and he shakes himself.)

“Can you really blame him, though?” asks the Doctor. “Withdrawing a little bit, after all that?”

“Can you honestly tell me this wouldn’t have happened either way?” Rose retorts. “It was always going to be something. If it wasn’t Donna and Wilf, he would have found something else. He would have buried himself in guilt cos he let me go with him, let me leave my mum and my family and everyone here. S’like, he knows how it feels to lose your family, and he remembers how much it hurts, and he thinks I must miss them, and it must be his fault.” She sighs. “I think he even feels guilty about leaving you here, despite everything he said.”

(“A bit too human,” he hears, in a voice that sounds exactly like his. “He needs someone to look after him, Rose.”)

Rose blinks away another unshed tear. “It’s not really fair to leave me to figure all this out on my own. It’s a lot to ask of a person.”

“I can’t imagine he asked, though.”

“True. But what else am I supposed to do when you won’t talk to me?”

The Doctor doesn’t have an answer for that one. He tells himself it’s just because he’s still a little bit busy with the wheezing, though truth be told, his breathing recovered some time ago.

“You know what the worst part is?” Rose asks, her lower lip trembling. “He’s right. I do miss my family.” She buries her face in her hands. “Being away from Mum and Tony--it’s so much harder than I thought it would be. I’ve missed them so much.”

“So you came back for them,” the Doctor says flatly.

“Oh my god,” Rose groans, hands dragging over her face. “I came back for all of you!”

“But mostly for them.”

“Jesus, you’re insufferable. What do you want me to say? That you’re the only person I love, that you’re the only person I care about in two whole universes?”

“So that’s it?” asks the Doctor, pushing aside his concern. “You realized I was right all along, that 900 years of very personal, very painful experience might have meant something after all, that losing your friends and family is, in fact, quite horrible, which any reasonable person might have known straightaway but you ignored for some reason, and you suddenly realized you should have stayed here with your family and me, like he planned, like we both planned, and you just up and came back because this new Doctor isn’t exactly the real deal, but he’s close enough, and my family’s there, besides? Is that it? Is that why you’re still here?”

“I came back because you asked me to!” shouts Rose.

“I asked you to stay with me before, back in bloody Norway, and it didn’t make a damn bit of difference!”

“No you didn’t,” Rose retorts, scraping tears off her cheeks. Pushing herself to her feet, she shakes her head, angry. “You didn’t ask me anything. You told me. You told me that you only had one heart, but otherwise you were the same, and you wanted to be with me.”

Flabbergasted, the Doctor stares up at her, hands spread helplessly. “What on earth is wrong with that? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wanted the truth. I wanted you to let me in. But you just pushed me away, same as always.”

The Doctor frantically scans his memory, his mind racing to see if anything catches and clicks. But the film reels just spins and spins, flashing broken images on a patchy screen.

But wait--

He freezes. With a sensation like ice flooding his veins, he remembers.

(The slap of the waves, the whistle of the wind. Salt in the air, biting his cheeks and stinging his eyes.

A laugh, fond. Donna. “They’re not listening.”

“No, they’re not, are they,” mutters his other self. He looks...weary.

Then, a question. Rose wants to know how it ends.

“What sentence?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know. Biding for time. Smiling. But uneasy.

She tells him, careful hope etched in the line of her brow.

Nervousness roils in his mind, loud and tempestuous like the ocean beside them. The wind tugs at his clothes and whips Rose’s hair about her face and the sea crashes and the salt stings and his heart races and it’s too much. He can’t tell her. He can’t. Not now. Not now. Not yet.

(What if he tells her and something happens to her, what if tells her and she leaves anyway?)

Not yet. Maybe later.

When he’s ready.)

Shivering, the Doctor closes his eyes. “Isn’t it cold,” he murmurs.

“I just needed to know,” says Rose plaintively, her mouth twisting in the effort to hold back tears, to keep the dam from bursting any further. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t feel for me exactly the same way I do for you. I still told you how I felt. And I just needed to know that I wasn’t imagining things, that you felt some tiny shred of something for me, that I didn’t work myself to the bone for four fucking years, for nothing, just to find out you didn’t want me.”

Of course I do, he almost says. “You left me because of one single misspoken phrase?” he asks instead.

“I left you because I had thirty seconds to make a decision before the walls between universes closed back up. And when it came down to the unknown, versus the life I’d worked half a decade to get back to...yeah,” says Rose, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I made a decision with the information I had. What else was I supposed to do?”

The Doctor doesn’t reply. He knows what he wants to say, what he wants to be true. He also knows--as much as he hates to admit it, as much as it hurts--that she’s got a fair point. She gave him the opportunity to convince her, handed it over on a gold platter with a heaping helping of vulnerability and hope, and he practically smacked it out of her hands, choosing to hide in comfort and cowardice. Like always.

(“You really are the same,” she says, and it should be a good thing, so why does she look disappointed?)

“When the other Doctor said you were calling out for me, strong enough to be heard across the Void, I couldn’t stay away,” Rose says, her voice thick. “I had to help you however I could. He said you needed me. I thought--”

She laughs bitterly, choking back a sob. “I thought this meant maybe, finally, you were gonna let me in.”

The Doctor opens his mouth, to speak, to apologize or plead or shout or argue or say anything he wants to say or she needs to hear, but his tongue is heavy and stupid and slow, and nothing emerges.

“I want to,” he admits after a moment, so quietly he wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t hear it.

Something in Rose’s shoulders seems to relax at that, muscles loosening by nano-increments. Sniffling back the last of her tears, she pushes her loose hair behind her ears, wrapping her arms securely round her middle. Like she’s protecting herself.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice stiff. “To walk back home, I mean.”

“Yes,” the Doctor lies hoarsely, even as pain twinges in his side.

Rose shoots him a suspicious glance from red-rimmed eyes.

“In a moment,” the Doctor confesses.

Nodding, Rose plonks back down on the ground next to him--not as close as she might have, before, but not so far that he couldn’t loop an arm around her if he wanted, give her a tight and cozy one-armed hug. But he doesn’t know if she wants that, yet. And he’s still just so tired.

Still, she didn’t just leave him here. That seems hopeful.

Silently, they wait.

***

Probably she can feel him watching her from the bedroom doorway. He didn’t mean to stop here, just paused while limping his way back from the kitchen to his own room (never mind that he only paused because he was distracted by a flash of gold as she combed out her shower-damp hair, and he suddenly remembered a silly water-fight that never was, and grief struck him like a blow to the solar plexus). But Rose doesn’t turn, doesn’t react.

(Some part of him screams that this is all dreadfully unfair, that he should have been given a proper chance from the beginning, whatever that might have looked like. But it isn’t as if she got any sort of proper or fair chance, either.

Another thing they’ve got in common. He’ll take it.)

“I didn’t do it consciously, you know,” says the Doctor. “Calling out for you, I mean.”

Rose turns to look at him, her expression cool and inscrutable as the Doctor leans against the doorjamb. He’d love to pass it off as a casual lean (maybe even a seductive one, under other circumstances); realistically, he’s certain he looks every bit as wan and worn as he feels, slumping against the wall for much-needed support. And isn’t that just wizard.

“I don’t actually remember doing it at all,” the Doctor admits, scratching the back of his neck. “I can only guess it was a telepathic broadcast boosted by the Morpheus toxin, a residual instinct of some sort, borne out of subconscious need and fear. Even if my consciousness was fooled by the toxin-induced dreams, my subconscious knew what was happening, that I was in danger, and it was trying, desperately, to call for help. But I’d like to think it means something that, even in my delusion, the person I reached out to, the person I instinctively wanted to see, was you.”

Drawing a deep breath, he stares at a spot on the wall, just past her head--much easier than looking at her right now. “I’m sorry for pulling away over the last few days,” he says, willing the words not to stick in his throat. He’s too busy swallowing his pride for anything else to take up room in there. “I was hurt, and I was upset, and I was afraid…”

Fuck, he doesn’t want her to know this. “I was afraid you’d leave at any moment, because you felt I wasn’t good enough, anymore. And I told myself it would be easier if I didn’t let myself feel anything about it all. About you.”

A few moments pass in tense silence. When the quiet becomes unbearable, the Doctor chances a look at Rose, to find her eyes shining with tears once again.

He panics. Oh, god. He’s really bunged all this up, hasn’t he?

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

“No,” says Rose, shaking her head. “I mean--thank you. I mean--god. I’m sorry, too, Doctor. I never meant to make you feel anything less-than.”

She draws in a shaking breath. “The truth is, I’ve regretted it, not bringing you along with me to the other universe. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, you being over here, feeling lonely and alone, it’s been going through my head every single day, just eating me up inside ever since--”

Pursing her lips, she bites back a sob. “God, I’ve just missed you so much. I’m so sorry.”

Warmth blossoms through the Doctor from head to toe. Before she’s even finished speaking, before he even has a chance to think about it, the Doctor has crossed the threshold and folded onto the bed, drawing Rose into his arms for a painfully tight hug. She doesn’t return the hug, but burrows into his embrace, her arms trapped between them as she curls into herself, her body wracked with great heaving silent sobs. The Doctor cinches his hold on her even tighter, gathering all the strength he can muster to keep her snug in his grasp. Soon his shirt-collar is damp from her tears, and maybe his, too, if he thinks about it too much. Heedless of the wet and the cold, he presses his face against her hair, just breathing her in.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, with a sigh. “Me, too.”

***

This time, when he awakes, it’s to find Rose in the bed next to him. That only makes sense, though; it is her bed, after all. They both just happened to fall asleep in it.

(Still, it’s very nice not to wake up alone.)

His back is a little stiff (just how long has he been sleeping on his stomach, anyway?) but the Doctor is hesitant to move, preferring instead to peek up from his pillow to watch Rose. She’s been awake for a while now, by the looks of it; propped up on her pillows, she types away on a laptop, glasses perched atop her nose, her tongue peeking pinkly between her teeth in concentration. The light from the computer screen bathes her face in a soft white-blue, a gentle contrast to the warm golden afternoon sunlight flooding the room all round them. It’s not unlike the morning that they woke up together after--after, well. At least this time the memory doesn’t hurt, so much as make the Doctor blush furiously.

As if she can sense him watching her (again), Rose glances down at the Doctor, flashing him the briefest smile. “Hello,” she says, almost shyly.

“‘Lo,” he murmurs. “When did you start wearing glasses?”

“Mm, couple months ago. Just for the computer, so the light doesn’t strain my eyes.”

He considers telling her she needn’t wear them, that she could just avoid digital eyestrain by looking away from the computer every so often, but he stops himself; probably the other Doctor has lectured her on it already, anyway. “What are you working on?”

“Loose ends,” Rose replies, closing the laptop. “Turns out when you hop universes, you leave a lot of them.”

“I can imagine.”

“Yeah.” Rose worries the inside of her lip. “I really am sorry.”

“As you should be,” the Doctor says in soft mock-sternness.

Rose rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Git.”

(He doesn’t disagree.)

Slipping off her specs, Rose sets them aside with her laptop, sliding back down into the bed so that she’s burrowed comfortably in the duvet, face-to-face with the Doctor. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Eh. Tired. A little stiff. But I suppose that’s to be expected.”

“Yeah, that starts happening when you get old.”

He shoots her a dirty look.

“What?” she asks innocently. “You teased me first.”

“Yes, but I was referring to the coma. Remember the coma? Also known as The Thing That Almost Killed Me? It was all very serious stuff.”

“Very serious,” Rose agrees, her mouth twitching.

“I mean it,” says the Doctor, pushing off his stomach (with only the tiniest of winces) so he can roll over onto his side, facing her properly. “Also, I’m not old.”

“900 years young, then?

“That’s not old,” the Doctor sniffs. “That’s...dignified.”

“That what they’re calling it, now?”

“Yes. Besides, I’m perfectly spry and youthful compared to plenty of other things in the world--there’s loads of things in the universe older than me!”

“Yeah? Like what? The Big Bang?”

“As for example,” the Doctor says stubbornly.

Rose grins, her tongue poking cheekily from between her teeth, exactly the way it used to. “Admit it,” she says, poking him in the chest. “You’re an old cradle-robber.”

“I most certainly am not. In fact, if anyone’s a cradle-robber here, it’s you.”

“Me?”

“Yes! This is a fresh new body!” exclaims the Doctor, gesturing to himself. “Barely three months old! Doesn’t get much cradle-robbier than that.”

At that, Rose quiets. Her hand hasn’t left his chest and she picks at his shirt, thinking. His skin is warm everywhere she accidentally brushes against it. “Three months?” she asks.

The Doctor nods. “Give or take about twelve hours, take into account the time differential between the two universes, factoring in the time spent on the Crucible--about three months, four and a half days.”

“Okay. Good.”

The Doctor piques an eyebrow, questioning.

“It’s been a lot longer, for me. I was afraid it had been for you, too.”

Long enough, the Doctor thinks, but there’s no use puncturing the moment with sharp words. (He thinks of other sharp words in other arguments that also didn’t happen, and soup scalding in a stove, and a surprise confession that shouldn’t have been a surprise at all; he’s rather proud of himself, for reigning in the words instead of letting them fly, even if he does miss the opportunity to make it all up with a good hug and a snog, after.)

“But you couldn’t have imagined it was that long, over here,” says the Doctor, frowning in confusion. “Not when you saw Tony.”

Rose bites her lip.

Wide-eyed, the Doctor realizes. “You haven’t seen Tony yet?”

“Mum didn’t want me to. She was afraid it would be too hard on him when--if I went back.”

Behind his ribs, the Doctor’s stomach is doing somersaults. “If?” he asks, conversationally, and tries not to choke on the hopefulness of it.

Rose shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t want to leave my family again. But I also don’t want you to be alone. Either of you.”

That’s fair, the Doctor supposes, even if he doesn’t like it. Funny little side effect of being human, but he’s sort of marvelously selfish now, and would like nothing more than to keep Rose all to himself--this self, specifically, sod the other self--or maybe that’s just a funny little side effect of being him, in any incarnation.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rose repeats, scrubbing a hand over her face, the heel of her palm pressing into her eye. “Maybe it really would be better if I stayed here. I mean, I guess the walls between universes are open again? At least for a little while, after everything that just happened with the Pandorica? I really don’t understand it, it’s not like any maths I learned while building the Cannon, it’s all just a bunch of wibbly nonsense. So maybe it doesn’t have to be a forever thing anymore, staying on one side or the other. But I don’t want to go back without you, and I don’t want to feel like some sort of rotten old burden to him. It’s exhausting and it hurts, watching him just stew in his guilt, knowing he won’t let me help, worrying that he secretly resents me. But there’s just no telling what he really wants, or how he feels.”

“He loves you.”

Slowly, Rose pulls her hand away from her face. Her lips part in question.

“And…” stammers the Doctor, a flush crawling hotly up the back of his neck, into his cheeks, and damn this silly human body, “...so do I.”

Rose doesn’t reply, too busy staring.

“In a romantic way,” he rushes, his cheeks growing hotter by the second. “And--and a platonic way as well, I suppose, because we’re friends, too, aren’t we? But also more than friends. Best friends. But more than that, as well, because Donna’s also my best friend--because you absolutely can have more than one best friend, you know, but three’s the cap, any more than that and you’re pushing it, it’s scientifically verified, all sorts of studies on it in the 4800’s, fascinating stuff--but there’s absolutely nothing romantic there with Donna, absolutely not, I’d rather regenerate into a barnacle-covered-rock. Is there a word for that in English? Not the rock-thing, I mean for something that means best friends who also love each other in a romantic and hopefully sexual sense. Because I can think of several dozen words that would work in other languages, from civilizations from Jupiter and Kanza’an and Neptus Prime, but without the TARDIS’ translation circuits, you wouldn’t be able to understand them, and that sort of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it, of talking--”

The rest of his spoken words are muffled into nonsense as Rose leans forward to press a kiss to his lips. The rest of his unspoken, shored-up-and-waiting-somewhere-in-his-mind words sort of flutter away to be replaced like the room is spinning all around them. There’s no spinning, of course, but he’s grateful all the same when Rose grabs his shirt-collar and pulls him in closer, tethering him to this plane.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp (stupid human lungs) to find Rose smiling at him, the first real, proper smile he’s seen from her since she came back, and maybe it’s just that bit of leftover Donna-borne sentimentalism still lurking his brain, but good grief, he doesn’t know if he’s ever seen anything quite as wonderful in all the multiverse as that smile.

“And you love me, too?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer--because she isn’t the only one who needs to hear things, sometimes.

Rolling her eyes, Rose laughs. “Of course I do,” she says. “Don’t be st--”

He doesn’t find out what he’s not supposed to be, because he’s too busy cupping her by the chin and kissing her.

***

“You never said,” Rose tells him later, when they’re lounging by the telly with a spread of takeaway on the coffee-table--because even if he won’t say it, this whole recovery experience is quite tiring, and even if he doesn’t say it, Rose still knows.

The Doctor glances up from his carton of fried rice. “Never said what?”

“What you were dreaming about, in the Morpheus coma.”

Alarm bells ring faintly in the back of his mind, adrenaline trickling in with a gentle fight-or-flight nudge--deflect, tell a joke, lie, retreat--but the Doctor wills himself to calm. It’s a fair query. It was bound to come up sooner or later. It is not going to harm him in any way, he tells himself, to answer her.

“Just normal things, really,” he replies. “It was all based on stuff that happened here, after you--well, after you left. The only difference was, in the dreams, you didn’t leave.”

Rose frowns, suddenly uncertain. “You said it was a nightmare.”

“Parts of it, very much so,” the Doctor says softly. “Realizing that you weren’t actually there, and neither was Donna...that was very hard to come to terms with. But the dream wasn’t all that bad. A lot of it was actually quite nice. Most of it, even.”

He can tell what she’s going to ask next, even before she opens her mouth to do so, and he braces himself for the surge of resistance heading his way, for that inevitable revival of self-protective cowardice that’s going to throw up his defenses like an impenetrable wall. But even though he can feel those things tugging at the corners of his consciousness, knocking and calling to be let in, he does not feel the urge to open the door for them. Instead, he knows he will answer her. He knows he wants to.

“Tell me about it?” Rose asks.

He does.

***

(note: titles for this and the original "la belle dame sans merci" derive from the keats poem of the same name.)

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